Chapter 3 - Captured
Missti felt anger rise within her as she reached through the bars to accept a small paper cup of water and a miniature loaf of grainy bread with bits of fruit and nuts in it. The loaves were hard and beginning to become stale, but they were only fed and given water twice a day. They definitely wanted to keep them alive, but not much else. As unappetizing as the food was, it would be all she would get until tomorrow morning. She leaned back against the bars on the other side of the truck and chewed. She felt like a cow munching on grass. Chew, chew, chew, swallow, repeat. She also held her loaf somewhat protectively, as did the others. One of the captive girls in her truck had tried to steal her first loaf the previous day. Missti had left the girl gasping for breath after putting her in a choke hold, and now everyone stayed away from her for the most part, eyeing her warily, but far more terrified of the soldiers outside the cage. She was perfectly fine with them leaving her alone.
She slurped down her water, trying her best to ignore the flecks of dirt and the foul taste. She had learned quickly not to pour it out or complain. She had done so on the first day, as had a couple others, in an act of rebellion, and had gone over 24 hours without so much as another drop being offered to her. Parched and desperate, she had not repeated that mistake when the next cup was offered to her. Three days of cold, sleepless nights and brutal beatings and rapes of most of the women had the group broken and trying to stay out of the guard's crosshairs. They had not raped her, but had taken turns with all the other captives in her truck. Missti's truck was in the middle of five just like it. They were large military vehicles, but instead of covered boxes or trailers they were fitted with steel cages that were roughly twenty by eight feet in size. The sides were left open for all too see, and they were open to the elements. Rain and wind had unobstructed access to them. They could somewhat dodge the sun when it was directly overhead or by moving into the shadowed areas, but that meant twenty or so girls trying to fit in very small spaces, and most of them were left out. Fights broke out when others wouldn't take turns. Missti did notice tarps along the middle of the top of the cage that existed to cover the sides, but the soldiers did not use them, no matter how bad conditions became.
She fought the urge to give up. She would not break. She would stay vigilant and as defiant as she dared, even if there was no hope of escape. She knew it was easier for her to think this way as she had not suffered the sexual abuse and brutality the others had, but the fact that she was being left alone meant something else was planned for her, and she wanted to be ready for whatever it was.
She finished the loaf and the water. One of the girls nearer to her began to cough. Missti noticed with dread her cough was growing weaker in volume. She had begun coughing the first night of their captivity, when rain had pummeled them relentlessy until sunrise.They had tried to huddle together, sharing terror that first night, before they had started to pull away into their own minds and fears. None of the girls in the cage were girls Missti recognized, but she knew some others from Redfield were in the other trucks. She recognized their wails and voices as they broke the air everytime they stopped and the guards were bored.
They were a sorry group now. hey had been soaked, then dried, and most beaten and abused. Their clothes, whatever they had been wearing when captured, were dirty from the dusty and muddy floor of the cage. They were bruised, caked in dried blood, and garments and hair alike were knotted and disheveled, or worse. Most of the girls had other fluids Missti didn't want to think about dried and caked on them as well, and half the girls could barely stand, much less walk, due to sore pelvises and battered limbs.
Today, the sun blazed yellow white in the sky. The forests of central Colorado had long since given way to grassy plains. Missti knew they were pretty much heading straight east. She guessed they were in Kansas. This most likely meant they were in the southern half of the state, as even the Protectorate would want to avoid getting too close to the Lakotah Republic. Even in Redfield they had suffered and fought the occasional raid. The horizon framed a seemingly endless expanse of grass, not a hill in sight. She knew enough geography to know that would change soon, the closer to Missouri they traveled. The monotony of the grass would give way to small canyons, creeks, jagged cliffs, and rolling hills. She had no idea where they were taking her, and she teetered between wanting to get there and get out of this cage with its grueling conditions and her fear of what was next.
She watched as a small group of Protecterate soldiers zipped past her wagon, their more nimble utilty vehicle easily outpacing the trucks. They were laughing and watching the truck's cargo as they passed. Most of them didn't outright jeer at the captives, as the military leadership wanted discipline, but they were definitely looking and picking out who they would take when they stopped for the evening. This behavior was encouraged by the leadership. She was sure it motivated the soliders, and was used to break the prisoners. Early on in the trip they had paraded right through the middle of every town they passed, driving slowly. The citizens of each town had lined the streets, watching them all pass. Sympathy, horror, and fear in their demeanors, but trying to be as composed as possible so as to not be the next targets of the Protectorate. Missti herself had seen caravans like these roll through Redfield a few times, and each time her hatred for the Protectorate had grown.
“Hey,” a voice said, hushed and raspy.
Missti looked to her left. A woman with light, freckled skin and deep red hair had crawled towards her. Her demeanor was timid, as if she considered Missti dangerous, and based on the loaf theft incident it was a valid feeling. "You aren't being treated like the rest of us." She said, her green eyes scanning the cage and the soldiers outside in their vehicles and motorbikes warily. She didn't want to draw too much attention. Extended conversations between them were often met with the biting end of a pain baton. The soldiers seemed to make a game of trying to poke the girls in the most sensitive and humiliating places possible.
The woman had a hand hidden under the tattered bottom of her dress. Did she have a weapon? Impossible. The guards had made a show of "checking" their orifices and stripping them nude each night, Missti, and one other woman the next wagon down, being the only exceptions she had noticed. There was no way this woman had managed to arm herself. Missti had stuffed a few sharp pine needles between the hem of her pants and her skin, a futile maneuver that really did nothing more than rub her skin raw, but she told herself it was better than nothing.
"The guards were talking about you last night as they raped me." She continued, sliding a bit closer to Missti. She was nervous, but Missti could sense an eagerness, or perhaps desperation, in her words. "They are hoping you will try to escape so they can punish you. They are very annoyed that they aren't allowed to have their way with you. Why not? What makes you special?"
Missti didn't respond. She didn't know. She was afraid to speak, and didn't want to be hopeful. Her exception from their treatment not only bothered the soldiers, but the other captives.
"Please," the woman said, her green eyes boring into Missti's own as she slid her hand out from beneath her dress cautiously towards Missti, revealing the loaf she had been given earlier. "If you try and escape, include me. I'll give you half my food from here on out and all of this loaf." As she said the words, Missti heard the poor woman's stomach growl. She felt sick at this woman's plea.
Missti looked away, scanning their surroundings and taking stock of their captors. The wind blew through the cage, bring relief from the mid-day heat. She knew she would be cursing that same wind later.
“Well?” the woman asked, pleading.
"If you give me your food, or even half of it, you won't be strong enough to do what we'd need to do to escape the soldiers. You and I, even if you were the world's greatest fighter, wouldn't be able to defeat them." Missti glanced at the collars around their ankles. "These trackers would be impossible to get off without tools. I'm sure you've heard the stories of all the failed escapes. Have you ever heard a single story about someone who made it? I haven't."
“We have to try—”
“No,” Missti whispered. “I've been watching. I've seen half a dozen girls try to escape in the middle of the night after pretending to be unconscious when the soliders were done with them. I've watched four of them get subjected to a whole extra level of brutality and beatings, and two that were killed outright. From different trucks, tents, and spots in camp.”
“But you, they won't touch or do that to, I don't think." The woman said, growing more desperate.
Three days. Three days since the raid, three days as their captive, the rest of them as sex slaves or worse. It felt like years. She hadn't even fully processed what had happened, nor given any real thought to her family. "We can't hide from them now." Missti said. "Not with these tracking collars, and not now they have taken ownership of us. You know what's next and you know our lives are over. We might make it a couple miles, just to get run down by a group in their pursuit vehicles. We'd be trackable and on foot. There is no chance of escape here." Missti didn't want to strip this woman of all hope, as despite the woman's desperation Missti could sense a fire in her that blazed like her hair, an intensity in her eyes, or was that fear and desperation? Probably all those things combined. She also didn't want to see anyone killed or made an example of. Missti considered herself strong, far stronger than most in the world, but she knew a lost cause when she saw it.
There was a time she had considered herself and her family lucky. Redfield was fully under Protectorate rule, and not exempt from any of the Federated State's laws, but they were also mostly left alone. Soldiers would show up sometimes, checking in, doing door to door weapons checks and speaking with the town leaders. They had rolled their caravans of so-called rebels they had captured through town, making a grand show of it. Other than that Redfield had existed quietly, or so she had thought. Something had changed, and she knew her family was somehow a part of it. Missti was not resigned to her fate, but she also had no means to change it right now, for herself or anyone else.
She sighed, and stared wordlessly at the horizon. The woman eventually realized she wasn't going to say anything else, and retreated to the opposite side of the cage, eating her loaf. The trucks bounced along the rough dirt road, dust coating each wagon behind them. The girls in the last few wagons had it the worst, as in addition to their beatings and abuse they were covered heat to toe in dust. Missti wondered if they preferred that to cold rain, though.
The wind picked up, and Missti twisted around to peer out the bars she was leaning against. Darkness on the northern horizon line, black clouds approaching. A few seconds later, she heard faint thunder. A storm was coming at them, and in this part of the country they were fierce. She almost prayed for a tornado. Would that create enough chaos to escape? No, they would just be trapped in their cages and tossed like food in a blender.
Missti smelled another woman approaching her before she saw her, as her attention was fixed on the storm. At least the storm would wash them clean, maybe reduce their stench just a tad. The guards enjoyed hosing some of the girls off and watching them squirm, but they only had so much water in those tanks, and Missti guessed someone would get in trouble if it ran out. That or they just wouldn't let the girls drink as much. That made her feel even sicker.
This woman had dark brown skin and beautiful black hair that, normally, probably would have gone nearly to her waist. The weather and their accomodations had caused her hair to curl up in a frizzy and chaotic way. It seemed stiff and almost unnatural. She was gorgeous. Even after being bruised, battered, and exposed to three days of hell this woman drew the soldier eyes, and she had been taken every night and even once during a mid-day stop. She was fit, like Missti herself, with full breasts and wide hips, with a narrow, but strong, waist inbetween. Here eyes were a deep brown. Missti guessed she was easily six feet tall, and her frazzled out of control hair added another ten inches or so.
The woman held her hands up defensively as Missti turned her attention to her. Was she really that scary? Missti almost felt guilty, but she couldn't trust anyone. Social norms and discipline vanished when desperation set in. MIssti could see a deep gash on the woman's right hand, covered in mud and dirt. The soldiers often raped the woman on the ground right outside the trucks, putting them in humiliating positions and driving their faces into the dirt or making them stay on all fours in mud and slop. The woman seemed more curious than afraid though. Missti had seen her resist every time she was taken. The soldiers liked the fight, and this poor girl gave them one each time. It was pointless, but Missti admired it. She would do the same if, or when, they came for her.
She looked away, but not out of disrespect. She didn't want to give the soldiers anything to pay attention to. The woman carefully sat down, far enough to not look like they were conspiring, but close enough to whisper. “Mind if I ask why you were taken? I can’t help but wonder. I think everyone is wondering. No one I've spoken to yet can pinpoint a single thing they are guilty of.” Her voice, while soft right now, was firm. Missti was impressed at her composure. Like Missti, she tended to keep to herself, but for whatever reason had decided to approach. Until now, Missti had only heard her scream, not speak, and was surprised to hear what was definitely a strong accent. She thought it was Texan, based on her limited exposure from watching video.
Missti was slow to respond, wanting them both to be quiet and seem to be keeping to themselves. Finally, she replied. "I don't know of any reason. I woke up to soldiers in my house and my family being gathered and beaten." As she spoke, Missti began to relive the scene. She quickly pushed it down. No. Not now, not here. There would be a time for that later.
“Me too," the woman said. She had a deeper voice than most women, and she didnt't sound raspy or beaten like the others. "I actually wish I had a reason.“ She said, and chuckled softly, suprising Missti. "At least then this would make some sort of sense, even if it were the most evil or fabricated of reasons." She closed her eyes, pretending to be resting as a group of soldiers slowed next to their truck. They gave all the girls a good look, and moved on once they were satisfied they were all behaving.
From the other side of the cage, the sick woman coughed again. Missti took the whole group in. They were a sorry bunch. Not of their own fault, but you couldn't miss it. Tears, whimpers, and now coughing broke the silence from to time, competing only with occasional thunder, the soft whine of the truck's electric motors, and the bouncing clangs of springs, wheels, and rattling steel bars. They were weak, half sick, and under-fed. That was in addition to their daily physical abuse.
Missti stared out over the plain, grass blowing in the strong wind that was heralding the coming of the storm. The more the wind picked up, the more everything in this place came alive. The women in the trucks stirred, becoming more alert, anticipation of a cold and brutal night likely weighing on their minds. Was it better to stay out here in the storm, or better to get dragged into a tent by the soliders, if you were lucky enough not to be taken by them outside?
“Well,” Rhonda said. “Going to be a long night.”
"Yeah," Missti replied, watching for soldiers. "And I think it's going to start sooner than normal." The trucks had started to slow and were forming a circle. They did this when it was time to stop. The trucks would surround and block tents that would be erected as camp was made. It looked like the soldiers wanted to get as much set up as possible before the storm. Usually they kept going, delighting in watching the women get soaked, and laughed as they shivered uncontrollably. The girls would group up again to try and stay warm, but every so often the soliders would poke them with pain batons until they separated. This made it easier for them to see the night's fun and pick who they wanted.
How quickly life could turn. From comfort to utter hell. She closed her eyes and retreated within herself.