Ink War

Work In Progress (Background Piece.)

Catherine’s mother hurried her into the kitchen cabinet under the leaking sink.

Her mother swallowed the hard lump in her throat and uttered a quick and panicked command, “Stay here.”

The cabinet door shut and she heard hurried footsteps toward the living quarter.

The cabinet was black as pitch and every few seconds freezing sulfur water would drip onto her shoulder.

A shout resounded from the commune hall, “By order of the State, open your door!”

She could hear her father’s heavy practiced steps toward the apartment entrance.

Something started to crawl on her right hand and with her left she confirmed it was a rat. She decided to catch it, her mother would no doubt praise her for the addition to the nightly meal.

Catherine could not distinguish what her father and the state enforcer were speaking about, but she could discern the pompousness attitude held by the enforcer.

The rat shuffled in her hand and made an attempt to bite her fingers, she restrained its head by placing some force on the creature’s throat. The creature squirmed heavily in her hand and she could almost giggle at the sensation she felt on her palm.

When the rat ceased its squirming she released her grip on its throat. She was already feeling the pangs of hunger, but kept herself occupied; the rat would have to be skinned and cleaned.

From the door the enforcer grew impatient, “You think you can fool the State! We know everything!” She heard something slam to the ground three pair of hefty footsteps march in. “We will take this place apart until we find her, citizen, and once we do, you’ll be ‘volunteering’ to work with R&D.”

Her eyes widened as realization dawned upon her: just as they had taken her brother, they meant to take her. She disregarded the rat and crawled deeper into the darkness of the cabinet. She could hear the enforcers upturning their small living room. She could hear her mother pleading and the sudden sounds of a struggle. She huddled in the corner of the cabinet with her hands wrapped around her knees, the rat’s blood smeared and felt sticky  between her fingers and her knees.

“You penniless cunt!” The pompous enforcer seethed.

Her mother screamed and a second later she heard the glass table in the living room shatter.

Catherine heard a scoff, “Thinking you could touch me; you fuckers had better know your place.” She heard her mother groan in pain and the man laugh, “You want some more, eh? You’re a glutton for punishment it seems.”

Footsteps began toward the kitchen.

“What the hell’s that smell?” The enforcer, a female, in the kitchen asked with plain disgust.

“Who knows, Hammel, we are in the slums after all.” The pompous man stated; she could still hear her mother groaning; she couldn’t tell where her father was.

“Curtiz has a point, there is no telling.” Came another male voice.

Catherine gulped and closed her eyes, and the enforcer opened the cabinet and light flooded in. she stilled her breathing and prayed to her patron god.

“Found her!” The enforcer, Hammel, called out. The female enforcer stooped down into the cabinet, she was a tanned woman in the standard padded enforcer jumpsuit with only a few black strands of hair out of place from her navy blue beret.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way little girl, but you are coming with us.” Hammel said calmly.

Catherine immediately screamed and began an attempt to fend off the enforcers offending hand. She hammered into the enforcer’s outstretched padded arm to no avail. Hammel took hold of Catherine’s forearm with great strength.

Catherine could feel that she was being dragged away from her corner and grabbed at anything she could latch herself onto.

She heard the unidentified enforcer yell, “Hammel, get clear, get clear!”

Hammel released her vice-like grasp and pulled her hand back, “Do it.”

There was a mighty impact and the cabinet wall faltered with a horrid crack, splinters peppered her arms and face and she cried out in terror.

The wall took another hit and the cabinet corner faltered completely.

Through the broken and splintered wood the enforcer stomped the weakened and crushed wood into the cabinet with his boot. He quickly retracted his foot and pointed his rifle in at her.

“Get out of there now!” The enforcer threatened with his hand on the trigger.

Catherine couldn’t breathe, terror ran through her, but she knew one thing for sure: She didn’t want to die. In a hurried manner and with shaky movements she attempted to do as ordered. One she was out far enough the other enforcers Curtiz and Hammel pulled her out with violent efficiency.

For a moment she could see the damage done to her apartment, and worse off, the conditions of her parents. Her mother laid a beaten and bloodied moaning pile on the floor with shards of glass stuck in her face and large chunks of solid glass digging into her side. Her face was already starting to swell where the enforcer had stomped on her.

Her father was unconscious by the door, hands cuffed to his feet and a broken nose.

Catherine didn’t know what to do, the enforcer kept the gun upon her and Hammel began cuffing her hands and feet. The restraints were heavy and cold on her skin. The metal dug into her ankles and wrists.

Once the cuffs were on her Hammel and Curtiz went to uncuff and grab her father, the enforcer with the gun ordered her to begin walking out of the complex. The chain around her feet made this a difficult task and when it seemed Catherine was taking too long the man would strike her with the butt of the weapon and threaten that she’d best hurry up and that his trigger finger was itching.

She made her way down the hall to the stairwell and forbidden from grabbing the walls or the railing on the staircase; all the while, the enforcer still threatened her about her pace.

She made her way outside of the complex, tired and starting to bruise from the enforcer’s beatings. There was a troop transport waiting outside and a group of shackled prisoners being herded like sheep into the transport by ten more enforcers.

 The enforcer behind her holding the gun shoved her violently into the line. They had conscripted her. Her life was no longer her own.

***

“State your name, age, and identification number, then move to your designated housing area.” The portly, brown haired enforcer said from behind the supply counter.

Catherine had been informed that they, the collective group of prisoners, would be given their apportioned weekly supplies, when her turn came up she gulped and did as those before her, “Catherine Johnson, age thirteen, ID- 621-595-23-3084.”

“Good, make this last you a week.” The enforcer handed her a small sack filled with two pairs of clothes, a small sliver of soap, and a belt. She quickly took the bundle and followed after the person before her: James Shifren, age fifteen, ID-377-351-42-8192.

Catherine was designated in D block, housing unit 1437.

She stared in amazement at the size of the block; the facility was seven stories tall, with five large towers, four at each corner with teams of snipers visible and one tower in the middle. There was a green and gold banner displaying the letter ‘D’ hanging from the middle tower.

While she was stopped an enforcer came up behind her and struck her with the butt of his rifle, “Keep moving.” he spat.

She fell to the ground and made a face.

“On your feet.” The enforcer yanked her up at the elbow and shoved her forward again.

This time she managed to stay on her feet and hurried forward to D block.

***

Catherine’s housing unit was a one bedroom apartment with seven cots, no bathroom, and no windows. The only space she was allotted for personal items was a small footlocker under her cot. The fluorescent lighting in the room assailed her eyes and made her feel sick; Though she considered that she hadn’t eaten in two days and she’d been hit more times than she could account for. The cuts and bruises on her legs were a dark purple and swollen.

There was only one cot left open when she entered, the spot closest to the door. She took it and wrapped her hands around her knees again. It was of no comfort and her arms and legs ached because of the pose, but she held it anyway.

There was silence in the housing unit.

Finally, after a great while, James Shifren, the muscled, blonde haired, blue eyed boy from earlier made his way toward the door.

He turned around to face them all and stated, “You’ve all been conscripted; I’ve been here for two years, and I am this group’s leader. We will fight and we will try to stay alive together. You will not get through this unscathed, you will be beaten and you will feel it. You will be required to participate in every activity, even after a beating; if you do not participate in an activity you will be beaten. If you fail in an activity you will go hungry and will be beaten. Failure is not an option, giving up is not an option. If you give up you will die. The training will begin tomorrow. Now, let’s go get tonight’s rations.”