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The only acknowledgement I received was a tip of his head, before he turned and disappeared into the dirty shadows of the alley. I took a deep breath, looking around to make sure no one was watching my descent, and willingly stepped into the darkness.
My fall from grace, if you will, had been several months ago now. I was initiated into the brotherhood without much fanfare, or issues. Luke, my old buddy from football, had made sure my transition into the black market was seamless.
How easily one could go from a law-abiding citizen to a man who operated under the shadow of the moon still stunned me. I couldn’t afford to be picky.
Not when they sliced my hand open with the rusted blade – a blood oath that made me a Kingsnake until my death.
Not when the resident artist tattooed the coiled Kingsnake across my heart.
Not even on the first night, watching the girl with sad eyes lie down on the bed in front of me. And especially not now, with Avery and Ella depending on me for everything.
The work wasn’t hard, per se. We “operated” out of an abandoned motel on the edge of town. The electricity was long gone, and the key cards didn’t work for shit.
But we had flashlights, and the old locks still worked just fine.
The remnants of visitors long gone still lingered – suitcases hastily tossed to one side, clothes scattered in various corners. For a while, after everyone realized the world was going to shit, the rich still tried to maintain a normal life.
They pretended to be happy, taking their families on vacation and acting like their useless titles weren’t on the line.
CEO. Regional Director. President of Finances. They ignored food shortages, and the growing numbers of homeless on the street. But eventually the homeless grew desperate, the rich got mugged – or worse – and the vacations stopped.
We functioned much like a normal business would, before the Collapse. A normal, illicit business. There were about twenty-five or so Kingsnakes, an ever-fluctuating number. New guys would join us, only to disappear a week later.
We didn’t ask where they went. We didn’t need to.
Once you were in, you were in for life. Twenty-five guys, about as many girls, and two guns that didn’t have bullets. No one could tell me the last time the guns had bullets in them. But the girls believed they had bullets, and that was what mattered.
I wasn’t responsible for bringing the women in, thank God. I don’t think I could’ve stomached that – snatching girls only a few years older than Ella from their homes and families, impervious to their cries. No, I was only responsible for the second half of the equation – if you could call it that. Young and hopefully fertile, I was on the “breeding line.”
Once every two days, I would don my mask, and meet my young woman of the month in her room. By the time they got to the rooms, they were usually resigned to their fates.
Quiet, reserved. Willing, more often than not. Because what choice did they have? But still, it turned my stomach. I wanted to be better – better than my so-called “brothers” who were grateful just for a hole to shove their dicks into.
That kind of transaction had never sat well with me, even before the Collapse. I tried to separate what I was doing –assault– from what I needed to do –feed my family.
But the first night I was supposed to do my “job,” I couldn’t. I froze, imagining the girl’s family. Her parents, waiting for her to come home. The future she should’ve had, away from the motel. And that very same night I made a decision. I wouldn’t screw the girls.
Each month I would choose the girls I knew would keep my secret – or needed a break from one of the rougher brothers.
We would fake it the best we could, but it was still dangerous. If the other brothers found out I wasn’t living up to the expectations of a fertile Kingsnake, it would mean certain trouble for me and my family.
Going against the blood oath meant death for me, and an even worse fate for my sisters. As for the girls… they knew the risk they were taking by sitting a month out.
Once I could trust them, I offered them some of my cut, allowing them to stockpile a small reserve of supplies in case they were able to escape. But I had to be careful. One slip of the tongue, and I was done for.
I couldn’t let that happen, even if it meant my hands were a little less dirty of the sins committed here.
Like it made a difference. Each night I left home – pressing a kiss to my innocent sisters’ foreheads, locking them safely behind the door – to come out to the motel, where a piece of my soul chipped away one evening at a time.
Maybe I wasn’t committing such transgressions myself, but I was still standing by, allowing them to happen. A willing bystander. How long could I maintain this life before there was nothing left of me but bones cloaked in an artificial body?
But the payments,I thought. Because the payments were what kept me going. Hell, I was sure it kept most of the women going as well – a roof over their heads.
The Kingsnakes were, above all else, a brotherhood. And that meant we shared in the wealth.
A baby sold to a rich, aching woman meant food and supplies for all of us, divided up as equally as we could. It didn’t matter who produced the babies, as long as we were all doing our part.
We knew who the others were, as much as we tried to ignore it.
