“I told you, man, torture,” Maverick said, his eyes misting. A chunk of Jonathan’s heart throbbed. Despite trying to feel hopeful about the future, at this moment all he saw was that final look on Zahara’s face. How will I ever find her again? Can I really do anything to save anyone?
He swallowed the thick lump in his throat as more customers came in. A cold feeling washed over his mind as the business Citizen that had first saw him approached with a Guardian at his side.
“Is he to your satisfaction, sir?”
Holten narrowed his eyes, examining him for a few minutes.
“Get him ready.” Without another word, the creature turned and walked away. The Guardian marched Jonathan over to the sanitizing chamber and he was stripped, washed, and given another fresh pala to wear before being led out of the warehouse. He caught eyes with Maverick one more time before the door closed behind him.
The lady Citizen at the front desk had dark purple hair, her blue eyes downcast as she checked over some final paperwork for each purchase. Within ten minutes, he was being led outside and into a waiting vehicle. The backend overflowed with nine other men, their faces blank as they sat against the sides of the vehicle. He found a spot on the opposite side trying not to look at the haunted expressions in the men’s eyes. They all knew what they were facing.
The sucking emptiness tried to overwhelm him, but he shoved it aside, trying to focus on his mother’s voice from the past. She used to pick him up whenever he’d fall to the ground, brush him off, and say ‘Keep going, Jonathan.’ He couldn’t shake her words if he tried. The vehicle moved forward. A look of terror swept over the faces of the men seated across from him. No matter how big and strong they were they didn’t stand a chance against a Citizen.
“We’re dead,” one man whispered. Jonathan looked away from them, feeling everything around him far more intensely than he wanted. He watched the city blur by—faces of aliens, humans carrying packages, and flashing lights amongst the smells that were seeping in through the windows.
They got to the Quarry and unloaded in single file toward a majestic stadium. Jonathan could feel the mixture of fear and excitement beyond the borders, beckoning him to step into its jagged white teeth. Several Citizens led them down a long narrow hall where they were put into small cells to await their fate. The room was painted gray, a small cot in one corner, along with a pot on the floor for relieving himself. Nothing else sat in the bleak room. This is where I live my final moments?
Keep going, Jonathan. Again his mother’s voice came to his mind. He sat down on the cot, hearing the sound of the seven foot creatures walk away, talking amongst themselves about the games that would begin in the morning.
God, is this the end? He bent over the edge of the cot, his face pressed between his clammy fingers. Tingles of fear swept over his skin, until his breath became short. I’m going to die. His mind flashed to the faces of his mother and two brothers. God…please… Out of nowhere, a warm sensation filled his chest as if someone was reaching down and holding him. If he didn’t know any better he’d swear his mother had swept him up into her arms just like she used to when he would fall down.
Keep going, Jonathan.
Chapter 8
Zahara was jostled in her seat. She sat in the back of a vehicle which she’d overheard called a speedcar. She was the only one the golden-haired Citizen had purchased. As they drove, the city became a smear of color, blues and greens mixed together, the sounds of the speedcars whirling as they passed.
A few minutes later, they were pulling up to a house with large windows, its white pillars rising up like giant legs. The golden-haired Citizen waved at a girl that was waiting on the steps of the house. She came rushing down with a grin. She opened the door and ushered the Citizen woman out, then opened up the back for Zahara.
“Oooh, new girl?” the girl gushed, and Zahara could see a genuine joy on her face. She likes being a slave?
“Moon, she can sing!” The golden-haired Citizen was waving her hands. “And her voice is as beautiful as Fawn and Raven. Can you get her something pretty to wear and get her settled?” The alien started walking toward the house, her wings tucked against her back, her golden-blonde hair blowing in the light breeze.
“Of course, Mistress!” Moon ushered Zahara through the front door, chattering as she did. “I’ll get you settled in your room as soon as possible. You are going to love Mistress. Her husband is a bit of a stickler, but he’s not such a bad fellow once you get to know him.” The girl’s light brown hair was in a loose bun on her head, her blue eyes bright with excitement. If Zahara had to guess she’d say the girl was twenty. She was in awe of her surroundings as Moon led her through an airy entry way with glistening statues, sparkling lights, and wooden furniture that looked like it was well taken care of.
“Some of the humans here have made these beautiful pieces.” Moon’s hand brushed over a trunk. “Mistress gets giddy about it all.”
The girl led her down a long hall, where Zahara noticed more statues and decorative glass shaped into various things. Moon stopped before a door and opened it up.
“You’ll be sharing a room with Fawn, but don’t worry, she’s very nice.”
Zahara walked into the room, her breath catching in her throat. It was decorated with golden instruments on the wall, a soft fur rug, and two beds that were on opposite sides of the room.
“You’ll meet Fawn soon, but first let’s get you something pretty to wear.” Moon headed toward a wardrobe and rifled through several dresses. She finally pulled out a light purple one and held it out. “Here. I think this one will be perfect.”
Zahara took the clothing and gently held it against her. “Thank you, Moon.” Her uncertainty must have shown on her face, because Moon leaned in close to her.
“Don’t worry. Out of all the Citizens to be a slave of, Mistress is the best. Just sing as beautifully as you can, and you’ll be well taken care of.” The girl gave her a warm smile and headed out the door. “I’ll be back to check on you later. Mistress will want her tea soon. Once you change feel free to explore the house.” She walked out, humming under her breath as she did.
Zahara stood in the center of the room, overwhelmed with everything. She wasn’t sure how she felt at the moment. Slavery wasn’t exactly something to be happy about, but despite it she couldn’t help feel a little bit of Moon’s joy. There was something in this house that honored talent, and she could live with that for the time being. She slipped on the purple dress, loving the way the soft material felt against her skin. She walked over to a mirror and grabbed a brush that sat on the low dresser attached. After a few minutes, she started to feel half way decent again.
Maybe this new life will be okay after all.
She headed out the door, the purple dress swishing around her feet. She could hear voices drifting in and out of several rooms. Zahara peeked in the first one to see a man leaning over a canvas, splashes of color sending euphoric feelings through her. She turned her head to see several other paintings on the wall making her breath catch in her throat. Beautiful…
As if not wanting to disturb a butterfly in the process, she closed the door again. Her feet continued to pad down the hall, but she couldn’t help pausing before the next door. Inside she could hear several women chattering, giggling, making happy squeals, accompanied by a whirling noise.
Zahara’s fingers tucked around the door, and she opened it just wide enough to look inside. Women had shimmering material over their laps, their fingers flying with precision as they sewed, knit, and laughed with one another. Shades of blue, purple, gold, and silver were spread out over laps and chairs.
“Hello there!” one called to her with a cheery smile.
“Hello!” she called back, blushing at having been caught.
“Oh, don’t fret! We are all a friendly bunch! Except Matilda there—she is quite a grump!”
The one who was Matilda scowled and continued her sewing, ignoring the co
mment. Zahara put a hand over her mouth stifling a giggle. She gave a wave to the group of women and hurried on her way to explore more of the house.
Zahara stopped at the next door and opened it easily. Inside a man bent over a machine that was creating bubbles of glass in colored patterns. Wow… She eased the door back shut, her heart swelling. This place…is another world.
Chapter 9
A cold laugh woke Jonathan out of a restless sleep. A blue face peered through the bars, taunting eyes that said you’re dead.
“Look at this one. He’s red.” One of the male Citizens slipped into his cell, cracking his fingers. “Let me take a fine look at him. I’d wager fifty that he lasts longer than cell three over there.”
“I don’t know. He’s got less muscle than cell three,” another Citizen said, his long brown hair braided down his back.
“But look at that hair!” the first Citizen said with a loud laugh. More aliens filtered into the cells taking wagers with one another on each human. Most of them were fascinated with his red hair and commented on it.
“Look at this beauty, oh wow. Lon, I think we should buy the poor thing. He’s awfully rare looking.” A female in a golden pala stood before him, her outfit glittered beneath the lights. Her face was beautiful for an alien. What he assumed was her spouse stood beside her.
“Oh, Fanna, he’s not a pet, he’s a man. What would you do with him? We are here for the games not to buy another human for you.”
The female pouted, her golden-blonde hair swept back from her face in large curls. “You never let me have fun, Lon.” She followed behind her spouse, arms looped through his. She gave Jonathan a final sad glance before parting. Something churned inside him. He tried to force it back down, but it rose anyway. There was something familiar about the female Citizen. He wasn’t quite sure what, but if he could just survive long enough…maybe he would find out. A strange sense of hope stirred in his chest. Though he was not sure why.
Pretty soon the crowd had filtered through and bets had been placed on each one of the humans locked up in their cells. His heart hammered as one by one the spectators left.
The Guardians came around an hour or so later and fed them. Jonathan tried to force the food down his throat, but his stomach kept churning.
“One more hour, pretties!” one of the Guardians said with a laugh. He stopped for a moment longer at Jonathan’s cell, making a kissy face. “You’re going last. Most of our customers really like you.”
Jonathan sat on his cot, thoughts moving in and out of his head like cobra strikes. What if I die? What if…this is the last hour of my life? God, aren’t you listening to me? He could hear some muffled cries from the cells next door and his heart began to ache. Was he a fool for even thinking there was a Savior? Each minute that ticked by filled him with dread until he was almost consumed by it.
“Alright, dogs! Time to fight!” The first cell was opened. A tall, skinny man was led out toward the door at the end of the hall. Jonathan felt the fear thick in the air, tasting the salt from his own sweat.
“Focus, Jonathan,” he whispered to himself, blocking out the feelings, sounds, and smells as best as he could. The first man didn’t last long. Soon the Guardians came back for the man in cell two. One by one they were led out, every few minutes another one being brought to face his death. A sense of peace washed over him after the fifth man. If he died he would be with his family again. He saw an image of his father smiling. Be brave, son, be brave.
Something inside him snapped. He couldn’t just lie down and die. What about the countless slaves, the children who were slaughtered? He couldn’t just give up like a worm and die. Determination made his jaw tighten, his fists curling. The Citizens led cell seven out. The more that left, the more resolve grew in him. He saw his brothers’ faces, heard his mother’s cries, and thought about the people in the warehouse that would always be captives.
Zahara. The thought of her brought a pang to his chest. I can’t lie down like a dead dog. I have to fight. Before he knew it, the Guardians were at his cell door. He heard the dull thud of footsteps coming down the hall and turned to see Moy approaching.
“Now for what the crowd has been waiting for.” Moy gave him a wicked grin and unlocked the cell. “I’m going to enjoy this far too much.” He grabbed Jonathan by the arm and led him down the hallway. The other two Citizens followed behind Moy, letting him have his moment. Jonathan stood before the door at the end of the hall, his body breaking out in a sheen of sweat.
“For old time’s sake.” Moy grabbed a spear that was leaning up against the wall. He thrust the weapon into Jonathan’s hand, laughing. “Say hi to Mommy for me.”
Jonathan curled his fingers around the object as he walked through the door. Warm air blasted against his skin for a moment, and the light was so bright he couldn’t see. When his eyes adjusted, he saw thousands of blue-skinned aliens sitting in the crowd. At that moment a cheer resounded around him. “RED!” It made him think of Zahara, and his fingers tightened even further around the spear. If he was going to die at least he wasn’t going down easily. The dust beneath his feet swirled into little puffs as he walked forward. An overly-large Citizen was standing across the arena, a smirk on his lips. The creature’s wings were tucked up against his back, his dark brown hair was pulled into a bun. Jonathan looked out at the eager faces of the crowd. There were high bets on him to last less than three minutes with this monster.
A smaller Citizen approached, a bell in his hand. He motioned for Jonathan and the giant Citizen to approach. Jonathan carefully moved forward, sweat dripping into his eyes. He swiped his hand across his forehead.
“Let me introduce to you our opponents! Our beloved MOG!” A cry resounded throughout the crowd, some of the creatures standing to their feet. “And our volunteer fighter today…” The announcer gave Jonathan a look up and down. “RED!” The crowd went wild with excitement as if Jonathan was a god. His mouth fell open slightly at their enthusiasm at his impending death. Despite all the stories he’d heard about these heartless creatures, it was hard to comprehend any living thing could be so cruel.
“At the sound of the bell you will begin your fight. But put on a good show, boys, or the crowd will be very disappointed. Good luck to you both.” The smaller Citizen winked at Jonathan and moved away—like his death was some sort of joke to these aliens. The announcer lifted his bell up in the air. He brought it down, and the arena exploded with applause. A snapping sound brought Jonathan’s eyes up. He saw the creature high above him, flapping his massive bat-like wings and blowing dust all around the arena like a tornado. He back pedaled, dodging as the big creature shot down lightning bolts—the heat of one of the strikes nearly nicking his heel. The crowd roared with applause as he used the spear to launch himself forward into a tumble. The brown-haired Citizen landed with a loud thud, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
They faced each other now, Mog grinning, Jonathan gripping his spear. I need to get closer to do any damage. Unless I throw it. But then what? As these thoughts passed through his mind, blue fire danced on Mog’s hand. The crowd leaned forward as the two of them stared each other down.
Mog smirked, puffing out his chest. “You run like the girls they throw in here.”
That’s it! The best way to get at this guy is his pride. If he could catch him in a moment of distraction he might just have a chance. But what to aim for? Arm? Wings? Heart? Do these things even have hearts? He didn’t know for sure, but he had to try.
Mog made a big show with his hands, lighting up his fingers with balls of blue flames, crackling lightning revolving around and around. Mog turned away from him for a split second. Strike now! His body moved on its own, as if someone else had taken hold of him. He tumbled forward, sweeping the spear at the creature’s feet.
Thud!
Dust swirled around the Citizen as he landed on the ground, his arms and wings flailing. The crowd didn’t even have time to react as he climbed on top
of the alien. Mog’s face drained of his boasting laughter. A flicker of fear swept the creature’s eyes. Jonathan’s heart pounded in his ears as he gripped the spear and drove it downward. He prayed he was hitting some sort of vital organ. Mog looked at the spear in his chest, then back at Jonathan.
A strangled gasp escaped the alien’s mouth, followed by a gurgle. His webbed fingers tried to grab at the spear, but the look of death was already on his face. Jonathan had seen enough of it over the years to know.
The balls of fire in Mog’s hand were still hovering in the air. He struggled beneath Jonathan’s weight, and let the fire fly from his fingers. Jonathan momentarily froze, only twisting away at the last possible moment. He heard rather than felt the blows that knocked him backward. His skin sizzled and popped, but for some reason he couldn’t feel any pain. The crowd was in an uproar as he struck the ground. Never had they seen a double death match before. Suddenly the screams began. Who is screaming? Jonathan’s hands went to his chest. Something was burning.
“I…WANT…HIM!” A woman’s voice suddenly rose above the noise. A flutter of wings was around his face, and cold hands pressed up against his chest. “He won. He won, and I will pay full price for him.”
Who is that? The pain was beginning to build now, but the woman’s cool hands had put out the flames that had engulfed him. A flutter of wings and voices filled his head. His eyes began to close. What is happening? Nothing was making sense anymore. Someone picked him up and was carrying him. His eyes rolled back as the pain from Mog’s fire spread like a disease.
“Hang on, Red, I’m bringing you home.” The female Citizen’s face looked down at him. It was the same one from his cell who wanted to buy him earlier. Suddenly everything went black.