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Not like this.
My mind snapped back to the present as I plodded through ankle-deep pads of blue-green moss that smelled like onions when I stepped on them. The air was thick and humid, sticking to my skin like a second layer. Strange birdlike creatures chirped in a discordant melody from the towering, twisted trees above. The heat of the jungle all around made me sweat through my thin shift. The air was saturated with the damp odor of the strange foliage. My shoes, given to me by the slavers, were thin as well, with fabric uppers and soles so flimsy that even in this weird, slightly reduced gravity, my sore feet felt every stone.
The forest was one towering, stinking, hostile mess, complete with giant predators who had tried to ambush the caravan twice already. Just then, a predator lunged from the foliage, aiming for a guard. Acting on instinct, I hurled a rock at it, distracting it long enough for the guard to strike it down. Three of the guards had died so far defending the caravan. Even the alien plants were unfriendly.Yeah. That’s one way of putting it.
Overhead, the alien sun burned blue-white, casting sharp-edged shadows wherever it could reach the jungle floor. Insects droned in an alien cacophony among the trees. It was two of dozens of reminders that not only was I captive, they had brought me to a world that was terrifyingly far from Earth. Even the air didn’t smell right. It had a slightly metallic scent and taste.
This was an alien world of dense wilderness and looming mountains, with four moons that glided across the sky. Imposing blue-skinned beings with four arms and prominent black horns ruled it.
I scratched the spot that still itched fiercely at the back of my neck. It contained an adaptor device that let us breathe the air. Boran had zapped me on that spot once. The device had shut off for a few seconds, leaving me wheezing in agony as the alien air tore at my lungs. After that, I had done everything I could to play the perfect prisoner whenever he was within arm’s reach.
There were about two dozen other women with me, each one kidnapped from Earth. Most were civilians with hardly any fight left in them now—they were too hungry, thirsty, battered, and terrified. A few were injured and limped along as best they could with the silent help of the others. Even the few of us who weren’t as cowed wouldn’t dare break pace as we plodded along. We had already seen what would happen if we fell behind or tried to run.
I set my jaw, remembering the shaky blonde woman who had bolted during one of the caravan’s first meal stops after the slavers hustled us out of their complex.
Four days ago?
Five?
Lack of sleep and proper food since was making my memory fuzzy.
I couldn’t remember the exact timing, but my mind vividly kept everything else about that woman’s death, only that she had taken her chance to escape once the dog riders and the aliens were distracted by eating their meals of dried meat. Even with her body exhausted by half a day’s forced march, the blonde had gotten up the strength and will to run for it, straight into the thick underbrush that rose on either side of the muddy trail.
I remembered her running straight toward a broad-leaved bush twice her height, a sturdy thing crowned with spiky purple tendrils that had smelled like orange sherbet. It had looked like an excellent cover from the aliens’ blasters. I had caught myself feeling a moment’s hope for her.
I winced, recalling the moment the tendrils had whipped down, fast as scorpion tails, toward her. She’d only had time for one scream. Then what it left of her had been soaking into the soil at the carnivorous plant’s base. Her scream still echoed in my nightmares, a chilling reminder of the jungle’s merciless nature. The fucking thing had turned her into fertilizer.
After that, nobody had tried to run. Not one of us. The jungle was more effective than any cage or bomb collar or threat of death or torture could ever have been, a prison of fear and foliage.
At the head of the caravan, riding their own matched pair of riding dogs, were the two smug leaders of the slavers—Rannix and Selex. Rannix was the shorter of the two and did most of the talking. He had polished black horns set with silvery metal and a shaved head with a skullcap covered with circuitry and blinking lights. Selex was taller and skinny compared to his hulking guards. He had a belt loaded with tools that were unfamiliar to me and a skullcap similar to Rannix’s and sanded-down horns.
I made a point of listening in on the aliens’ conversations whenever they were within earshot, but they weren’t now. Missing out on what they were saying frustrated me. Knowledge was power, and they starved me of it.
Two ranks of aliens rode on either side of us, all male, all riding those huge, shaggy creatures. They had all looked the same to me at first. Now I was telling them apart—their hair, skin, and eyes varied in tone and coloring, and most had scars, missing fingers, or even missing arms. Their mounts, which also carried the supplies, looked a little like gigantic Irish wolfhounds but broader, with teeth like sharks and six legs.
The aliens all had four arms, humanlike features, blue skin, powerful builds, and sharp teeth. They had pointed ears and black horns sprouting from their heads. Boran, who led the guards, was especially big, but they were all huge compared to us, maybe seven feet tall if not more. Every one of them could have overpowered us with ease, but they didn’t have to. Between the pain sticks and the danger of the jungle all around, none of us was going anywhere anymore.
The earring-like device that was clipped to my earlobe back at the slavers’ compound allowed me to hear their muttered conversations. Similar to the adaptors, they provided us with translators as soon as we woke up, so the aliens didn’t have to speak any Earthling languages. Their disdain for us was as clear to me now as their intentions.
“Can’t we pass a few of these Earthlings around at the next meal stop?” one of the nearby guards asked Boran. “I haven’t had a female in ten sun cycles.”
I tensed despite myself, remembering the whispers the other prisoners had passed around about that subject. Apparently the aliens had a hard shell on the tip of their cock, and being fucked by one of them would do major damage to us if it didn’t leave us bleeding to death. If I saw one of them raping a prisoner, I would end up dying trying to save her from him. I couldn’t stand for any of us suffering a death like that.
Boran’s deep voice broke in. “The Gladiators won’t pay for damaged goods.”
I felt bile creep up the back of my throat.God, I need to rid the universe of these scumbags.
“Fuckers,” a voice muttered softly behind me—Zahira, one of the unbroken few, and the closest thing I had to a friend in this place. Like me, she was reaching the end of her restraint. Unlike me, she didn’t have years of military discipline to help her keep herself in check.
“Shhh,” I hissed to her, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. “I know. Just hang on.”
“But for how long?”
I knew little about Zahira, a fact that weighed on me more than I cared to admit. The only time we could talk was during the meal breaks, and even then we were constantly being listened to by our captors. We had only spoken about the most necessary things, and things the aliens wouldn’t care about—where we were from, what we did for a living, what the hell was actually going on. Out of all the prisoners, Zahira was the only one I felt I could truly trust.
Zahira was a marketing executive from New York. She had come from the foster care system, same as me, with no knowledge of who her family was. Her hair was curly and black, her skin several shades darker than mine, her face small and round with generous features. Her eyes were nearly the same shade as her skin, smoldering with a touch of mischief, a glimmer of resilience in this hopeless place.
I hadn’t revealed my past occupation to her yet, only telling her they had abducted me nearly a week ago. But every time we spoke, the weight of my secret career felt heavier, begging to be exposed. The truth simmered beneath the surface, a concealed weapon in this alien world. I kept my retirement from Special Forces a secret—no one knowing about my military training was one of the few advantages I had in this situation. A part of me wrestled with the decision, knowing that revealing my background could either ignite a spark of rebellion or put us all in mortal danger. The balance between trust and strategy was a delicate one.
