Bucket
Adapted from the upcoming dystopian sci-fi novel, Every Last One: The Rise of Sylvia Boone
I’ve been here before. It used to be King’s Cross Anglican Church like a million years ago. The roof is caved in and graffiti covers the crumbling walls inside and out. Traffickers use sites like this as waiting stations before delivering abductees to the service centers. God hasn’t been here in ages.
I recognize the familiar musty smell—dank and old. The room is mostly dark. A shaft of light creates a rectangular box against the far wall. I distinctly remember that rectangular box. It was a year ago when I learned to disappear into that sliver of light, my only escape from the monotony of captive existence.
I’m not alone. My eyes haven’t adjusted enough to make out any bodies, but I can hear them breathing. I feel the familiar sensation like I’m floating, unable to delineate where my body makes contact with the stained mattress beneath me. I feel no pain at all, like my body exists far inside a protective cloud. It’s the drugs. I fight the urge to go back to sleep. I try to stand up, but my stupid legs fail to support me.
I reach to my right and my hand rests on a warm surface, prickly as I move my fingers over the contoured mass. Skin. A leg? Judging by the length of its stubble, this woman must be a newer captive. If she was a veteran, her leg hair would be longer, softer. This woman had shaved in the last three or four days. I squeeze the leg and give it a pat.
“Hey,” I manage to whisper. I clear my throat and try again with minimal vocal strength. “Hey.”
The prickly prisoner moans.
“Hey,” I say again with a bit more oomph. “Wake up.” I shake her leg gently. “Wake up.”
The prisoner moans again, “Nnuursh . . . muh.”
“Hey! Come on. Wake up.”
“She ain’t gonna wake up,” another voice says from across the room.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“Nora. You?
“Hannah. How long have you been in here?”
“‘Bout a week. This yo first time?”
“No. But it’s going to be my last.”
Nora laughs. “Oh, you think so? How old are you, baby?”
“Seventeen.”
“Honey, I hate to break it to you, but you got a lot of years left up in here. You young. You white. And you pretty.”
“I have people out there. They’ll come for me.”
“Okay baby. You keep telling yourself that.”
I sit pensively for a moment. Nora isn’t wrong. The odds are against me. I recall the faces of my rescuers with fondness and hope. I also remember that it was me who got their attention in the first place. I was the one who decided to smash my head against that window over and over, hoping someone would hear me. I didn’t care if I gave myself a concussion. I was determined to find a way out and I did my part.
“You know, you’re right,” I say. “I can’t wait around to be rescued. I have to do this on my own.”
Nora laughs again. “I’m sorry, baby. I ain’t laughin’ at you. You seem like a real nice kid.”
I try standing again, this time I make it onto my feet. I brace myself against the wall. My eyes have started to adjust to the darkness. I can see the moaning woman lying on a mattress beside me, wearing nothing but a tank top and panties, waistband twisted and insufficiently covering her butt. I can see Nora sitting against the wall, her legs stretched out in front of her in a V.
Using the wall for support, I make my way over to the two concrete steps leading up to the steel door. I remember from before that this door is accessed with a security card attached to a retractable lanyard on the guard’s utility belt.
“When was the last time they were in here?” I ask.
“Not since you got here. ‘Bout three hours ago. Why?”
“So they’ll be back again in an hour for another dose.”
“You do know the drill.”
“I’ve been here before. In this room actually. Where’s the bucket?”
“Over there, in the corner.” Nora points to a dark corner of the room.
I use my feet to locate the five-gallon bucket and hear the slosh of human waste when I kick it. The smell of shit and piss waft up into my sinuses and I gag. I find the handle and try to lift the bucket, but it’s way too heavy.
“Can you help me? Nora?”
“Whatchu mean, help you?”
“Help me carry this over to the steps.”
“Uh-uh, you on ya own, honey. I don’t even touch that thing when I have to use it.”
“Please? I have a plan.”
“Oh, you have a plan?”
“Okay listen. First, we cover the steps with poop and when the guard opens the door he’ll slip on it and fall down the steps. And then we take his gun and his access card and get the hell out of here.”
Nora laughs again and claps her hands. “Girl, you crazy! I like you, though. I do!”
“Please? We have to try. I’m telling you. I have people and they’re coming. They’re CPG. Well, former.”
“The fuck is a CPG?”
“Canadian People’s Guard. They’re like police up in Canada.”
“Is that suppose to reassure me? Who the fuck you think took me from my home when I was twelve years old? The police, that’s who.”
“Trust me. These people are good. They rescued me, twice. They’re trying to put a stop to all of this.”
“Shiiit. Why you back here den?”
“We got separated and I got caught. It’s a long story, but they’re coming for me. I know it.”
“How they gonna find you up in here?”
“That’s why I have to get out.”
“Oh Lord, have mercy!”
“So will you help me?”
“Girl, that ain’t no plan! What if he don’t fall?”
“Come on! Don’t be negative! We have to try!” I start to cry. It’s embarrassing but I can’t help it. “I have to at least try.”
“Ah shit,” Nora says. “Don’t do that. Don’t cry. Alright, alright. Come on now. What the hell? Fine. I’ll help you, but this sho ain’t gonna work.”
I can’t believe it but Nora helps me carry the splattering bucket to the steps. She curses the whole way. We tip the bucket over and pour its putrid contents onto the steps.
“Ooh. Oooh, Lord! This stank!” Nora had exceeded her disgust tolerance. “Okay, what we do now?” Nora asks holding her shirt over her nose.
“We wait,” I say.
The sleeping woman moans again, this time more loudly.
“They got this bitch fucked up,” Nora says, shaking her head. “Whachu tryna say, baby?” Nora asks the woman sweetly and helps her into a sitting position.
I sit next to the drugged woman, helping to brace her from the other side. “I’m Hannah and this is Nora. What’s your name?”
“Anita.” She scrunches up her face. “What’s that smell?”
“Oh, that’s our shit!” Nora says looking directly at me. It wasn’t my shit. “Tell her about your plan.” Nora says.
“We’re getting out of here,” I say. “And you’re coming with us. Can you stand up?”
Anita can barely sit upright without help, much less stand. “How? How are we getting out? There’s guards all over.” Anita says circling her index fingers in the air.
“We’re going to take out the next guard that comes in here. We’re going to take his gun and his access card and we’re busting out!” I explain.
Anita stares blankly at me, then turns to Nora. “Is this bitch crazy?”
“Girl, that’s what I said. But under the circumstances, crazy is all we got,” Nora says.
I nod. She gets it.
“Why is there shit everywhere?” Anita asks pulling her shirt up over her nose.
“Oh, that’s part of this white girl’s plan to take out the guard,” Nora says. “Tell her.”
“He’s going to slip on it,” I say. Obviously.
Anita scoffs. “Damn, you are crazy. I don’t want nothin’ to do with your poopy plans. I’m in enough trouble as it is.”
At that moment, I hear a buzz and the door opens. The tubby guard slips on the shit-covered stoop, but catches his balance. “What the fuck?! Oh fuck! That’s fucking disgusting! Which one of you bitches shit on the floor? That’s what the bucket is for, goddammit!”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Nora says. “I thought it was for this!” Nora swings the empty bucket against the guard’s face with all her might and he falls backwards against the wall. As he staggers to regain his balance, his foot slips on the fecal soup and he falls directly onto his tailbone. Nora whacks him again on the side of his head with the bucket.
Adrenaline overtakes me and I jump on top of the guard like a wild puma. “Grab his gun!” I yell.
Nora wrestles the bolt gun from its holster and blasts him before he can get to his knees. I remove the guard’s access card and a taser from his utility belt.
“Anita, now’s our chance!” I yell. “Are you in?”
“Fuck it! Help me up,” Anita says.
Nora and I help Anita to her feet, placing her arms around our necks. Anita is still woozy and hasn’t fully regained use of her legs. They buckle and slip from under her every two or three steps.
We ascend a narrow staircase and another guard busts through the door at the top of the stairs. Nora shoots him and he falls toward us. We cling to the railing on either side as he tumbles past us. When we reach the ground floor, it’s empty. I hear screaming in the distance.
We make our way toward a half-lit exit sign. The screaming grows louder and two guards run into the hallway ahead of us from another direction, followed by a dense fog. The men run out the exit door screaming and covering their faces.
“What the f—” Nora coughs mid-sentence. My eyes begin to burn and I choke. Within seconds all of us are coughing uncontrollably, eyes watering, as we painstakingly make our way toward the exit.
I hear something else amid the shouting. It’s muffled and frantic, but I swear I hear my name. A dense fog fills the hall. I continue to feel my way toward the exit, still a ways away, with my eyes shut tight. More gunshots ring out from inside the building. “Hannah!” I hear again, this time closer, still muffled, but I can’t open my eyes. I hold Anita up with one arm and hold the taser out in front of me with the other. I feel a hand on my shoulder. “Hannah, it’s me Jaaaaa—” I jab the taser into his ribs before realizing it’s James.
“James!” I call out between coughs. I force myself to open my watery eyes and pull the gas mask from his face. “Oh no!” I cry. “I’m so sorry!” James forces a smile. He places the gas mask over my face and covers his with his shirt as we stumble toward the exit. Once outside the building, we all fall to the ground coughing and wheezing.
Outside, men are running in all directions. An aerial hovercraft descends onto the church lawn like a metallic insect, firing into the crowd.
“Come on!” James yells. “That’s our ride!”
Nora and Anita look suspiciously at the hovering aircraft, its passengers waving them over.
“It’s okay,” I yell over the shouting and smiled widely. “I told you. I have people!”
Adapted from the upcoming dystopian sci-fi novel Every Last One: The Rise of Sylvia Boone, available February 20, 2024.
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