Page 107 of Riot's Thorn
“Come bring it down, and we’ll see what it is.”
Minutes later, we’re each trying to figure out what the hard plastic object is and how to get the battery inside. Two tubes are attached to make a T, but at the end of each tube are two knobs, almost like the end of a cartoon drawing of a bone.
“Ah-ha!” Anne cheers. “I got the lid open where the battery goes.”
“Good job. Here, put it in.” I place the battery in her palm.
We listen as she struggles, but after a few seconds, a loud squeak echoes through the container and a red light flashes. Then, out of nowhere, it stops. Anne fidgets with it, eventually slapping it against the ground. The sound and lights return.
“I think it’s a dog toy,” I say. “It activates when you throw it to the ground.”
“I think you’re right.” Anne hands me the toy. “Fat lot of good that does. It’ll annoy us more than anything. The lights aren’t even bright enough to help us see.”
“Why don’t we try another box?” I ask.
I don’t know how much time passes, but by the time we give up, we have the dog toy, a makeup kit, and, thankfully, some thick sweaters. The later it gets, the colder it becomes in here. I’m lucky that guard gave me sweatpants and a sweatshirt, butthe other girls arrived in what they left in—hardly more than lingerie.
Our morale sinks to an all-time low when we allow ourselves half a protein bar each for dinner and just a couple sips of water. Outside, we can hear machinery but not one human voice. The girls said they’ve already tried screaming, but it did no good, so we don’t bother.
Talked out and tired, we cuddle together, both for warmth and because there’s no room to spread out. Thea is snuggled into me, and I feel the moment she drifts off as her breathing becomes rhythmic. Try as I might, I can’t do the same. My mind refuses to slow as I run through all the possibilities. This is the second time in as many months I’ve been left not knowing the direction my life will take. It’s infuriating.
I don’t know what time it is when it feels like something drops on top of the container. It shakes as if there’s an earthquake, but then my stomach drops, the same way it does when I’m in an elevator. We’re being lifted. I didn’t think we were already on a ship, but this confirms it.
“What’s happening?” Thea cries.
I tighten my hold around her, praying the boxes don’t tip over onto us. “Cover your heads just in case.”
For what feels like an hour but is probably more like five minutes, we’re in the air. It’s an unsettling feeling, like a roller coaster you didn’t agree to be on. Then, we come crashing down. Some boxes fall down, but they’re mostly empty from us digging around in the contents, so no one gets hurt.
I’m panting by the time the container stops moving. I’ve been through some scary stuff recently, but this is the scariest. Not being able to see what’s coming or where we’re going was awful.
“Oh, thank god,” Louisa says.
“Everyone okay?” I ask, and four voices assure me they’re fine. “I guess it’s official. We’re going to Canada.”
“I’ve never been out of the country, so I guess I should look at this like an adventure.” Thea has the optimism only a kid can have, but for her to still be that way after what she’s been through inspires me. If she can be positive, I can avoid a nervous breakdown.
Then, we hear men’s voices. They sound like they’re at a distance, but it’s the first good thing to happen so far. If the machinery is this loud in here, I can only imagine how loud it is out there, but still, we yell and bang, making as much noise as we possibly can.
I have no knowledge of cargo ships and shipping containers, so it’s impossible to know what the sounds are, but there are ten to twelve distinctclanksbefore the voices grow closer. This cycle repeats until I’m certain they’re at our container.
We’re stuck in the middle, so we can’t bang against the sides, and I’m assuming the boxes are pretty well insulated from sound, but we try. While I’m unable to jump because of my injuries, the other girls do. They bounce, scream, and bang against the boxes.
That sameclankI heard before now comes from outside our container. They must be securing us or doing checks, I don’t know, but they’re so close. I can’t decipher what they’re saying, but if we can hear them, shouldn’t they hear us?
For a moment, everything stops, and one of the men says something with a lilt at the end of his sentence, leading me to believe it was a question. Does he hear us?
“Someone in there?” a man calls out.
I scream at the top of my lungs, bent over in pain because the exertion feels like being stabbed repeatedly in the ribs. But temporary pain is a sacrifice I’ll make for long-term survival. Once I feel confident if he was going to hear us, he did, I allow myself to stop.
“Shh!” I hold my arms out to silence the girls out of instinct, only to drop them when I remember we can’t see shit.
Only our panting can be heard as we listen for any clue they heard us, but there’s nothing. Did they move on? Then, the sameclankwe’ve been hearing comes from farther away—presumably the next container over—and my shoulders fall. They didn’t hear us, or if they did, they didn’t believe their ears.
“No,” Louisa cries, plopping onto the ground.
“How could they not hear?” Anne’s tone is utterly defeated.
