Hold Me Never (Holding Never) Read online

  HOLD ME NEVER

  By

  Natalie Kristen

  Copyright © 2013 Natalie Kristen

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously or are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual locales, events, establishments or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  For my parents

  Thank you for all your love

  You are amazing

  To see a World in a Grain of Sand

  And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,

  Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand

  And Eternity in an hour.

  A Robin Redbreast in a Cage

  Puts all Heaven in a Rage

  A dove house fill'd with doves and pigeons

  Shudders Hell thro' all its regions...

  - William Blake

  CHAPTER ONE

  I stare at the ugly, black metal pieces in front of me. Mechanically, my hands which are stained with dirt and grease pick up the pieces and start piecing them together. It is almost like doing a 3-D jigsaw puzzle. Almost. Doing a puzzle requires you to think and concentrate, to figure out where the pieces go and how the completed picture will look like. Not so here. What I am doing right now is numbly going through the motions of putting all the metal parts together and passing it along the line. Someone else will screw in the nuts and bolts. It will then travel along the conveyor belt to another worker who will do something else to it, fasten a pin, tighten the parts, attach a label, polish it. Until finally it leaves the conveyor belt and the factory. A completed weapon. For the Imperial Army of the Unified States.

  I swipe at my face with the back of my hand, feeling an itch at my chin. I have probably spread a line of black grease straight across my chin, but what do I care? There is no way I could look worse. My hands and face are dirty and sweaty, my brown hair is pulled into a tight ponytail under an old, ragged cap and my work overalls are stained and torn. I glance up at the rest of the workers hunched over the long work bench. Everyone is clad in the same cap and overalls bearing the logo of the Imperial Army. We are the Emperor's people, his workers, his slaves.

  All the workers are girls and women. The oldest woman here is sixty-six. The youngest is nine, the same age I was when I first started working in a factory. My first job was sorting out produce, not assembling weapons. The items may be different, but the conditions and hours are the same. Working twelve hours a day, with just one lunch break and two toilet breaks. No one dares speak a word, even though we spend almost all our waking hours huddled shoulder to shoulder in the factory. A girl had whispered and giggled to her neighbor, and a soldier had put a bullet through her head. Her blood stains are on the wall behind me.

  Some of the girls in the factory share the same dormitory as me. There are communal dormitories all over Town Eighty-seven. Our town had a proper name once, but when the Imperial Army marched into town, the Emperor renamed, or rather, renumbered all the towns and villages. All the states had once been free and independent, but now most have been “unified”. Annexed and occupied would be more accurate, but these are costly words to whisper. They could cost you more than your life.

  I glance down the line of bent faces to my left. I see these faces every single day. Our faces wear the same expression of weariness, resignation and fear, but our minds dream different nightmares, nightmares we can only whisper to each other in the shadows of our congested bunks before sleep claims us for a few fitful hours each night.

  I stare at the row of thin female hands that have been hardened and calloused with pain and suffering. There are no male hands on the assembly line. The men who have not been tortured and killed have been sent to the labor camps, the mountains and mines. They are being worked to their deaths, just as the girls and women are being forced to assemble weapons which will be used to quicken their deaths.

  There is the thud of a heavy footstep behind me, and I bow my head lower as I make a show of handling those repugnant metal parts in my hands with great care. The footstep belongs to the only male in the factory.

  Officer Goddot is an angry, violent supervisor, and the smallest mistake could earn you a thrashing. Leena, a conscientious, quiet young woman lost a couple of teeth to his fist simply because she let a screw drop from her fingers and roll to the edge of Officer Goddot's boot. Officer Goddot's speech is often slurred, his eyes rheumy and his face inflamed by cheap alcohol. He is a seething, pot-bellied, middle-aged stagnated soldier, his life as good as over. Drink and rage is all he has. If you were sent to oversee a small factory in an impoverished town in one of the outer Unified States, your military career was as good as gone. It was a golden handshake, without the gold, and without the handshake. It was a slap in the face, a punch in his flabby gut. With his down turned mouth and wrinkles, Officer Goddot looks like he is in his fifties, but I'm guessing he's younger than he looks. Frustration and bitterness can age and harden a person so.

  Officer Goddot moves down the line, grunting and cussing under his breath, which forever smells of alcohol. He swaggers to the front of the factory and stands under the gigantic portraits of the Emperor and Empress of the Unified States. The Emperor and Empress smile down at us from the front wall of the factory. They look like caricatures, with their elaborately coiffed hair, garish pink cheeks, dark red lips and wide, greedy smiles. Gold, diamonds and multicolored gems glint from their heads, ears and necks. The Emperor's close-set light gray eyes and orange hair contrast starkly with the Empress's wide, dark eyes and black hair.

  The Emperor and Empress are not dressed in military garb in their portraits, but in gilded cloak and gown, like they're dressed for a ball or a party. But this is no party. This is war. All the time. The Unified States is always at war. The Imperial Army is not here to maintain peace and order, but to spread fear and violence. That's how they unified the states. With blood and tears. Be annexed or be annihilated.

  With a yawn, Officer Goddot pulls up a chair and slumps heavily into it. His lips are moving under his unruly mustache, but I can't hear what he is muttering above the drone of the machines and the conveyor belt. Not that I care what he is saying to himself or to us. Soldiers of the Imperial Army are not really human in my eyes. To compare them to animals would be highly insulting to the animals. They march into sleeping towns and villages, and rape and plunder, without remorse, without pity. They may wear human faces, but they show no trace of humanity.

  Except—one.

  One soldier.

  He was the only one who didn't rob and rape. He tried to help.

  He tried to stop his Commander from taking a woman away from her child, from attacking and assaulting the woman right in front of her young daughter. And he was shot for it.

  I have never forgotten that young soldier.

  It was ten years ago, but I never forgot. How could I? That child, that child who watched her mother being dragged away and assaulted—that was me.

  The scene flashes before me, the edges blurred but the faces vivid.

  The light of the setting sun is dull and gray over our town, instead of warm and golden. The smoke from the heavy military vehicles and rifles shroud the streets like a pall. Soldiers spread out through the town like a disease, invading shops and houses, grabbing anything and everything and hauling their loot into their military trucks. Their loot include property and persons.

  Outrage and terror hang in the air as people cower away from the soldiers and quietly drag bloodied bodies from the curb. My mother and I are hurrying home when the first truck rolls past us. My mother jerks her head up and in that terrible moment, those cold, hungry eyes of the Commander smoking in the front passenger seat lock on her. Lock on her like a choke hold.

  With a screech of brakes, the Commander strides over and tries to wrench my mother away from me, but I refuse to let go of her. I cling to her, pleading and crying, as she tries her best to shield me with her body.

  The Commander roars orders to the soldiers, and they fan out to begin their rape of our town. Those who are vocal enough, reckless enough, brave enough, are brutally broken and killed. Wailing and screaming become painfully muffled, as those who rush to the aid of the injured are themselves bludgeoned to death.

  My mother's hands are over my ears, trying to block out the horrific sounds. She bends over me, whispering and murmuring soothingly in my ear, still trying to protect me even as her clothes are ripped and torn from her back. I can feel her quaking as she lays a hand over my eyes so that my young eyes will not see the evil that will be done to her.

  “Close your eyes,” she implores. “Keep your eyes closed, Zoey.”

  The Commander bellows to his soldiers, and rough hands pull me out of my mother's arms. I reach for her, screaming and kicking.

  Close your eyes, she mouths, tears streaming down her face.

  I scream harder and shake my head. That's her last instruction to me, the last words she will ever say to me, but I don't obey her. My eyes are stretched wide open, as I watch the Commander strip her naked in the middle of the street and pin her to the ground.

  I shriek and thrash against the arms that are retraining me. “No! No, please, somebody, please, please help her! Please save my mother!” I scream to the silent crowd.

  Someone rushes forward, but it is not one of the townspeople. It is a soldier.

  “Sir! Sir...”

  “What!” the Commander snaps as the young soldier
stumbles towards him.

  “I...I...please, Sir!” The soldier tries to stand at attention, but he seems to be swaying on his feet. “Sir, please...let her go, Sir...” he stammers.

  The Commander stares at him for an instant, as if unable to believe his ears, before his face contorts in fury.

  “What. Did. You. Say. Captain?” the Commander says slowly, his voice low and menacing.

  “I...I'm sorry, Sir, b-but...”

  “But what.”

  “D-don't do it, Sir. S-she...” The young soldier flicks his brown eyes in my direction and swallows. “Her child...”

  “Her child can watch.” The Commander unzips his pants, smiling dangerously at the young soldier. “And you can shut up!”

  The Commander lunges and grabs my weeping mother. In a flash, as if driven by instinct, the young soldier moves to restrain his Commander. He puts a hand on the Commander's shoulder, and attempts to pull his Commander away. “Sir...”

  The Commander's hand flies to his gun and in a heartbeat, the barrel is pressed against the young soldier's forehead.

  “I. Said. Shut. Up!”

  “Sir!”

  A gunshot shatters the air. A thin trail of smoke snakes from the Commander's gun.

  The young soldier is on the ground, clutching his shoulder. Blood seeps from between his fingers. He is grimacing in pain, but he doesn't cry out.

  “You have disobeyed a direct order, Captain Jaxon Ryleth,” the Commander snarls. “Take him away!”

  The soldier struggles as he is being dragged away. “Sir!” he croaks, even as he is being cuffed and frogmarched away. “Sir! Please let the woman go, Sir!” He twists around. “The child...”

  His voice trails off, his brown eyes burning into mine before he disappears from my view.

  I see blood on the ground. His blood, and my mother's blood.

  I scream.

  And scream.

  And scream.

  Until there is nothing left.

  No one left.

  No one tried to help my mother. No one but that young Captain.

  I can no longer hear my own screams. But it is not because I have stopped screaming. There is a blow to the back of my head, and my world becomes even blacker and darker than it already is.

  When I open my eyes again, my mother is gone. Forever.

  I jerk up, a silent scream lodged in my throat.

  It happened ten years ago, but the horror never dies. The black metal pieces fall from my fingers with a loud clatter, echoing round the factory and bringing everyone's head up.

  Including Officer Goddot's, which had been nodding and lolling on his shoulders.

  Eyes flick to me, and look down quickly. All except one pair of eyes. They remain fixed on me, glaring at my ashen face.

  I gulp and snatch up the fallen metal parts with trembling fingers. “I'm sorry,” I mutter to everybody and nobody in particular. “I'm so sorry.”

  Officer Goddot rises slowly and kicks back his chair. He walks slowly towards me, every approaching footstep like a grenade detonating in the hushed factory.

  His mustache is twitching and his eyes blink and squint, focusing on me and the jumble of metal pieces in my hands.

  I bow my head low and try to assemble the weapon quickly, bringing my work up to speed, but my hands are shaking too much. Officer Goddot is coming nearer and nearer, the stench of his alcohol-laced breath wafting to my nostrils and making me nauseous.

  Or maybe it is fear that is making me nauseous.

  Even before he opens his mouth to speak, I know that I am in deep trouble.

  The heavy footsteps stomp to a halt behind me. “Is there a problem?” Officer Goddot's rough, gravelly voice grind into the back of my neck.

  All heads lower and eyes dart to the floor.

  “I'm talking to you, girl! Stand up when I'm talking to you!”

  Very slowly, I force my fists to unclench even as I stop breathing. I push back from the work bench and stand, keeping my head down. I can feel Officer Goddot's eyes on the back of my head, traveling down the length of my lanky, scrawny body. For once, I am glad for the baggy, dirty overalls. My overalls are so oversized and dirt-caked that they hide whatever little curves I have developed in the last year. I have always been gangly, with long limbs and small breasts, but when I turned seventeen last year, my body just kind of filled out on its own, even with the meager food portions that are hardly enough to keep me alive, let alone fatten me up. And having hips and breasts and curves was—trouble.

  Officer Goddot's boot connects with the heel of my foot. He has kicked directly at the hole in my shoe, hitting my bare flesh. I wince, and bite back a gasp, but manage to stay upright.

  “Don't slouch, girl!” he barks. “Stand up straight! What is your name?” he asks, stepping closer.

  I try not to flinch. “Zoey. Zoey Whard.”

  “Turn around and face me, Zoey,” he orders.

  I nod and turn around, almost colliding into the front of his faded black uniform. I gasp and stumble back, almost losing my footing. Officer Goddot regards me with a smile that is devoid of mirth. He doesn't take a step back, just waits for me to right myself. I am forced to stand within an inch of him, inhaling his vile breath.

  “Zoey,” he begins, his voice dangerously soft. “Why did you throw those pieces down? Are you not happy working here?”

  My head snaps up, nearly smashing into his nose. “I...I didn't, Sir! I didn't throw them down. I dropped them...”

  I clamp my mouth shut instantly. That was a mistake. A very costly mistake. I should not have said that.

  “Dropped...them?” he repeats, very slowly and deliberately.

  I just shake my head mutely, refusing to utter another word to condemn myself.

  Officer Goddot juts his head towards me and says in a thin voice, “All these belongs to the Emperor and Empress of the Unified States. You are handling the valuable property of the Unified States. It is imperative that you carry out your duty with care and responsibility. Damaging the property of the Unified States is a very serious offense. A very serious offense indeed.”

  He pauses to let the full meaning of his words sink in.

  Worried glances are thrown my way, and some of the older women begin shaking their heads, their hands over their mouths.

  “I'm sorry, Sir,” I say, unable to hide the tremor in my voice. “I'm really sorry...”

  Officer Goddot shoots me a look of disbelief and disdain. “You're sorry?”

  “Y-yes. Yes, Sir. I am very sorry. I will...”

  He starts to walk away from me. “Yes, I can see that you are sorry. But that is not enough. Everyone will have to know how sorry you are. Your mistake is very, very serious, with very, very serious consequences. It must never be repeated. How can I run a factory if my workers do not take their responsibilities seriously? How will I account to the Emperor for all the damage to his property? There is a lesson to be learned from this. A lesson for all of you. The consequences of your action must be shown to all. You have to be punished, Zoey,” he says with a smile. “And everyone has to see it. This is justice. And justice must not only be done, but be seen to be done.”

  I stare at the back of his shoulders, which doesn't look quite as hunched as before. The prospect of doling out my punishment has made him throw back his shoulders and walk taller, hold his head higher than he has been able to hold it for a long time now.

  The taste of authority and power over another is intoxicating, empowering, ego-inflating. There will be no need for him to imbibe cheap alcohol this evening. He can get well and truly drunk on my suffering, on his new found, fleeting power.

  I stare round at the many stricken faces in the factory. Even though they look visibly distressed, no one dares come to my defense. The consequences of such a rash, foolhardy act are twofold. One, they would bring the same horrific punishment down upon their own heads. Two, my offense would immediately be deemed more serious and unforgivable simply by virtue of the fact that someone had spoken up for me, and my sentence would instantly be doubled or tripled. There is nothing anyone can do.

  I open my mouth but lucky for me, no words come. Protesting, pleading, maintaining my innocence would just do more harm than good at this point.