Chapter 1: Sold!
Kessie’s POV
Dad was a gambler. And a degenerate one if Kessie was honest with herself now. Sat in a wooden box being shipped off like a monkey, it was only her damn dad that she could think of. This would be his doing.
Between the distance to the casino and the rigged ‘hot streak’ machines, dad was always gone for days when he gave into the temptation. Even in a post-apocalypse where the world was rebuilding, great minds still thought gambling houses needed to be a thing.
Fuckers. All of them.
She had heard rumour too that her dad went to the sleaziest one as well, one attached to a brothel of sorts in the desert. Kessie doubted they were willing girls in there though, based on the whispers of sex trade and the crate with holes she now sat in.
Where even was she? The sounds outside and the nausea in her mouth told her she was in motion. A train maybe? No, the bumpiest truck in the world. Hell, who knew. She must be nearly there.. or wherever by now. She’d been cramped in travel for days after who knows how long knocked out.
We should be sad.
Sad that if what she suspected was true, that her parents sold her to repay some of dad’s debts. Sad that she wouldn’t see her girlfriends or that cute boy Luca again. Sad that the archives manager role she had been working so hard towards was kaput. Sad that the world was screwed up enough now that anyone could sell their daughter without even a good bye. Trafficking was around before the world exploded, but Kessie never thought she would be a victim. Like anyone ever did.
No, Kessie was mad.
Every good moment of her young life was replaced with short term memories of an alcoholic mother and addicted father. The only words they ever said to each other these last years were between gritted teeth or yelled obscenities. Kessie had been the one keeping the house afloat and her mother fed. Well screw them now, good luck not killing each other! Good riddance to bad medicine, or whatever that saying was!
She funnelled a burst of anger into a pounding on the wooden crate and another shout of “HELLO?” She peeped through all holes but still only saw black, and her fingers twanged on a strap on two sides, but nothing else. She patted herself down for the millionth time, but still her phone, shoes, and purse were gone. Opening her clenched fist, she had only the pendant from her great, great grandmother she had somehow managed to keep hidden. At least it was something. She felt lace along a hemline on her thighs and realized she was wearing something that would never be caught hanging in her closet too. No bra and no underwear were the cherry and strawberry swirl on top. Someone must have redressed her while she was unconscious. Ohmigosh, ew.
A hard stop outside slid and banged her against a crate wall. She tried to make out any word in the muffled voices outside, but to no avail. The sounds of a truck revved and she fell against the other crate wall as movement began again. Short bursts and seriously bumpy potholes made her teeth knock together and convinced her that she’d have a bruised tailbone.
Eventually more voices and stop-starts led to a roll up door sound and sudden light through a black haze. She shouted again and banged on the wood wall, but voices outside just laughed. She was in motion again, with the faint outline of a body pushing a cart from behind. “Where the fuck am I?!” she yelled. “I swear, I know karate and will chop this shit up!” She totally didn’t, just basic self-defense moves, and the laugh outside again seemed to call her bluff.
It was suddenly loud, with music and hoots suggesting a crowd. She heard an auctioneer rambling nonsensical numbers, and various voices shouting ‘Here!’ or ‘Yeah!’
A black tablecloth was removed from her crate and she blinked her eyes quickly at the offensive light. A crack sound in the crate opened it to two gigantic men that wasted no time grabbing both of her forearms. She fought wildly, but they carried her by her held arms like a wild toddler who didn’t want to go to daycare. She realized in her struggling there were red spray painted numbers down one of her legs.
We’re about to be on offer at an auction house!
She was dropped into a chain-link fenced ring that reminded her of those UFC cage fights dad used to watch at midnight. Bright lights shone from all angles and made it impossible to see any faces beyond, but she knew she was on display. She stood straight with balled fists, trying to honestly look as angry as she felt. “FUCK YOU!” she screamed to the lights, loud laughs and claps from the audience beyond signalling they heard her.
“Next up is this feisty little thing, number 1-6-0. B positive, 5-4, 130 pounds. Need t’ start at threeeeee, anddd there!” The auctioneer voice started rambling through 4, 5, then 6. She spun trying to follow the bidding voices. A loud ‘Sold!’ sounded after more numbers, and the two monsters reappeared the second a hammer dropped. She was caught and drag-carried again to a jail cell in a room amongst other cells.
Plopped unceremoniously on a cold stone floor and metal doors locked with a beep sound, they left her to continue shouting.
