Dark Parties (25 page)

I stop. Sanna. I break free from 1132. She glares at me and then darts out the door.

“Sanna,” I shout, and run through the building, punching open every door. The building is empty. I hesitate at the double
doors at the end of the hallway. I push them open and look inside. It’s an operating room. Silver surgical instruments are
scattered across the floor. The room still looks sterile, except for a pool of blood, glistening red in the artificial light.
There are red footprints that stop at the
door I’m holding open. What are they doing to these women?

“Sanna!” I scream even louder and race back down the hallway and outside. It’s night, but the sky glows. A wall of fire is
blazing down the hillside. I want to run toward it and let it cleanse me. I feel dirty and raw. I imagine the warm flames
licking my skin.

I am surrounded by a swirling sea of girls, dressed in the same flimsy nightgowns as I am. Their bare feet kick up dust from
the dirt road. My ears are filled with the crackling sound of fire and popping as the heat consumes trees.

“Sanna!” I call. No one responds to the name. Maybe no one can hear me. I shout her name again as I weave through an ever-shifting
mass of bodies. I turn girls to face me. I’m looking for Sanna’s scar, but every face I see is rosy red and smooth. I shout
her name again and again. Maybe she can’t remember her name, and I don’t know her number.

I am being drawn farther and farther away from the brick building. I can’t leave without her. I stop and slowly turn, checking
every face as it passes. Everyone’s screaming. The girls form an uneven line and disappear down the road.

I race back to the brick building, the dust and smoke scratching my throat. I cough once to clear my throat, but I can’t stop
coughing. Black flecks of ash dot the hot air. I’m almost back where I started. I shout for Sanna again. I double over. I’m
trying to catch my breath, but my body seems to reject it. I close my eyes and try to calm myself. Even though the air is
thick with smoke, my mind is getting clearer. I must find Sanna.

I can see guards and women in blue pounding at the fire with blankets. They form a line from the brick building, and buckets
and bowls and pitchers of water are being sloshed from hand to hand. The fire inches forward, burning a black line in the
brown grass. The smell of scorched earth is overpowering.

The door to the big wooden barnlike building is open, and girls in long, pink balloonlike nightgowns are staggering out. I
race over to help them, to point them in the right direction. They are tripping over their gowns. One girl falls onto her
hands and knees. I rush over to her. She looks up at me with a mixture of alarm and confusion. “It’s okay,” I tell her. I
notice her number. It’s 367+. I wonder what that means.

“What’s your name?” I ask as I help her to her feet.

Her eyebrows narrow, and she squints. She can’t understand what I’ve asked. “What’s your name?” I say again but realize now
isn’t the time. I point to the road. “You need to follow those girls. Follow them.”

She nods and staggers forward. She stops and turns toward me. “Christy,” she calls. “My name is Christy.”

“You need to run, Christy,” I yell, and wave her away. She starts walking, a little more steadily on her feet.

A few more girls in pink are exiting the barn. They look around with half-open eyes. There’s something else that doesn’t seem
right. Another girl drops to her knees. She doesn’t cry out. I rush over to her. Her gown is pulled tight under her knees,
and that’s when I notice she’s pregnant. She looks down at her bump as if she’s only just noticed it. I help her up and instruct
her to head to the road. I don’t
think she understands what I’m saying, but I point to the other girls in pink who are waddling forward, like plump, round
zombies.

I make my way to the barn’s opening. The inside is bathed in a fiery glow. It’s stark white like a hospital ward, dramatically
different from its rustic exterior. Many hospital beds are lined in neat rows. Two women in scrubs are unhooking sleeping
girls from the masks, tubes, and needles that seem to pin them to their beds. Two other girls dressed like me are following
behind them and waking the girls and hauling them to their feet.

And it all makes sense.

My whole body starts to shake. I think of my new government-issue brother or sister. A prison just for women. Our government’s
need for more citizens. The government is hijacking girls’ bodies. I can’t believe it’s true, but the proof is all around
me. My stomach convulses. The
what
and
how
are too awful to think about. I swallow back the bile rising in my throat. The horror of it refuses to sink in. I can’t just
stand here. I’ve got to help them.

With renewed energy, I press forward. The farther I move into the building the hotter and hotter it gets, as if I’m walking
into an oven. Sweat is dripping down my temples. I flick the sweat from my eyes so I can see more clearly. That’s when I notice
that the back of the structure has caught fire. Flames are eating black holes into the white walls. Two guards are beating
the flames with blankets.

A girl my age walks toward me. She’s swimming in the pink gown. I rush up to her. She squints up at me.

“Nicoline.” I lunge for her and hold her close. I see the faint red outline of a star on her cheek. “You’re all right.” I
hurry her forward. “Have you seen Sanna?”

She shakes her head. “Sanna,” I say, and trace an S on my cheek.

“Sanna, I’m so glad you’re safe.” Nicoline pats my cheek. She thinks I’m Sanna.

“No, where is Sanna?” I’m desperate to make her understand, but it’s no use. I drag her outside and point.

She squints at me again. There’s a flicker of recognition in her eyes. “Sanna was here,” she says and walks away.

What does that mean? Does that mean she was taken someplace else? Or…

I won’t let myself fill in that blank. I check every bed and every face. I’m ahead of the team waking the girls now. Only
a few more beds to go.

Then I see her. Her scar shines brightly between the mask covering her nose and mouth and the tubes hanging from clear bags
looped on hooks on the side of the bed. I watch the other women for a second and mirror how they are disconnecting the other
patients. I check to see if the bed has wheels. Maybe I can wheel her out of here. But the beds are bolted to the floor.

“Sanna! Sanna! It’s me, Neva. Wake up!” I’m shouting at her as I pull her to a sitting position. I lower the rail along the
bed and swing her feet over the side. I shake her gently at first, repeating her name and mine. Then I slap her full in the
face, just as she did me on that dark road only a few nights ago. Her eyes pop open. She stares at me for a second
and then rests her head on my shoulder. She’s trying to speak. I can feel her lips moving. I hug her close, and I hear her
whisper, “Nev, you came.”

“We’ve got to get out of here.” I half drag, half carry her out of the barn. The roof is on fire and the barn is filling with
smoke. All the beds are empty and the last few girls are stumbling out along with us. At this pace we’ll never make it. The
fire is stretching out around us and closing in like a fiery hug.

We keep moving. We pass nearly all the girls in pink. I want to stop and help all of them, but I can’t. I’ve got to save Sanna.
I spot Nicoline and call to her. She waves and waits so we can catch up. Her eyes are open wider, but she’s still a little
unsteady on her feet. Her pink nightgown is dragging on the ground. I balance Sanna on my hip and bend over to pull Nicoline’s
gown up. I bunch a section of the hem in my fist and tie it into a big knot so she can walk without tripping.

“What are we going to do?” she asks. “We’ll never make it out of here.”

“We will. I promise. Braydon’s here somewhere.” I look around as if hope will make him appear. Sanna perks up at the mention
of his name. “He’ll get us out.” I say this like it’s a fact, but my gut tenses. The fire is out of control. I’ve got no way
to know where he is or if he’s safe. And if, dear God, he’s okay, we’ve got hundreds of women and one motorcycle.

As we walk, Sanna and Nicoline get stronger. My thighs feel slick with the gel the doctor used to examine me. The
memory causes another wave of nausea. These girls have been through worse, much worse. Smoke and ash swirl around us. I pull
my gown up to cover my nose and help Sanna and Nicoline do the same. Girls all around us are faltering. We stop to help and
give encouragement, but words are hollow. Even the half-awake girls in pink understand our situation is pretty grim. My plan
has gone so horribly wrong.

Sanna’s nearly able to walk on her own by the time we reach the freshly paved road. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I think
I can hear the roar of the van’s engine as it zoomed up behind Braydon and me yesterday. I turn in time to see a white van
heading straight for us. I shove Nicoline and Sanna out of the way. As the van parts the smoke, I can see it is crammed with
guards and the other staff from the Empowerment Center. They have stopped fighting the fire and are abandoning us. I help
Nicoline and Sanna to their feet. We are miles from civilization. Without any means of transportation, we will die.

Girls are clustered in twos and threes. Everyone is helping one another. The sight makes me think of the Minister of Health’s
name for her baby-making prison: the Women’s Empowerment Center. Maybe she’s done it after all. I’m surrounded by girls of
all shapes and sizes. Battered and bruised and coated in dirt and soot, but we don’t give up.

“Come on!” I shout. “Keep moving.” We walk. The fire flickers behind several rows of trees. It illuminates our path. Waves
of heat push us forward. I urge Nicoline and Sanna ahead of me. There’s a fist-size red spot on the back of
Nicoline’s gown. The stain, like the fire, seems to spread out at a rapid rate. Blood is dripping down her legs, leaving a
trail of red spots for me to follow.

“She’s miscarrying,” a young woman next to me whispers. “She needs medical attention, in case there are complications. If
the fire doesn’t get her, she could bleed to death without the proper medical treatment.”

“What?”

The woman’s arms cross over her full round belly, as if she might catch whatever Nicoline has. “You know what they’ve done
to us,” she says.

I nod.

“Well, she doesn’t. I had two miscarriages before I was sent here.” She hugs herself and sways as if rocking a baby. “I knew
what they were doing to me. Most of these girls don’t have a clue. It’s not like they tell us much before they send us off
to dreamland. What’s the date?”

I tell her.

“I’ve been out for seven months.” She starts to cry. “Seven months.” She grabs my arm and now I’m pulling her along.

Up ahead the girls seem to disappear. It takes me a minute to realize. We’ve made it to the highway. We could survive. Someone
could spot us and get help.

“It’s the highway,” I tell the woman. “Up there.” She lets go of me and starts to run.

I find Nicoline and Sanna and wrap my arms around their waists. “We’ve almost made it.”

Nicoline looks down at her blood-soaked gown.

“We’ll get you help,” I tell her.

“What did they do to me?” she asks.

I can’t tell her. “You’ll be okay.”

We’ve nearly reached the on-ramp to the highway. We hear screams. Has someone found us? We surge forward. Nicoline staggers
and falls to the ground. “Go on!” she shouts, and waves us on. How can we leave her? “Go!” she demands.

“We’ll come back!” I yell as Sanna and I run forward. I can see them now—a fleet of white vans coming from the highway. A
wave of hope shoots through me. The vans are skidding to a stop, barely missing the girls who have flagged them down. Two
men in black hop out of each van—police! They shove the nearest girls into their vans. I can feel a collective swell of anger.
Our limp, defeated bodies straighten. Our hands clench in fists. We attack.

Sanna and I lunge at one policeman. We kick and claw and bite. He easily bats us away, but more girls join our fight, and
soon he is overpowered. We move on to the next one, who has his arms full with two young girls. The girls are scratching his
arms and face, and the man is howling. I punch him in the nose. Sanna jumps on his back and squeezes her arms around his neck
until he releases the girls.

I am grabbed from behind; a strong arm wraps around my waist. “Sanna!” I shout. I kick at his legs and elbow him in the face.
He drops me and I land hard on my hands and knees, jarring every bone in my body. I’m stunned with the pain. I scream when
he seizes a fistful of my hair and lifts
me to my feet. Sanna charges, knocking him to the ground. I kick him hard. My foot makes contact with a satisfying thud. Now
he’s the one screaming.

“Nev, come on!” Sanna’s pulling me off, but I want to keep kicking, even though the man has stopped fighting back. He’s curled
in a ball with his arms wrapped protectively around his head. I give him one final kick before Sanna can tear me away.

Girls are piling into the vans. A few of the vans are full and are pulling away. I notice the passengers in the van—all female.
Sanna and I seem to get the same idea at the same time. We head for the nearest empty van. Two policemen are under attack
from all sides. “You load the van,” I tell Sanna. “I’ll get Nicoline.”

It’s hard to see now; the black smoke is intense. The fire is hopping from tree to tree, advancing at a rapid rate. I see
a body on the ground up ahead. “Nicoline!” I call, and race toward her. The bottom half of her gown is a solid red. The brown
dirt underneath her is stained with her blood. I am only a few feet from her when I’m tackled from behind. I crash to the
ground with the force of a body on top of me.

The weight is lifted and I am flipped onto my back. My attacker’s face is a patchwork of dirt and bruises. His policeman’s
shirt and pants are ripped and his red, raw skin is exposed.

Before I can react, he’s lifted me off the ground and has locked my arms to my sides. I am pinned but facing away from him.
I squirm with all my might, hoping to knock him off balance.