SICK HEART by Huss, JA (non fiction books to read .TXT) 📕

if I think you’re going to mess that up, Anya…” He pauses to narrow his eyes at me. “I will take you down to the ocean in the middle of the night, drown you, and leave your dead body there to be eaten by the fish. Got me?”

I get him. I make dinner the way he said. And afterward he tells me to wash dishes and explains that breakfast is served just before sunrise so it had better be ready.

There is no lunch on the Rock. Apparently that’s the name of this place because that’s what he keeps calling it. And everything is on a schedule.

He wakes me up in the middle of the night and takes me down to the kitchen, where I make the most disgusting version of eggs I’ve ever seen. The kids wake up just before dawn, grab their bowls, and I plop in a half cup of oatmeal, top it with this yellow stuff they are calling eggs, and then hand them an orange. Cort, Rainer, and Maart get a little extra, but not very much. I don’t give myself extra. I’m used to feeling half-starved and to be honest, I have to choke down my ration of food every meal, it’s so gross now.

Then they drop their bowls and forks into the large sink and I do the dishes. By the time I’m done with that, everyone is fully engrossed in their training. Groups of kids arranged by age fill the mats. Cort takes the very little ones who look to be maybe six or under. That’s the biggest group. Nine boys and two girls, including the tiny elbow demon.

Rainer takes another group of four boys and one girl who look to be about eight or nine. This includes Evard.

Maart has the smallest group—the teenage girl who was in charge of the container keys the first day they arrived, another boy who looks to be about twelve, and two boys who are maybe ten.

No one pays any attention to me. But my name is still on one of the chalkboards. Every kid in camp has one and that’s where they find their schedule for the day. Mine still says the same thing it did before all these people arrived, so I continue the schedule. I jump rope for about thirty minutes—and I’m pretty good at it now. I can’t do all the fancy stuff like Cort, but I can do some of it. Then, if there’s space on the mat, I’ll practice my drills. And if there isn’t, I’ll try for a heavy bag. But mostly the space on the mats and the equipment is always in use and Maart is always ready to order me back into the kitchen.

Cort doesn’t bother with me at all. He’s with his group of kids every minute of the day. And at night, he keeps them all in a small section of the helipad where most of the bird nests are.

The baby birds are freaking huge now. They don’t even qualify as babies in my eyes because they are bigger than most dogs. But they can’t fly, so they are constantly being fed by the parents.

As far as the kids go, they don’t communicate at all. I feel like I was dropped into an alternate reality filled with other Anyas. It’s weird. They don’t sign. They don’t whine. They’re like little robots who just go through a schedule with no emotion.

Except for one moment each night. When everyone is finally settled on their sleeping mat Cort, and Rainer, and Maart will point up at the moon, flashing fingers to count the days. And then all the kids do the same.

One moment, every night. That’s it.

But we’re going to be here three months. And if Maart thinks he can stuff me in the kitchen that entire time, he’s insane. Because I like the training I did with Cort and I want to keep doing it.

So on the fifth day, after the kids drop their dirty bowls into the sink, I don’t stay in the kitchen and do the dishes. I walk out onto the mat and stand next to the oldest girl. She looks at me, confused, then looks straight ahead again when Maart comes up to us.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Of course I’m not going to answer him. But I don’t look at him, either. “Get off my mat and go do the fucking dishes, Anya.”

I do not move.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you trying to piss me off?”

Not really. But this moment is the most human contact I’ve had all week. I know that the kids appreciate the food I serve, but not hearing that little “thank you” when I feed them is really starting to annoy me.

In fact, I don’t care for my assigned position here on the Rock and I would like to renegotiate.

So I reach out and slap Maart across the cheek as hard as I can.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - CORT

 

I only catch the last bit of Anya’s slap. But the sound of it echoes in my head as everyone on the platform turns to look.

“Oh, fuck.” Rainer breathes these words from a few feet away. I break away from my kids to interfere, but Rainer grabs me by the arm. “Oh, hell no. You will not save her from this. She just…” He chuckles a little and shakes his head. “Fuck that. If anyone else in this camp slapped Maart across the face they would be thrown off the platform and left to die. She wants a fight? She’s about to get one.”

I let out a long breath, but I hang back with Rainer as Maart’s open hand strikes Anya across the cheek with enough force to make her spin and fall onto the mat as the breath rushes out of her lungs and she gasps for air.

Maart stands still, towering over her, his eyes narrowed and angry, his chest rising and falling