The Rebellious Slave Ch. 01

"Get off me!"

"No."

"I said get off me!"

"No."

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

Kara screamed and struggled for a good two minutes before the last vestiges of her hope finally left her. Exhausted and in anguish, she collapsed in on herself, gasping for air as the crickets continued their song. For a brief moment, a cloud blew across the moon and the only discernible details in the blackness were the smell of John's cigarette and the little orange glow at the tip. When it passed and light returned to the clearing, Kara could see his shadow against the grass.

"You done yet?"

"Go fuck yourself!"

"I'm not playing around, girl. Answer me."

"Alright, alright, you got me," Kara admitted, her voice still hoarse from screaming. "But no one else knows that. Not yet."

"Are you trying to bribe me?" John asked, turning to face her, a slight smile on his lips.

"I have friends across the border—"

"Of course you do."

"—and I swear, if you let me go, I can make it worth your while."

"I very much doubt that."

"Please."

"Look, I have a family to feed and I like this job," John replied, standing to his feet and then throwing Kara over his shoulder. "If you had anything of value on you, then maybe. But do you really think I'll let you go on the off chance you'll be able to pay me someday?"

"No..." Kara sighed. "I suppose not."

"Good girl."

There were two motorcycles hidden in the bushes and after carefully setting Kara onto his lap, John revved his up and took off into the woods with Calvin following close behind them. It was quiet as they rode, and Kara allowed herself to rest her head on her captor's shoulder, far too exhausted now to wonder about how pathetic that made her. Trees rushed past them in a dark, hypnotic blur and every so often, the canopy would open up to reveal a dark sky dotted with infinite stars. When they finally made it into camp, Kara's sore body was starting to feel just a little bit better, but by then the adrenaline of the chase had also worn off, making her too dejected to care.

The hunters' camp consisted of six or so tents that had been set up in a small clearing, surrounded on all sides by dense underbrush. It was well-hidden and clearly designed for mobility. As the hunters swept the forest for runners—systematically searching each acre, then doubling back for the stragglers—they'd need to be able to pack up and then set up camp quickly, over and over again. The tents were automated and could be taken down with the press of a button, while the fire at the center of the camp could be extinguished at a moment's notice with a bucket of smothering powder. But Kara's eyes were almost immediately drawn to a large, off-road pickup truck with the words "Captly, Inc." painted across the side in bulky, black lettering. In the back were two cramped metal cages, filled to bursting with new captives who had all been shackled and gagged.

As soon as she saw them, Kara felt herself cringe, but she honestly couldn't help it. As the motorcycle came to a stop and she was shoved onto the ground, she could feel a new kind of fear begin to creep up on her. It was bad enough being caged like an animal, but to be packed in together like that? So tightly that the prisoners were all forced to stand, without any space to slouch, let alone sit? Kara didn't think she'd be able to handle something like that. At least, not for long.

"You see those god-awful cages, sweetheart?" Calvin hissed—as if to confirm her worst fears—and he looked smugly toward her. "That's where you're going."

"You must be joking," Kara whispered. "There's...there's no room."

"Or you can sleep with me tonight," John offered, and horrified by the mere suggestion, Kara drew back. "Oh, well. Then I guess we'll have to make you fit, won't we?"

"You guys got another one?" Out of the darkness, another hunter approached, this one a woman with long, black braids and a constellation's worth of stars tattooed onto her cheek. "Nice! She doesn't look half bad at all. You might be able to pull twenty grand out of her."

"Ah, Karen. Anyone else still out?"

"A few guys, yeah..." Karen told him with a shrug. "They should be back within the hour, though."

"And you've still got her pack, right Calvin?" John asked, and he nodded. "Good. I'll go ahead and log this one. If Henry and Amy still aren't back by then, I'll see about going out again and lending them a hand. I've already saved one of your asses tonight." Then John eyed Calvin meaningfully.

"I basically had her trapped!" Calvin spat back. "I would have been fine without you!"

"Calvin got run off by a sarcastic little girl with an unloaded pistol," John grinned, turning toward Karen. "Poor guy."

"Ha! Really?"

"How was I supposed to know it wasn't loaded!?" Calvin cried, exasperated. "Well?"

"Because if it had been, you'd be dead," John told him and then, turning to Kara, he added: "Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

Kara paused, but it was the honest truth. "Yes. Definitely."

At that, Calvin opened his mouth to argue, but couldn't seem to find a fitting counter and begrudgingly crossed his arms over his chest instead.

"Oh, don't be such a sourpuss," John laughed, gesturing toward her pack. "Can you toss it over here?"

Still pouting, Calvin threw the pack over to John. He caught it mid-air and then stepped over to Kara, crouching down so that the two of them were at eye level. Kara had always been told that her gorgeous, deep blue eyes were her most attractive feature. As John grabbed her by the hair, they caught the light and he paused a moment, entranced.

"You have a name, sweetheart?"

Kara shook her head. "No, I don't."

"Is that so?"

Unsatisfied, John pushed her headfirst into the dirt and opened her pack. Kara could hear him undo the drawstring, then reach inside and shuffle through her belongings. There was a stuffed rabbit her mother had bought her as young child, which she still carried around for good luck, and a now empty flask that had once been filled with blessed, glorious wine. For reasons she still didn't understand, Kara had also brought her collection of propaganda posters with her in a small, waterproof baggie. But John would mostly find survival gear: things like rope, matches, a portable radio, a few stale biscuits, and her last can of soup. There was nothing too terribly interesting in all that, but if he felt along the lining of the pack and found the hidden seam...

"Well, look what I've found? A little pouch. Who wants to bet I'll also find some ID?"

Dammit, Kara thought, not daring to say it out loud and give herself away. Goddammit!

At one point, she'd debated throwing out her ID card, but figured she'd need it to prove her identity at the border and get into Nardia, one of the neighboring countries that had been offering asylum to Callihistra's citizens. Carrying it had been a risk, but a risk she'd been willing to take for the sake of sanctuary. Now, Kara watched with growing discomfort as John pulled out her wallet and then her ID, holding it up to the light in order to get a better look.

"Kara Chrystein," he mused, tasting the words on his lips. "Yes, I like it. You can keep it." And with one final shove, he left her lying there.

*******

Despite all the threats to "make her fit," John and Calvin had to fetch a third collapsible cage especially for their new acquisition. There simply wasn't room for her anywhere else. Kara thought herself lucky at first, but as the night grew darker and darker still, even that small mercy became an ordeal. A horrid wind began to blow through camp and while the other inmates were able to stay warm by bundling together, she was on her own. The dry air froze Kara right down to the bone and after a while, she could no longer feel her face or stop herself from shaking. She buried her head in her jacket and tried to brace herself against the wind, but with her wrists shackled above her head and her mouth gagged, it was impossible to get comfortable. Huddled against the bars of her cage, Kara spent the night praying that the journey to an outlet wouldn't always be so unbearable, but the gods almost certainly had their hands full and she wasn't too terribly optimistic.

Daylight had just begun to pierce through the canopy when the Captly, Inc. pickup truck finally began to move out of camp and back toward the outskirts of the Middle River Forest. The early morning birds called out noisily through the trees, whose orange-red leaves glistened with dew. It would have been a beautiful sight, if the view hadn't been bordered on either side by metal bars, a constant reminder of the troubling weeks ahead. For Kara, that was the most distressing thing about the whole trip, though it was difficult in other ways, too. The drive was rough from the start and she spent the first half of their little expedition being thrown around her cage like a rag doll. To get to the nearest road, the pickup truck had to make its way through dangerously steep ditches, across rocky streams, and occasionally, if the trees got too dense, had to find another way around. But after several hours, they finally made it to a paved military thoroughfare and picked up speed. The rest of the ride was smooth and as the ensuing wind whistled through the bars of her cage, Kara could feel her cheeks grow cold and then numb.

It only took them nine hours in total to make it out of the Middle River Forest and onto the highway just outside of Gardok, the once grand capital of Callihistra. Even taking into account that she had fled on foot and chosen the rougher, more mountainous routes in order to avoid detection, Kara still couldn't believe that it had taken her weeks to make it as far as she did. Weeks! And now, after just nine hours, it was as if she hadn't made it out at all. She might as well have been caught back in September, when Isleydor had finally captured Gardok, Callihistra's last standing city. After Isleydor's military operatives had tracked down the most wanted war criminals for trial and execution, Isleydor's slave distributors had been allowed to come in and clean up the rest of the White Horse Rebel Alliance. Kara had barely escaped the city, spending a week hiding out below the streets in the winding network of its sewers. Now, here she was again, back on the outskirts of Gardok in a now conquered country. She could see the capital's skyscrapers from here, or at least what was left of them. A few were still smoking from the once frequent air raids.

The whole pickup truck suddenly shook as it hit a crater in the asphalt—left over from the fighting, no doubt—and Kara almost lost her balance. Now that the war was over, the highway was deserted and she could see an ominous 18-wheeler parked just ahead of them, with the familiar words "Captly, Inc." written on the side in dark, red letters. Despite all her bravado, Kara's heart instantly sank. In her mind's eye, she could see herself shackled to the interior of the semi-trailer, wallowing away beside other miserable souls, forced to sit in her own filth and eating sludge-like "Nutrition Compound" out of a fucking pouch. But there were upsides to being taken in by Captly. Their clientele mostly consisted of middle-class slave owners or, occasionally, large corporations in need of a high-volume staff. Whoever bought Kara wouldn't be able to afford an official registration number, fancy tracking implants, or decent training. Escaping from a Captly's client would be easy. Kara would just have to deal with the unpleasant trip to an outlet and then bide her time.

As they got closer, she could make out a half-dozen or so hunters on motorcycles, most likely guarding the 18-wheeler. Or, at least, that's what they were supposed to be doing. Someone had set up a radio on the side of the road and they were turning tricks to rock music, popping wheelies and flying over a make-shift ramp, then hollering out triumphantly to their friends. Were those...beer bottles in their hands? Were they all drunk and on the job, too? Kara rolled her eyes as she skimmed the scene. Those hunters not currently on "break" were preoccupied with loading a new batch of slaves, who seemed to have just come in from the northern border of the forest. Each one was carefully strip-searched before being handed a bright green jumpsuit and shoved into the back of the 18-wheeler, to be chained and properly cataloged.

Then, Kara spotted something else: a small, silver van idling by the side of the road. There was an older gentleman leaning against it, wrapped in a brown trench coat and scrunching himself up against the early autumn chill. He held a cigarette loosely between his teeth and a cap was obscuring his dark, green eyes. No doubt he was a Captly's Inspector or maybe an Evaluator, come to calculate the new load's total worth. The pickup truck came to a stop then and the hunter who'd ransacked Kara's pack exited the vehicle, then stepped up to the man in the brown trench coat.

"A little late, aren't we, Jonathan?"

"Afternoon, Mr. Charthe," John grinned, and he stuck out his hand for a vigorous shake, but Mr. Charthe ignored it, opting to light up another cigarette instead. "We're...uh, glad to see you again."

"Johnathan, with all due respect, I'm in a hurry today. It's already past three and I've got a couple more slots open for tomorrow's auction. You've got anything worthwhile, or not?" Mr. Charthe took an inhale of his cigarette and peered over at the pickup truck, looking less than happy with its contents. "I hope they're not too bruised and bloodied. You've only had them for a day, right?"

John furrowed his eyebrows—clearly insulted—and reluctantly withdrew a small, black leather wallet from inside his cloak.

"Some for a few days," he admitted. "But most of them were caught last night. I assure you, if there's any damage, it isn't permanent. Look, we've got a violinist, a medic, some ex-military, a graphic artist, and an athlete. Cross country, I think. Most of them have ID's."

John passed the wallet to Mr. Charthe and he began to skim through it, idly plucking out the occasional ID and scanning it with something that resembled a radar gun with its own LED display. By now, Isleydor had access to all of Callihistra's public and private citizen records, allowing him to draw up the details of each runner.

After a moment, Mr. Charthe replied, "Let me have a look at the violinist, the athlete, and the medic."

At first, Kara wasn't quite sure what was happening, nor did she particularly care. She was far more interested in the 18-wheeler than John's conversation. Did it look like it had any weak points, maybe a small hole that had been patched up with particle board, big enough to escape through? Had one of the hunters dropped a weapon she could snatch up? But then the door to Kara's cage was being opened and in an instant, the entire conversation hit her like a load of bricks. Written on the side of the silver van in bold, black letters were the words "Martkorp."

Oh, god...

Unlike Captly, Inc., Martkorp was a top tier slave distributor with an iron-clad reputation for quality conquests. True, they took much better care of their merchandise, but spared no expense when it came to training and conditioning, either. Each of Martkorp's slaves came with a registration number and a tracking implant, at minimum. If they were outsourcing to lower tier slave outlets, then Kara was in serious trouble. Once purchased by Martkorp, there was a very real chance she'd never make it out of the market.

This is bad, Kara thought, her heart growing cold. This is really, really bad. Then her wrists were being unclipped from the bars of her cage and in that moment, one and only one instinct managed to break through the fog of her panic. If I want to survive this—if I want to go home again someday—then I can't let them sell me to Martkorp.

The second her wrists were free, Kara spun around and aimed her fist directly at John's face. She saw his eyes widen in surprise—as if in slow motion—then watched him reach for his nightstick, but there wasn't enough time. Cursing, he blocked her blow, reached for her wrist, and twisted it, forcing her to twist with him and backing her into his chest. To be fair, he was much stronger than she was and she hadn't really expected her punch to land, but that wasn't the point. The point was to convince the man from Martkorp that she was unruly, dangerous, and almost certainly not worth his trouble. It was time to put on a show, damn the consequences. Whatever John decided to do with her later—to punish her for her insolence—she could handle it, so long as she didn't end up at a Martkorp auction.

It was cramped inside the cage, but there was still enough room for a bit of a tussle and Kara intended to make the most of it. With her back now pressed against John, she rammed her entire body rearwards, knocking him into the bars of her cage. It must have caught him off guard, because he suddenly tripped, fell, and let go of her. She could have made a run for it then, but she wouldn't have made it very far and the show would have been over much too soon. Instead, she turned around and swung her leg at him, aiming directly for his balls. He caught her by the ankle just in time, but now, he was pissed. That was actually a good thing. If John beat the shit out of her, she'd be far too "bruised and bloodied" for an auction the next day. Kara would recover from a few cracked ribs and a scrape or two, but she might never recover from a Martkorp auction.

"Idiot!" John cursed, slumped up against the bars of Kara's cage with her right foot in his hands and his eyes positively livid. "Do you have any idea what's going to happen to you now that—"

But Kara wasn't listening. She wrenched herself free, then went in for another kick, but John was done playing around and being made to look like a fool in front of his squad. In one fluid motion, he dodged the kick, then sprung up from the ground and lunged at her. He turned sideways and then struck her with his elbow just below the rib cage, not hard enough to seriously injure her, but enough to fucking hurt. As Kara started to fall backwards, he grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around, then used the remaining momentum to press her torso into the bars of her cage. She struggled against him and tried to push back, but John was a lot heavier than she was and used the full force of his weight to keep her still.

"You stupid, stupid girl!" John hissed in her ear, grabbing hold of both her wrists and forcing them behind her back in order to cuff them. "If he doesn't buy you, I am going to spend every night from here on out—from Callihistra to Isleydor—wiping the floor of my trailer with your broken, tear-stained face and then falling asleep to the sweet sound of your pained, pathetic whimpering." But Kara didn't care. As she was half-pulled, half-dragged out of the cage and then down a ramp and onto the road, Kara continued to fight, digging her boots into the asphalt every step of the way. "You stupid, worthless cunt!" John hissed, and Kara's elbow suddenly connected with his jaw, leaving a nasty swell on his upper lip. "Goddamn you!"

As John paused to wipe the blood off his face, Kara could feel a sick, dark sort of triumph deep within her belly. Then she looked up and saw that Mr. Charthe wasn't standing idly by anymore, but was marching straight toward them. He looked extremely irritated and as he approached, he pulled a knife out of his back pocket and flipped it open. Kara couldn't believe how quickly he moved. Before she could even think of flinching away, Mr. Charthe had grabbed hold of a fistful of hair and forced her head to the side. He pressed the cold, sinister blade to her throat and instantly, all thoughts of resistance or struggle were gone from her memory.