I thought I would share the two opening chapters of The Prophet with you all, to give you a taste and a feel for the story. I hope you will all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Chapter One
It Begins
y mother used to tell me that before the collapse, slavery had almost disappeared in human society. Not only that but war and violence and suffering had also become such rare occurrences that many people lived only experiencing such things on a few occasions throughout their lifetime. She went on to explain that had she and my father got together before all of this, they would have been equal partners in society and that she might even have worked to support the family. As well, she apparently once voted on pressing social issues and took part in all the things that now seem so distant for most people. This is especially true for most women these days. But it was a very different world then. These thoughts plagued my mind throughout most of my teenage years. The idea of being owned was something that filled me with a sense of dread and anger, and the idea of suicide appealed very strongly to me should I ever be placed in a position where I was offered no alternative worth living for. It was a thought I held close to my chest—I didn’t fear death at all; in fact, the thought of it was appealing under certain circumstances to me.
It was another hot, dry day at the heart of the wastelands, and my mind was certainly not where it needed to be at that moment, my thoughts reflecting on the looming threat that faced many young women these days. I sipped the bottle of water.
“Ration it,” my father grumbled. “There won’t be any more until dinner.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, looking down. I put the lid back on the bottle and placed it on the floor of the truck as my father drove through the centre of Corinth towards the markets. It was the biggest market in the region. Many traders came from different settlements, travelling hundreds of kilometres through the empty wasteland, and some all the way from New Alice and Lake Eyre. The reason was simple enough, Corinth’s sat on top of a large underground aquifer and had a greater abundance of food and water.
Every Saturday for over a year, I had helped my father manage our family store, desperately trying to make myself useful, trying desperately to make myself indispensable, though I really did wonder how much longer it could last. I was already seventeen and several years older than most women in this place when they were sold on to would-be suitors. He had already tried several times to make this happen, and in recent weeks he had voiced his intent to get a ‘good price’ for me from one of the local families one day soon. I was most certainly one to push back because none of the men he had attempted to sell me to had even tried to look at me as anything other than… well… an object. In fact, the last man he had tried to set me up with left after I slapped him across the face when he tried to “test the waters.” After that, I earned a reputation as a ‘difficult’ young woman, and very few offers had been made since that incident. But I maintain that he hit me first, and since the dowry had yet to be paid, I may have explained that his desire to make me submissive and control me was the result of other ‘inadequacies’. This, of course, did not go over well with my father, who left me with several bruises and a black eye as a result—but I still maintain that it was worth it. But that was a year ago, and since then, he had sold my older sister to one of the New Alice slavers and had threatened me with the same if I even considered ‘sabotaging’ him again.
It was becoming increasingly common since New Alice took over our town to have travellers and traders from other settlements. And while this meant a lot more wealth coming into the community, it also meant far more potential customers for wanting things other than the crops, filtered water and other items my father had bought with us to trade. As such, I tried hopelessly to be on my best behaviour and to make myself useful to my father so that he could at least fetch a high enough price that whoever paid it had an incentive to at least think about the money spent. I knew that one day I would be sold on, either as a slave to a master or with a dowry to a would-be suitor who fancied himself a ‘husband’ and not a slave owner like the others. The difference these days was a matter of semantics but try explaining that to the men in Corinth who believe themselves to be ‘above slavery’. My father had already proven his willingness to play that game on both sides, and either way left a foul taste in my mouth. But at least the slave masters did not hold on to some shallow pretext and claim to have the moral high ground, so in some ways, I respected them more for it. Besides, if things got bad enough, I could always find an easy way out and deny that person any chance of getting the better of me.
I pulled a veil around my face and head to cover myself from the rising dust from the surrounding desert and public eyes, it was the easiest way to detain unwanted attention and climbed out of the truck. The weather was beginning to heat up, causing no end of discomfort, and I glanced over the already dusty marketplace. It was usually policed by the local guards, young men born either in Corinth or one of the surrounding settlements and employed by New Alice to keep the peace, but on this day it was three members of the New Alice group. I liked that they still took part in policing at times; though they were lead by the fearsome and battle-seasoned Isaiah Bishop, they were far fairer and more respectful. And they kept the local guards in check.
The locals came rushing over the moment they saw the back of our truck open. It was loaded with boxes filled with food, trinkets, and other items from several of our neighbours to sell in the markets, with most of them living too far away to carry their produce on foot—and many just not owning a vehicle to transport it themselves. It was a good side business, and my father made enough money to cover the price of the fuel comfortably, and supply, at least partially, his alcohol problem. I squeezed past them to get clear of the mob, pushing through the gathering crowd.
“Fuck,” I growled as I was shoved backwards into another white pickup truck, jarring my wrist as I tried to stop myself cannoning into the parked vehicle.
“Are you okay?” an unfamiliar male voice asked from beside me. It seemed warm and filled with genuine concern.
I held my eyes shut for a moment, clutching my wrist—fuck! I said to myself, not for the pain, but for the attention it had brought on myself. “I’m fine.” I sighed through gritted teeth and sharp pain, looking down as was expected of me at the time. But when I glanced up to see who it was, my eyes met a man in his late twenties with short dark hair and with a beard that was barely more than a shadow across his scarred yet still somehow gentle face. I seemed to lose my ability to speak for a long moment as my innate shyness at male attention was confronted with a sense of terror at the reputation this man carried with him. Isaiah Bishop!
He approached with genuine concern in his green eyes, his light grey overcoat shifting as he walked, revealing that he was armed with at least two pistols and several bladed weapons that I could see. He gently took my wrist, checking for any damage, and said in a reassuring tone, “It doesn’t feel like there will be any lasting damage, but it is probably jarred. Best to strap it and try to rest it as much as you can today. It should be fine.” He let go and went to move away as if realising he was too close.
My response was barely above a whisper, “Thank you, sir.”
“You are most welcome, Ms McNeill.” His reply was gentle and understanding though I had to wonder how or why he knew my name. I stared at him for a long moment, confused—I knew him, of course as everyone in Corinth did; he was basically royalty after all and son of the great warlord in New Alice—Malcolm Bishop. He offered only a kind smile before turning his attention to the gathering crowd, glaring at the mass of people pushing to gather their boxes from the back of the truck and growled, “Form a line, and collect your things one at a time.” A collection of faces looked up as if noticing him for the first time before hastily following his instructions which allowed people to get in and collect their goods much more efficiently. He raised his wrist, pulling back his overcoat up to reveal a small watch, turning a tiny knob on its side before looking back at the crowd. His words were softer with me, almost warm, though his strange familiarity with me was a little unsettling. “Have a good day, Sara.”
A hurried and shy “Thank you. You too” was all I could manage as he turned and began walking away.
He was intimidating, to say the least, but that’s also why people respected him. He paused and turned back, asking, “Is it true that you told the Dorian boy that he was… inadequate?” He held a slight smirk on the edge of his lips.
I couldn’t help my soft laugh and answered, “It was worth the punishment to get out of that one.”
He nodded, the smile reaching his eyes, “Given his lowly place with the guard these days, I would say you dodged a bullet with that one. Though I do hope that whoever acquires you respects your fire. Do not let it die, Ms McNeill.” He walked away without adding to his words though they did fill me with a sense of satisfaction even if it was short-lived like any sense of confidence earned around my father.
I lined up with the others and gathered two boxes, gritting my teeth the whole time from the pain as I carried them into the market. I spotted where my father had gone to claim our usual spot by an acacia tree that offered us a little shade. I stacked boxes neatly under the small bench for my father to begin laying out the assortment of vegetables and fruits for the market. “It’s busier than usual today,” I observed, noticing several more stores being set up by people I didn’t recognise.
He looked around and shrugged. “Looks it. I heard something about an invitation to some new settlements earlier this week. Apparently, the boss invited some new traders to meet up here. I didn’t think they would make it this time around, but I guess they did.”
“It really looks that way,” I added. “It explains why the New Alice group is policing it today as well.”
“Are they?” he asked, surprised. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Yeah, I saw Isaiah and two others in the parking lot.”
He nodded and said with a warning in his voice, “Don’t get mixed up with that lot. They’ll probably kill you just as soon as they look at you.”
Given my interaction with Isaiah, I doubted it very much, but I agreed anyway. The one rule of being around my father for any length of time was that he was always right, even when he was wrong. “I don’t plan on it; hell, I doubt they would be interested in me anyway.” I joked, trying to lighten the mood.
~~~
I worked to get things set up while waiting for the crowd to clear around the truck. I had intended to go and grab the last of our produce and lock up when it was clear, but my father seemed to notice before I did. “Sara, get the other three boxes out from the truck while I set up the store, will you?”
“Sure,” I answered warmly. It had been a good day up to that point, my father was in a good mood, and I was still feeling upbeat from the compliment Isaiah had offered.
I pulled my veil around my face and cast my eyes down as I walked. Several New Alice slave traders seemed to have made the trip this time, which certainly had me worried. One of them was a man named Rick, who had bought my sister nearly a year ago, and his presence usually meant he was looking for more ‘quality stock’ of which apparently Corinth had developed a reputation for. I had no doubt my father would sell me to the man for a high enough price as he had done to my sister given half a chance. We hadn’t heard anything from my sister since she was sent away, and if she had been sold in New Alice, and I hoped with all my heart, she was bought by someone who at least treated her well.
I walked quickly towards the back of the truck where the line had almost cleared, with only Mrs Dowd left collecting the last few small boxes for trade. “Send my thanks to your father,” she said as she gathered the last of her items.
“I will,” I answered politely.
“Oh, and can you please let him know my husband will be down here later to have a few drinks with him for allowing Tyler and Jeff to help with our harvest?” she added as she walked away.
“I’ll let him know,” I answered, turning my attention back to the task at hand. Once the woman was gone, I was left alone with three large boxes of produce in front of me and an otherwise empty tray. There was no way I was carrying all three in one go, and the idea of leaving the truck unattended seemed like a bad one. But it was only for a minute.
I tested the weight of all three boxes on top of each other. There was no chance. “Need some help?” a voice asked from behind, causing me to jump, nearly making the boxes tumble forward.
My nerves took a moment to recover as I turned to face the man who had approached me from behind. A moment of clarity came to mind—this time, not fear and respect, as it was for Isaiah, but a sense of genuine terror knotted in my throat. This was not Isaiah; this was Marcus, another of the New Alice guards with short dark hair and as many scars as Isaiah to go with it. Their uniform was similar, light clothing underneath padded leather armour with a thin black overcoat. His expression was of a man that was not to be trusted alone with. Nice, yes, but too nice, with his eyes saying something completely different to his words and actions. Something about him said he was the one to fear, the one who could and would do anything. “Thank you, sir, but I will manage,” I replied, politely declining his offer.
He stepped forward, gathering the three boxes into his arms, lifting them up to his broad shoulder. “Where’s it going?”
“Uhm…” I hesitated as bile rose in my throat. This man also came with a seriously troubling reputation, and the idea that I would somehow owe him for his help made me sick. I hoped that I was not on his radar now because the thought of him as a master had only one end for me.
“Marcus!” It was Isaiah. The man I had been told to truly fear, but there was something about him that drew my attention. Far from malicious, every decision seemed to be an equation to him, and that in my mind meant he was more trustworthy than most. The third in this group was James, who came with a reputation of his own for his tastes, not because he was one to be wary of but because he was one who paid little attention to women of any kind.
“What’s up, Isi?” Marcus asked from across the lot.
“Leave the girl alone and come check out Rick’s new stock. He’s got some nice steel blades worth a look!” Isaiah’s words were clearly meant to distract and de-escalate, but there was a warning behind them which was comforting in a way.
Marcus turned to me and gave a forced frown. “Maybe another time then.” He winked, placing the box back down on the truck before rushing away to join the other man. I exhaled and my eyes followed them as they made their way over to a small, covered area that the guards used as a staging point to police the market from thieves and fraudsters. The punishment was simple enough, yet people still tried almost every time. First-time offenders lost a finger, second time, a thumb, and third was slavery—at least for the men. Women got offered a rare choice: disfigurement or slavery. Most went with the latter. Female slaves were ornamental, so it meant she at least had a chance of being purchased for whatever that is worth to a young woman with few survival skills these days. This is the reason of course, that I didn’t like my own chances of receiving a high price from anyone. I was just ordinary both in terms of my skillset and in terms of appearances in every respect except for my red hair—which seemed to draw some attention. I had managed to keep my virginity intact despite several attempts on that from would-be suitors and it was a selling point for my father though it was certainly no thanks to him that I had managed it.
Pushing those thoughts to the back of my mind, I rushed back to my father’s store carrying two of the boxes, relieved that I was clear from Marcus’ view. I placed the boxes next to the others before running back to the truck. As I approached, I saw Isaiah standing by the rear of the truck, holding a young man in an arm lock with his face pressed down against the back of the truck. “Shit, I’m sorry!” I said, rushing forward just in time to see Isaiah slice the man’s small finger clean off with a razor-sharp blade before throwing him to the ground with a look of disgust in his eyes.
The young man was still for a long moment, crying as he held his hand, groaning as he gripped his hand tightly. “Fuck, I wasn’t stealing, I swear,” he protested, but Isaiah just glared and gestured the man to leave.
“You picked up a box that was not yours to pick up,” Isaiah said, his voice cold as ice. “Now get out of my sight.”
I stepped forward to Isaiah, offering my share of responsibility for leaving the truck open. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to leave the box out. I was coming back for it as quickly as I could.”
He just shook his head. “It’s fine.” He knelt, picking up the detached finger and tossing it into an old metal drum with the rest of the rubbish to be burnt later in the evening. “Try not to leave too much to temptation in future. So many people simply cannot help themselves.” He said, offering a small polite smile before turning to leave.
“Yes, sir. Thank you,” I said apologetically, keeping my eyes cast down. My words gave him pause as he turned to look at me once more.
“Have a good day, Sara,” he said before walking away.
I quickly gathered the last box, realising that I had attracted far too much attention for one morning, and returned to my father just as he was finishing with setting up the store.
~~~
As the day moved on, I served customers while watching the interactions between traders and the people that flowed through the market. Women were rarely unaccompanied, and even fewer seemed capable of much more than screaming if anything ever happened to them. Most were not only covered head to toe, but they kept their eyes down in an entirely submissive manner as I had done earlier. I had known for a long time that I simply could not live like that forever, that I could pretend for a time, but eventually, something would give. But being unable to defend myself was a fear that I took seriously, and I made constant efforts throughout my childhood to learn about guns and knives and fighting. Not that it would help much if it were one of the New Alice guards as they seemed very well disciplined and trained. Still, I used to help clean my father’s weapons while watching him teach my brothers to fight and shoot, taking in all I could learn, though I suspected even then that his skills in that regard paled in comparison to men like James and Isaiah. In any case, it at least gave me a sense of familiarity with the weapons, and I hoped someday to make use of those skills in some capacity, even if it felt like a very distant fantasy at the time.
The rest of the day was mostly uneventful. I passed it, by watching Isaiah patrol the market. He was quite tall. Well, taller than most, including me which was not saying much. His skin was rough and well-worn with faint scarring on the right side of his face and neck that seemed to go much farther down though it was covered by his leather armour and an overcoat. He patrolled the markets with an unmistakable presence, walked past and through the alleyways and stores, making sure things were running smoothly throughout the day. He policed the area with an unmatched sense of purpose and control, thwarting at least two more attempted thieves throughout the afternoon with no hesitation. I understood why people feared him, still the kindness he’d shown me earlier had me think there was more behind the scarred exterior. Somewhere beneath the rough and hardened exterior, there was a kindness inside him, something very rare these days. I secretly found myself cheering him on with a sense of pride as he swiftly reprimanded a man who had stolen a few dozen rounds of ammunition from several different stores.
I managed to avoid any further undue attention to myself despite my distracted thoughts and growing panic that my father was beginning to make clear his intention to sell me some time soon. He had gone to speak with several people throughout the day, and I had no doubt his aim was to acquire alcohol for the afternoon. But the eyes that wandered in my direction from some of those same people gave me cause for concern. Despite my fears, my mind seemed to find solace in watching the guards as they patrolled the markets. Since I had little choice in my future, I could only hope that someone like that would be kind enough to consider me a worthy partner rather than a submissive slave, but it really was asking a lot in my mind. Knowing my father, however, he would see such a move as a risk to his reputation amongst the local families. Isaiah had reprimanded my father for selling on my sister without consideration of her welfare, which cost my father a great deal as far as his reputation was concerned, and that ultimately cost him the price of a bride for my brother a few months earlier. He had earned himself a reputation as a shrewd and unscrupulous trader, which over time, had begun to cost him the respect and goodwill of many families in Corinth.
My father left me alone to do the work. When he finally came around to help, he had obviously had a few too many drinks already, and he tripped on one of the boxes and growled, “Fuck, Sara, I thought I told you to stack these out of the way.”
I kept silent, knowing his tendencies towards a violent response. The box was one I had out to replace our quickly diminishing reserves of stock, but it was an excuse for him to act tough around the guards and other men that he had been socialising with throughout the day. Mr Taylor and James, the third of the New Alice guards on duty today, watched as my father scolded me. “Did you hear me, girl?”
I replied sheepishly with my head down, “I’m sorry!”
But it didn’t help. He slapped me hard across the face, causing me to stumble backwards. “You’re sorry… what?”
I leant against the bench, holding my arm up to defend myself from further blows. I had landed on my wrist hard, bringing back the heavy ache from that morning. Pushing myself back to my feet, I noticed the strong scent of alcohol on his breath and not for the first time that day. Glaring back at him, I realised I had been working my arse off all day while he got drunk with his friends and was probably trying to negotiate my sale to top it off. It wasn’t the first time he had lashed out, especially once he got drunk, so placating his ego further seemed like the most prudent decision I could make at that moment though my anger almost got the better of me. “I’m sorry… SIR.”
Fuck! I cursed to myself. The night was going to be a long one. The guards were preparing a bonfire for the evening, which meant I was going to be stuck here with only the New Alice guards around to offer any sense of security. Brushing off what would be a nasty bruise and a sprained wrist, I returned to earned yet more for my father, who undoubtedly would go on to waste it on alcohol throughout the evening. He had soured my otherwise good mood, leaving me genuinely afraid, not just of him but of the eyes that kept looking in my direction. The man that was supposedly responsible for my safety, my father, was becoming more intoxicated by the minute, and I had no way to get safely home—especially in the dying light of the late afternoon sun. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
~~~
I sold the last of our produce shortly before dark, so it was a good day in that regard—we had made a fair amount in trade, pocketing a significant amount of ammunition which also doubled as currency in Corinth. So, I took some of our earnings and purchased a small collection of preserved foods and sweet drinks for the rest of my family, stashing the box in the truck when I finished making sure we at least had something to show for today. Chances are it would cost me another slap, but at least my mother would get to eat something.
When I returned to the store, the light had all but faded, and trading was quickly winding down around the markets. Everyone was beginning to pack up their stock and build firepits to cook food and enjoy the bonfire. My father returned a few minutes later, passing me a box when I returned that was full of ammunition and a few other items he had purchased and said, “Get this shit packed into the back of the truck and lock it down. Don’t want anyone getting any ideas.”
“Yes, sir,” I answered calmly, my anger had subsided from the earlier incident, and I had returned to the submissive, meek, and mild version of myself—resenting every minute of it. Resigning myself to the thought that I would be hiding out in the truck most if not all night. My father was not ready to leave, and knowing him, it could be hours before he even gave it a second thought.
Once the box was packed away, I returned to check if there was anything else that had been left behind in or around the store. I found another box under the bench and placed it on the table, assuming it had simply been missed, but it was a significant amount of ammunition that had been stashed under some loose vegetables in the bottom of the box. My father came over and snatched it off the table and said firmly, “Wait here!” before carrying the box over to the small undercover area where Isaiah and the other two New Alice guards had gathered around a small fire pit to keep warm as the heat of the day began to make way for the night. He handed the box to Isaiah, who accepted the offering before peering inside. It was common for locals to give the guards their pick of any remaining produce as thanks for ensuring the markets were safe and clear of thieves. But I wondered about the ammunition, figuring it was probably a debt that he owed.
I sat on a bench by the now empty store, waiting for my father as he conversed with Marcus and Isaiah. Trying to push my fears to one side, I watched as they built up the bonfire, piling the rubbish high in anticipation of its lighting. He remained with the New Alice group for some time, sharing a few drinks and talking animatedly with them while I sat quietly, nervously waiting.
He returned after a while and said in a low voice, “Come with me!” He led me across the market towards the shelter where the three New Alice guards were seated around a small fire, each holding a glass of whiskey. As we neared, he growled in a low voice, “Not a goddamn word. Got it?”
Oh shit!
“Got it?” He repeated through gritted teeth.
I stuttered, “Y-yes, sir,” as terror flooded my whole body suddenly, screaming for me to run. But I knew that would never work, not unless I wanted to die. Which felt like it might be the better option.
Isaiah was quiet, along with the man next to him, James—both seemed much more interested in some other conversation. Marcus was the one who spoke with my father over a glass of whiskey, and the thought that he had made an offer caused bile to rise in my throat once again. Oh, fuck no! Fuck no! No! No!
“How much did you want for this one again?” Marcus asked.
I almost threw up then and there. “Oh god,” I spit a little too loudly, my words enough to get Isaiah’s attention as he watched the negotiation.
“Shut up,” my father growled, striking me again on the side of the face before replying to Marcus. “One of those assault rifles and a hundred rounds of ammunition for it. Also, if you can clear my debt with Rick, we’ll call it even.”
Marcus shook his head. “You drive a hard bargain, McNeill!” He then turned to Isaiah. “What do you think?” It was an incredibly low price compared to what my father received for my sister. The anger and fear were intoxicating, and the thought of running was becoming more and more a realistic possibility. He was not looking for a high price at all; he was looking to clear a debt that he could not pay and get rid of another financial burden in the process.
Isaiah’s eyes seemed focused on mine; his expression was unreadable… pained, maybe. “What do you want?” he asked me, silencing negotiations as both men turned their eyes to me. My father glared at me sharply, and I knew that I had no choice here. I was being sold tonight to someone, not because my father had been made a good offer but because he wanted me gone to clear some debt that he had accrued with a slave trader.
My father was difficult at the best of times, but to sell me like this to the one person that absolutely terrified me in Corinth. I couldn’t go home with Marcus or my father no matter what happened after this. About that, I was instantly certain, but in truth, I didn’t know what I wanted—I only knew that it was not this. My words failed me yet again as I started to cry, muttering under my breath, “Not this, not Marcus, not home.” I looked down at the rifles that sat next to Isaiah, wondering if my death would be quicker if I just ran. I hoped he would make it painless and honestly believed that if he had to do it, he would.
My words did not go unnoticed by Isaiah while my father and Marcus resumed their heated arguing over price. At the same time, I stood there, my feet feeling like they were falling as I seriously contemplated the quickest and easiest way out. “Shut up!” Isaiah growled, his voice suddenly filled with anger, silencing the two men as he stood and walked over to me. “There will be no deal this evening over this one for either of you.”
“What the fuck?” Marcus growled, shocked by Isaiah’s intervention. His words getting everyone’s attention in the shelter.
“This one will not be going home with either of you,” he declared as he looked down at his watch before turning to James and asking, “Can you go and get the fire started? I’ll be with you shortly.”
“No problem—don’t take too long with this bullshit,” James said as he stood and walked out into the markets. They were stunned even further when James added as he was leaving, “If you want my opinion, Isi, you should keep this one yourself. I think it’s gonna be that or a bullet, and it'll be a better life than she’d have with either of these two shit heads.”
Marcus laughed at the thought, his mood suddenly changing as if a switch had been pressing in his mind. “Why the fuck not!” Marcus conceded. He was furious underneath the façade. I could see it in his eyes, but he seemed willing to accept Isaiah’s orders. Isaiah appeared lost in thought as he stared at me, contemplating how he was going to handle this issue.
I closed my eyes for just a second and said, praying to myself, “Please just make it quick.”
My father turned to me and slapped me hard across the face. “I told you to shut your goddamn mouth,” he growled, “or you will end up just like your sister, sucking some savage’s cock in the middle of the fucking desert somewhere. Hell, she’s probably some asshole’s dinner jerky by now. Do you want that?”
Then just as my instincts screamed at me to run and hope, Isaiah gave me a quick death; he once again intervened on my behalf and said, “Perhaps I can find a use for this one.”
My father snapped his attention back to Isaiah and said, “You know my price.”
“Twenty fewer rounds for striking the girl,” Isaiah said, glaring at the man as if threatening him to say ‘no’. “That is going to bruise, and I don’t want to be reminded of you when I look at her.”
My father’s next words were callous and cold and directed solely at me. “Don’t you dare think of ever coming home, Got it!”
Isaiah stood and shook his hand, adding, “Come by the bar tomorrow, and I will have your ammunition and rifle ready to go then. In the meantime, the girl stays with me. Now wait here…” He turned and walked over to one of the traders who was still packing up his supplies not far from the under-cover area, returning a few minutes later after handing over a sizable pouch filled with ammunition. He then gave my father a single nod and added coldly, “It is done, McNeill. Now get the fuck out of my sight before I kill you, and just keep the girl.”
He did not even say goodbye; he simply turned and walked away without looking back. He was afraid of Isaiah like everyone else, and like almost everyone else, he was out for himself even when it came to his own family. I looked at Isaiah and remembered the man who had been kind to me, and for the moment at least, the idea of running and hoping for a quick death seemed to fade for now. Instead, I waited nervously as he looked me up and down, seemingly assessing me. I wondered for just a moment with a sense of hope for the first time in a very long time, Could I make this work?
“Fuck, Isi, it’s been a while since you owned a fuckin’ slave,” Marcus said jokingly, the anger seemingly fading from his voice. “What’s your plan with this one?”
“I have no fucking idea.”