Page 45 of Strange Love

Sally was always unpredictable and unreliable, and Auron does not tolerate that. An example has been made of her, and her death will be used as another way to control Peter.

Peter comes stalking in ten minutes later. The tears have dried from his cheeks. I hear him and Auron yelling back and forth. They say it’s time to pack up and move, grab everything necessary.

There’s awareness in my heart that this is it. This is going to be my chance to somehow escape. There are too many of us here for them to count every person and know their whereabouts during this move. Plus, they don’t have the vehicles for everyone. They will have to bring in vans or buses, and the more people around here, the better the chance I have to disappear.

That night, as I lay sleepless in my bed, I’m aware it would be my last night at The Station. Whether I escape tomorrow or die, it doesn’t matter. I grab my doll and the letters I’ve secretly written to my family, shove them into a small pillowcase, and hide them under my mattress.

I’m up early the next morning as “Mother” yells at everyone to grab their essentials. It’s time to leave The Station and move to another home, as directed by The Voice; at least, that’s what Auron has told everyone, and they seem willing to believe it.

The entire scene is pure bedlam. Everyone is trying to figure out what’s happening, but no one receives direct answers to their questions. Trucks and vans begin to file in at 8:00 in the morning, and the men with guns are no longer guarding the fences but helping shuttle people onto the trucks.

Auron is nowhere to be found, of course. He probably skipped out late last night because he knows how badly this could go. He’s such a coward. I clutch my pillowcase tightly, the only possessions that truly matter to me in this dark world. The line moves forward, and I follow the other girls towards one of the white vans. Just before I climb in, my eyes meet one of the armed men who has always glanced at me with a kind smile during my daily walks. Today, I want to break our silent routine and speak to him for the first time.

“Do you know where we’re going?” I ask him.

“It’s not for me to say,” he replies sternly.

“Do you know how long we will be in these vans?”

“You need to stop asking questions,” he says.

Desperate now, I turn on my most charming smile and sweetest voice.

“Please? Can I go to the bathroom quickly before we leave?”

After a moment of hesitation, he shakes his head in frustration and mutters, “Hurry up then. And make it fast. All the buildings are closed.”

The guards had planned for this scenario. Every building on the premises has been locked, making it impossible for anyone to hide. My heart races as I scan the area, searching for a way out. The back fence line catches my eye - if I can make it there unnoticed, I can escape. I’ll hide and wait until everyone is gone, then hike for days, if necessary, to find civilization. It’s risky, but I have no other choice.

As I cautiously make my way over, pretending to scout for a secluded spot, a heavy hand grasps my shoulder, causing me to jump. I turn, and I’m met with the face of the man who drives the dairy trucks to the facility, and he holds me firmly in place.

Years have passed, and yet I’ve never heard his voice. It’s deep and smooth, but now it holds a hint of urgency. “Come with me,” he says, his hand outstretched.

I can’t bear the thought of continuing this life for even one more day. “Please don’t make me go,” I beg, tears filling my eyes. “Just let me leave.” My hands tremble as I wait for his response, hoping he shows empathy and lets me go.

A sense of urgency fills the air as he leans in close and speaks in a hushed tone, his words barely audible above the sounds of the bustling compound. “I’m going to help you escape,” he whispers, “but you must be quiet and listen to me.”

In this moment, I’m faced with a difficult choice. I could attempt to run for the fence and risk being caught or shot by the guards. But then I remember all the times this man has silently shown kindness towards me. Without hesitation, I make my decision. I will trust him and go with him. This could be my only chance at freedom.

We approach one of the parked vans, and I notice that it is well-stocked with computers, office equipment, and the boxes that had previously lined the office hallway, but it is devoid of people. The driver hastily swings open the door and beckons me to crawl into the back behind the boxes and a pile of blankets.

“Do not come out, no matter what you hear,” he warns under his breath, moving boxes to obscure me from view, his movements precise and as inconspicuous as possible.

I obey his command and huddle under the heavy blanket in the cramped space, my heart pounding with fear as we wait to drive away. Memories flood back to the first time I was brought here years ago, lying in the back of a van like this one. The same terror grips me now as it did then, and I am filled with dread for what lies ahead.

I curl into a tight ball and silently weep, clutching a pillowcase for comfort. Suddenly, I’m startled at the sound of two doors opening and shutting, indicating that the driver has picked up someone else. That must be why he wanted me hidden under the blanket.

The van rumbles over uneven roads, jostling my body against the metal. I can hear muffled voices and smell a mix of body odor and gasoline. I hold my breath, counting the seconds until it’s safe to exhale. Time has become meaningless in this place, where every moment is filled with fear and uncertainty. The van continues, the only indication of our journey being the changing terrain of the road that I feel beneath me. How long have we been driving? I can’t tell. All I know is that I need to stay quiet and invisible, or else who knows what will happen when we reach our destination.

I strain my ears to pick up any conversation from the two men in the front. They speak in hushed tones, but I catch snippets of talk about “Auron” and “customers.” My heart races as I hear one say, “They’re getting close.” It confirms my suspicions that the authorities are finally onto something big here— kidnapping, drug trafficking, and who knows what else. My mind reels at the thought of how many innocent lives must have been affected by this operation.

The van’s engine growls and rattles as it swerves sharply to the side of the road. I can hear the two men in front arguing. Their voices rise in a heated exchange.

“Why are you stopping? We need to keep following the convoy,” yells a man whose voice I don’t recognize.

“I’m done with this,” retorts the other man, his voice laced with anger.

“I’m not going down because you suddenly grew a conscience.” Suddenly, a loud bang echoes through the vehicle, piercing the small space and causing my ears to ring painfully. I remain huddled in my hidden ball, too scared to emerge from underneath the blanket.