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“Sometimes you gotta know when to cut and run.” He gives me a side glance, dark eyes probing for something I’m not sure I want to reveal.
“Guess so.” I let that hang in the air as we keep at it, the rhythm of labor a backdrop to our exchange.
“Isaiah, Luka,” Markus’s voice breaks in, businesslike as always. “Finish up here, then head to the slaughterhouse. We got a schedule to keep.”
“Right,” I grunt, and we wrap up the job, leaving the stall cleaner than it’s probably been in weeks.
We make our way to where death hangs thick over steel and concrete, the air heavy with its promise. I can smell the blood on the air even from here, and the sound of an animal dying pierces the air.
That’s when we see her–a woman, more a shadow of fear wrapped in flesh, bound and gagged, shuffled along the rugged coast by two brutes who could be mistaken for the livestock they herd.
What the fuck?
Not going into the slaughterhouse…but beyond it. I don’t think we were supposed to see this, and it turns my damn stomach.
“Shit,” Isaiah breathes out, his body tensing up like he’s about to jump in and play hero.
“Easy,” I put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing just enough to ground him. “This island’s full of sharks. You swim at them, you’re just blood in the water.”
“Can’t just stand here,” he hisses, eyes locked on the woman’s stumbling form.
“Look at me,” I say, forcing his gaze away from the scene. “Survival first. We can’t help anyone if we’re dead or worse.”
He clenches his jaw, fists balling up, but he nods, the fight draining out for now. We watch in silence as they disappear around a bend, the image seared into the space behind my eyelids.
“Come on,” I say after a moment, pulling Isaiah back to the task at hand. “Work to do.”
We walk into the slaughterhouse, the stench of blood a stark reminder that beasts aren’t the only ones led to the kill floor on this godforsaken rock. Blood stains the floor, fresh meat hanging in a freezer off to our right.
“This is the slaughterhouse,” Markus says. “You’ll get a shift here once a week because our people need to eat—and I want you to remember that if you get softhearted toward the animals. I know you city folk tend not to understand that killing is necessary…”
Isaiah is still shocked by the sight of the tied up girl, so I cover for him, clearing my throat. “I’ve killed before,” I mutter.
Markus huffs out a laugh. “You Pacific City psychos…yeah, sure. I believe it. So you know how to do it quick, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Wait a second,” Isaiah blurts out.
I go still, Markus turning his gaze on the ex-Fate.
“Who…who was that back there?” Isaiah mutters.
“Who are you talking about?”
“That girl back there, the one who was tied up,” Isaiah starts.
But Markus is at his throat before he can finish his sentence, stepping closer with a snarl.
“Look, kid,” Markus says. “You’re not the first guy to roll up here with questions, and you won’t be the last…but I suggest you don’t ask, got it?”
Isaiah grits his teeth. “Got it.”
“Good.” Markus steps back. “Now…let me put you boys to work.”
We spend the rest of the day elbow-deep in blood and guts, learning the ins and outs of how to cleanly slaughter animals for food. The sounds are gruesome, the smell overpowering, but I keep my focus sharp as I work alongside Isaiah. Markus is a tough taskmaster, not one to tolerate mistakes or hesitations.
As we finish up our shift at the slaughterhouse, the sun dips low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the compound. We clean up as best we can before trudging back to our cramped quarters for a meager dinner. Isaiah is unusually quiet, his mind clearly still preoccupied with what we saw earlier.
