Page 22 of Ash Storm

Reka

The cell was dry and dusty, similar to the one she and Chloe had been locked up in, though larger.

Including her and Chloe, there were sixteen women in the room, crammed in like sardines in a can.

The women differed in coloring, height and size, but they all had two things in common: they were young, most of them much younger than her and Chloe, and their eyes were full of fear.

Reka wondered how long they’d all been here.

She cleared her throat and addressed a tall, skinny woman with very dark, straight hair.

“How long—“

The woman—girl, really, since there was no way she was eighteen—shook her head quickly. Her eyes moved to the far corner for an instant, then settled back on the ground in front of her.

Reka understood the message.

No talking.

There are cameras.

“I need … I need to use the toilet,” Chloe said, her voice thick with embarrassment.

There was a single, small toilet in an unoccupied corner of the cell.

“It’s okay, Chloe,” she said patiently, raising herself to a standing position and helping her friend up. “I’ll help you. Don’t worry, nobody’s going to look at you.”

At least none of the women in the room—she wasn’t about to scare Chloe by talking to her about whoever might be looking behind the camera.

As Reka had expected, none of the women in the room even looked in their direction. Even so, by the time she was done, Chloe’s cheeks flamed with embarrassment. And Reka wanted to shout at her friend, because the only ones who should feel ashamed were the animals who were keeping them here.

Back in her corner, Chloe began openly sobbing.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Reka asked, pulling her arms around her friend’s too-thin shoulders.

“There was … there was no toilet paper,” Chloe whispered.

Reka knew better than to laugh. “When we get out of here, Chloe, I’ll have a truckload of toilet paper delivered to your doorstep, okay?”

Her reward was a small smile. For an instant, the old Chloe was back.

The moment was cut short by a rattling sound. Junior and another man appeared, rapping a cattle prod against the bars of the cell. They were followed by two very old women dressed in loose pants and long-sleeved tunics. Each woman dragged a suitcase behind her.

It quickly dawned on Reka that she and Chloe were the only ones still sitting. The other fourteen women had quickly moved to the far wall, where they stood at attention.

Reka pulled Chloe up, joining the others.

“What’s going on?” she asked the woman closest to her.

“Seamstresses,” a slim woman with golden skin and striking light gray eyes whispered. Reka nodded in gratitude.

“Ladies,” the man standing next to Junior said. “Take off your clothes.”

No

God, no.

Reka’s breaths came in sharp, sudden pants. Beside her, Chloe wavered, as if she’d fall to the ground at any moment.