Page 6 of Volunteer 4711

I try again, “His head.” I put my hand to the back of my head and then show her my hand with his blood on it. “Not me,” I defend myself realizing she might accuse me of having hurt him. I haven’t been on this planet long, but I’ve figured out that aliens are of its residents’ lowest class. “I need…” I grab the hem of my loose tunic and try to show material for a bandage.

The female farmhand finally understands me and takes me into what I’d describe as the linen closet, which is under lock and key. She gives me some old cloth. I inspect it closely, and it seems clean.

Then I say, “I need …” and pretend to eat some pills.

She shakes her head at me.

I try again, but this time using the pretend wound on my head.

The female farmer points to the bathroom, “Clean there. Do not tell the doctor. No … from the doctor.” I assume the missing word is ‘medicine,’ but it was too complicated for me to remember it.

I nod. I’m not surprised that there’s no medicine here. There’s not much of anything here. The doctor has a lot of everything, but I want to stay as far away from him as possible. Who knows what he’d do with this wounded male or to me if there’s some cultural significance to what I did?

I return to my small room and look at my patient sleeping. I decide I’ll clean his wound when he wakes.

I sit up beside him in my bed for some time, expecting something to happen, but nothing does. Not even a revelation as to who these men are. I’m as ignorant as I was yesterday about my situation here and what’s going on now. And now that most of the excitement is over and the adrenaline is out of my system, I’m tired. I lay down and allow myself to fade off to sleep. I force myself to think about Florida.

* * *

I wake up to a bright purple sky and the sun shining through my window. There are no shades. There doesn’t need to be. We all get up and go to sleep on the same schedule as the sunrise and sunset. I’m unsure if I should go to the fields or watch this male. I don’t think he will die now, but I don’t want to take any chances. It’s one thing to die in an explosion, it’s quite another to be tortured to death, and I’ve already witnessed enough torture on the farm for a lifetime.

I venture out into the main rooms and find one of the male Silver farmers.

“Do I go to the field?” I point to the field. “Or help?” I point to my bedroom.

The male farmhand doesn’t answer me but pushes past me and enters my bedroom. He walks over to the male, still unconscious, and then walks out. He gestures for me to follow him.

“Volunteer 4711, this male is important to some bad people. You stay here. You help. Do not let him die. You understand? You should not have saved him. Better for everyone if he were dead. But now bad situation for all of us.”

He speaks so sternly to me; if I wasn’t convinced before that my own mortality rested with this male’s survival, I definitely believe it now. “I understand. He no die,” I say. “Where I food for him?” I ask, knowing this grammar is wrong, but hoping the male farmer will understand my meaning.

He takes me into the kitchen. “For him,” he points to my bedroom. “No food for Volunteer 4711 until he is recovered and gone. We do not have enough food for all and cannot ask Doctor. No doctor. Understand?” To make his point clear to me, as my face must have shown my disbelief, the male farmer touches the center of my chest roughly. “No food for Volunteer 4711, understand?”

“I understand.”

The male farmer grunts and leaves me in the pantry. I leave, closing the door behind me, and almost as if my stomach could hear the decree by the farmer, it screams out with hunger pains. I pass through the dining room, where the dishes are being laid out for breakfast. I notice that many place settings are missing. I ask the passing female Silver farmers why, even though I know why, I want to hear it again to make sure I’m not being singled out.

“You volunteers must sacrifice. We do not have food for all. Heal the males, and then you eat. Do not ask the doctor. He will ask us to repay him in bad ways. Understand 4711? We must show we did everything to save these males.”

“I understand,” I say in a way that the female knows really means, ‘Fuck off,’ but to her credit, she ignores my tone.

Back in my room, my patient is still unconscious, but he’s coughing less. I check his head, and it seems to have stopped bleeding, which is progress. I know very little about head injuries. I just know that if these aliens are anything like humans, he’ll need water to survive. Food can come later. I repeat this for myself as well. Even though I’m the thinnest I’ve ever been in my life from the farm work and the lack of food, I know I can still survive for a long time without food. Definitely long enough to heal him and eat again.

I glance at the sleeping male again. “I hope you recover quickly.” Having nothing better to do, I get back into bed and lay next to him. After a few hours, I fall asleep from boredom and try to forget about the hunger, telling myself it’ll be more manageable after today.

CHAPTER3

COMMANDER

I wakeup to an unusual smell. My head is throbbing. I open my eyes and stare up at an unfamiliar ceiling with cracks. There are yellow stains everywhere as well. I try to remember where I am or how I got here. Then, I hear someone breathing. Painfully, I turn my head and see an alien. That’s the unfamiliar but pleasant smell of sweet fruit and purple flowers.

Reaching out my hand, I gently move her brown hair aside to look at her face. She’s a volunteer. She is a Water woman.

I close my eyes to steady my headache. I know for certain she will be killed if she lets me die. I am safe next to her unless she wants death. All I can hope for is that she has been treated well enough in this place that she does not want to end her life with mine.

CHAPTER4

VOLUNTEER 4711

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