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By the time I made it to the end, my voice burned against my throat and my eyes stung. I kept my head down, looking at the words that had unraveled the fragile grip I’d had on my emotions, on my fear. I bit my lip because I was ashamed for her to see me cry.
“Zed,” she said softly.
I swallowed hard and nodded, but did not look up.
“I will help you get them back.”
The words were said quietly, like a prayer. I didn’t dare look up because I knew if I did I would cry like a baby, and I would never be able to look her in the eye again. So I just nodded, closed the book softly, briefly placed a hand on the cover, and walked out of the room.
Ten
Bravo
Matri woke me just after dusk. Her face leaned close to mine and her foul breath invaded my nostrils. I tried to shy away, but in the small bunk there was nowhere to hide from the stench of unwashed body and rotten teeth.
“Wake the children,” she said. “It’s time to work.”
I nodded, as much to end the conversation as to comply. Rising as quickly as I could in the cold, I went from bunk to bunk, waking the children. Mica gave me the most problem, but he wasn’t yet used to the reverse schedule kept in the camp. In the Badlands, we kept to a typical human schedule—rising early and sleeping not long after dark. But here, we existed at the whims of the vampires, which meant we’d be up all night and expected to grab as much sleep as we could during the day.
Once the youngs were lined up, Matri took over. She paced in front of them like a general inspecting his troops. “Mica will be with me today. The rest of you will be on garden and KP duty.”
I raised a hand to ask where she was taking Mica, but she shot me a warning look.
“Stick to your assigned areas. Do not leave unless Bravo, a guard, or I give you permission. You will be given scheduled bathroom breaks. Do not ask to go at any other time. What’s the final rule, children?”
All the children, except Mica, who was too new, spoke in unison: “Never let the guards see your fear.”
My stomach dropped. Mica’s eyes widened. I shook my head, hoping to reassure him.
Matri held up a hand. “Mica, do you understand the rules?” She cocked a brow and held a finger to her ear. Something about her tone and mannerisms made me wonder if she’d been a teacher before the war.
“Yes, Matri,” Mica whispered.
She smiled. “Very good, my dear. Listen to me and you will adjust to life here. Ignore me and you will find this place very inhospitable, indeed.” She looked at me, as if to let me know that applied to me, as well.
I wasn’t sure how anyone could ever adjust to being imprisoned. I already felt like a caged animal, ready to claw my skin off.
Matri left the children and pulled me aside. “There is a small plot of land behind the intake building. Put half of them to work harvesting potatoes. The other half will be in the kitchens, scrubbing and cooking. There’s a vampire there named Magda who will oversee them. Do whatever she says.”
* * *
Magda turned out to be about as charming as one would expect. She wore the trademark black and red uniform of a Troika guard and ran the kitchen like a colonel. Huge pots of potatoes boiled over large fires. Some of the children were in charge of stirring the cauldrons using huge paddles. The rest were stationed at massive sinks, where they scrubbed potatoes nonstop.
“It’s potato day, huh?” I said, trying to make conversation.
Her eyes narrowed, as if she suspected I was making fun of her. “Every day is potato day.” The words were delivered in a clipped Slavic accent.
“How do the workers stay strong if they only eat potatoes?”
Magda’s right eyelid twitched. I took a step back. “I’ll just go see how the gardeners are doing.”
As I walked away, she called out, “Train delivers monthly delivery of swine. Miners get meat rations once a week, everyone else eats protein every two weeks. Next train is expected in two days. Until then, potatoes.”
I looked over my shoulder. “If you need me I’ll be in the garden.”
The air was cold outside—a relief after the kitchen’s sweltering heat. But my relief was short-lived because the air was thick with ash, and the garden looked more like a graveyard than the source of nourishment.
Ten children spread out over the rows of low plants. Any green in the plants’ leaves was obscured by a generous coating of gray. Each child carried a burlap sack across their thin shoulders. As they moved down the rows, they filled the sacks with potatoes that were barely larger than pebbles. Once their bags were full, runners would take the sacks back to the kitchen, and new sacks were brought to the gatherers.
