threatened me into submission, come to the bed and made my face bloody because of my outburst, but there was no retribution.
Maybe it was just a ruse to make me feel comfortable with him, or maybe he really had no ill will toward me. Maybe he was different from the others. Or maybe he wasn’t. “I have to protect my sister…and I will.”
6
Red Snow
He came for me the following morning, but he didn’t rush me to get dressed. He let the door creak wide open so the light could reach up the floorboards into the small cabin, but he stayed outside, waiting for me on the porch.
I pulled up on my boots and jacket and walked out.
He stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking in the direction of the clearing, two wisps of smoke coming from his hood.
I walked with him.
He was slightly in front of me, never walking directly beside me, like he needed to lead me in the right direction, when I’d taken this walk enough times to know the way. “Today is the Red Snow.”
I stopped in my tracks, my foot stopping in a puddle of melting snow. It’d been sunny for the past week, so the warmth of the rays had eaten away at the piles of powder. I suspected more snow was on the way, that it would pile high with the next storm.
He must have realized I’d stopped walking because he turned around to look at me. “It’s not you.”
I’d been on my best behavior since I’d been punched in the face, because I had bigger objectives than getting beaten. The meals were good and the lack of confrontation comforting. I worked hard because I wanted them to forget about my existence altogether. Bethany and I had short conversations at lunch, and I learned as much information as possible about this horrific reality. “You know who it is?”
He nodded.
It didn’t matter who the victim was, whether she was a snitch, whether she would stab me in the back at the first opportunity; she was a person who deserved to be outside this camp. The knowledge made me breathe so hard that my lungs burned with the cold and my eyes watered, only to dry out instantly because the air took the moist film away. “How can you live with yourself?”
“I have nothing to do with it.”
I marched toward him. “But you can stop it.”
“I can’t stop anything, even if I wanted to. It was necessary, because without an incentive to work, no one did their jobs well. Now, they all work like their lives depend on it—which is what we want.”
My temper flared, and without thinking, I shoved him hard in the chest.
He took a step back, anticipating my attack, and he grabbed me by both wrists and stopped the momentum, pushing me back slightly over a puddle in the dirt. His hands squeezed me tightly, digging through the material of the jacket and right into my flesh.
I didn’t care about getting a terrible lunch and dinner, about getting struck in the face. This was wrong, and while my actions wouldn’t stop what was about to happen, I had to do something, had to let all this pain out in some way. My eyes watered again, disturbed when I hadn’t even seen it happen yet with my own eyes.
He pushed my wrists to my sides before he released me. After a long stare, he turned around and walked forward again, exposing his back to me like he wasn’t concerned that I would slam my fist right into his back.
I watched him walk away, tears in my eyes, shocked that his fingers hadn’t gripped my throat and choked me.
After a few more steps, he stopped and turned back to me slightly. “The first time is the worst. But you’ll feel numb for the others.”
They waited until the end of the workday.
I noticed my lunch was the same as everyone else’s, as if my guard hadn’t reported my bad behavior. But I couldn’t appreciate the gesture because I was sick to my stomach, terrified of what was coming.
When the sun was nearly gone, torches along the perimeter were lit, like it was a ceremony. The flames blanketed everyone’s faces in the dark. Most of the women looked indifferent, like they really were used to this, like they would go back to their cabins as if nothing had happened. Others looked afraid—like they might be the next victim.