Emmy Laybourne - Savage Drift

Every day I wish Mario had not taken them in. The orphan Os.

They were fending for themselves and getting roughed up. I know it was the right thing to do.

There should never have been kids in here in the first place.

As I understand it, the national government brought us here, but the state of Missouri is running the camp. The locals don’t want us released, but don’t care to pay for us to be properly cared for, either. And the national government has been slow to provide for us.

The result: not enough guards, not enough food, not enough space, not enough medical care. And they won’t let us out.

There were petitions circulating, when we first arrived. People trying to get the stable O’s separated from the criminal ones. But the guards made life hard for the signature gatherers.

Now we’re all just waiting it out.

Every week a rumor drifts through the camp that we’re to be released.

The hope is dangerous. Makes you care.

I have to watch out for the men. Some of them are handsy.

I’m not so worried about what they could do to me—I’m worried about what I could do to them.

You do not want to get in trouble.

There was a scuffle a few days ago near the fence. Some reporters got the idea to talk to us about life inside the compound. Were shouting questions to us.

I begged Mario to stay away. But he insisted. He gets all red in the face when he talks about the conditions here. He wants justice and he wants his rights and all I want is to get out of here.

I went over with him, to the gates, because I knew there’d be trouble and there was.

There were maybe twenty inmates standing there, shouting to the dozen or so reporters who were yelling things like

“Do you feel your rights have been violated?”

“Are the rumors of gang violence true?”

“Are you in danger?”

Some of the prisoners shouted answers. Others yelled, “Get us out of here!” and “Contact my uncle so and so! He’ll give you a reward!” and “In God’s name, help us!”

Then a couple of Humvees came to herd the press away and out came two guards, with their semiautomatic tranquilizer dart guns.

Venger was one of the guards.

I saw delight flash across Venger’s face when he saw me and Mario at the fence. The guards waded into the throng of people, pulling them from the fence and pushing them toward the dorms.

“I knew it!” he shouted. “I knew you two were trouble! Nobody chooses to be in here!”

Venger pushed through the crowd and grabbed Mario’s frail arm.

And VRAAAH, my rage amped up. Like a car getting on the highway, zooming up to speed.

“Don’t touch him!” I spat.

He poked me, hard, in the center of my chest with his nightstick.

I grabbed it.

“You little black poodle skank!” he snarled.

Then he raised up his stick to hit Mario. Not me, Mario.

I raised my arm and took the blow to my forearm.

I shoved myself between them and felt Venger’s body warm and tall and powerful up against me. And I caught his eye.

I saw euphoria there. The delight of using your body to hurt others. Swinging an arm, breaking a skull.

Venger may be O or he may not be. But he knows the joy of the kill.

Of course, it was a huge mistake, to defy Venger.

I don’t know what bothers him most, that I’m young, that I’m a girl, or that I’m black.

But I kept him from cracking the skull of an eighty-year-old man.

Now I’m his favorite target.

I stormed up toward the housing tents.

The leaves on the trees that bordered the golf course were in the final stages of falling. Red, gold, and many browns, from ochre to chocolate.

It was hard to stay mad in the presence of that kind of boastful, exuberant natural beauty. But I managed.

“Dean!” Alex called. “Wait up!”

I turned and watched him sprint up the incline to me.

“Jake was really laying it on,” he said. “It seems like it’s getting worse between you two.”

“He’s such a jerk!” I said. “He acts like he’s still her boyfriend! It’s insane.”

“I agree,” Alex said. He had to walk double-time to match my strides.

“Jake always acts so entitled. Like he deserves her—like I don’t.”

“But she’s really into you, right?” Alex asked me. “Astrid?”

I nodded.

Trust Alex to cut to the chase.

“Yeah,” I said. “I think so. I mean, I’m her boyfriend. That’s clear. But… sometimes I feel like she holds me at a distance.”

“That’s just her personality though. She’s not a real showy kind of person,” Alex offered.

“She’s not showy at all,” I said. And I probably sounded as miserable as I felt.

“Jake’s just messing with you. You know that. He sees that you’re worried about Astrid and he’s playing you.”

I shrugged.

“I heard him telling Astrid that he and his dad are going to go back to Texas soon, and saying she should go with them,” I told Alex.

“That’s harsh.”

We walked.

“Look,” Alex said. “Remember what Mom always used to say? About, like, manifesting reality?”

I looked at him.

His face was changing, it seemed to me. Growing leaner.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Well, think about what you’re manifesting with all this fighting and the self-doubt.”

“You mean if I spend time worrying about Astrid turning to Jake, she will?” I asked.

“I mean, if you spend a lot of time being afraid of it, you could make it happen.”

I took that in.

“Because who wants to be with a guy who’s afraid all the time, you know what I mean?” he continued.

“Yes,” I sighed. “I know exactly what you mean.”

“Cheer up,” Alex said. “There could be some good surprises headed your way.”

He had a kind of a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile lurking around the side of his mouth.

“That’d be a change,” I said.

It was good to be alone in Tent J for a while. Well, alone in our five-person cubicle bedroom. The massive tent was divided down its long center by a corridor. Off the corridor were little “rooms” made by low, dividing screens. Two bunk beds stood on either side against the screens, and one single bed was set under the plastic window.

That bed, we had all decided, was Astrid’s.

Other orphaned teens were messing around in their rooms, but I had ours to myself—this was the refugee camp definition of alone time.

I wrote in my journal. Always helped.

Maybe a half hour later, Astrid came in, trailed by Jake.

They seemed to be fighting. Good.

“I just want to rest,” she told Jake.

Astrid was holding her round belly. Her face was twisted in a grimace of pain.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. I sat up too fast and bonked my head on Alex’s bunk above me. Jake rolled his eyes.

“It’s a pain. Down low. Feels like cramps. I just want to rest,” Astrid said.

“I told her she’s gotta hustle over to the clinic. They probably have a pill made just for crap like this,” Jake said.