We leave the gates and ride along the concrete path. As the realisation sets in, I get it and I drop my eyes to the floor of the cart. I follow a small crack from one rusty nail to the other. I shouldn’t celebrate this day or force others to enjoy it with me because just over the next hill is our destination—an entire city filled with the humans we are forced to serve.
This is not my purpose. My mind chides me again and I nod my head subtly. It might not be my purpose in the long run, but for now it’s all I have.
Chapter Two
Nine
The large, wrought iron gates of the town open and allow us through. The town is caged behind a fence for the same reason the Unfortunate camp is, to prevent us from running. Even the Fortunates live like prisoners, closed off from the outside world to keep what they believe they’re owed. I wonder how many Unfortunates have run? I wonder how many have successfully broken out of here and never looked back? We are situated—on two separate hills up high away from the thick forest to the left and the never ending abyss of sand and water to the right. They couldn’t have made it too far and the chance of them surviving on their own is slim to none, and yet, I still envy them. I wonder if they’ve slept under the stars at night or napped under the shade of a tree during the day... I’d die happy if I could do that at least once in my life.
The horses pull us through the very outskirts of Freeport (how ironic). I’ve never been to the town before—obviously—and strangely, I find the clacking of the horse shoes over the cobblestone pavement soothing. After a solid ten seconds in the town, I can no longer keep my eyes on the dull cart and I let them flick all over the place—over the impossibly tall skyscrapers in the distance and over the Fortunates in their fine suits and pretty gowns that spatter the walkway. They stare back at me, admiring me closely. It hits me then that I’ve never been in the presence of a Fortunate before and seeing them so close is absolutely terrifying. I quickly drop my gaze, remembering one of the many, many rules that govern how I live my life. Don’t make eye contact with a Fortunate unless they address you directly. I’m quite curious by nature—even more so now I’m looking at something other than a dull brick wall or scuffed floor boards. In class, they told us that curiosity is wrong and will get us killed. Personally, I don’t see the harm in it.
The air is warm, offering a very nice medium between hot and cold. I peer through large shop windows and see Unfortunates in their plain, worn tunics running stores—all with tired looks on their faces. I wonder if I’ll be sent to the town to work? I’d like that, to be out and about and in charge of something.
We pass through the almost rural outskirts quickly and the closer we draw to the large estates behind it, the more nervous the other girls seem. My stare flicks over each of them. Water wells in most of their eyes—some even sob—but I’m not going to show weakness. The Fortunates are a dominating bunch. They like fear—they crave it, probably live off it, and these girls will be chosen before I am.
The rude redhead seems to have the same idea as me. She’s hunched into herself, her arms still crossed over her chest. She remains firm, her eyes not betraying whatever emotion she feels inside.
The estates begin to loom over us and we travel closer to the one in the middle. Its large brick structure with thick, white columns that seem to bear the weight of the building stand out to me. Carved into the stone is a picture of the side of a lion’s face—Sario—one of the leading Fortunate families. I swallow hard. This family goes through slaves quicker than any other. Class taught me that the father lives in the city and his two sons run the household. I shudder at the thought of why they go through so many slaves. Flashes of girls screaming while the fat, greedy men beat and rape them assault my mind and I quickly push it from thought. I won’t let that be me.
Soyer stops the cart and leaps off the top, hitting the ground with a thud. He slowly turns toward us, his lips curling into a wide, evil grin as his creepy, brown irises zero in on us. “Get out and line up at the door.”
I’m first to exit the cart and I force my chin up on a slightly proud angle. It’s a cover to trick them. Deep down, I fight the urge to cower in the corner of the cart and hide from everything. On the other side of those large, wooden doors our selection is waiting, our future.
I trail up the dark, square tiles and walk up the three wide steps. Every time my foot connects with the concrete step, my heart thuds. Boom. Boom. Boom. I stop in front of the doors. I’m so close I can smell the lacquer. I hold my breath, but the smell forces its way through my nostrils and assaults my senses. I hope I get assigned anywhere but this house. My eyes stay locked on the head of the black lion carved flawlessly into the wood. It quickly reminds me who I am and who these people are. Predators and prey…