Blood Moon over Africa

I awoke to a place that was dark, filthy, and crowded.

My confused, fuzzy mind tried to comprehend what was the matter. This wasn't my small, dank apartment in my rough neighborhood, nor was it the large department store in which I worked. No, this was somewhere else, somewhere horrible and frightening.

I tried to sit up, but I grew lightheaded and swayed. My shoulder was knocked into the leg of another person.

"Watch it!" a woman's voice hissed.

"She didn't mean to," another voice spoke up. Again, it was a woman who spoke.

I forced my eyes open and beheld a dark, cramped holding car much like a boxcar, but half the size. There were slats near the top to allow for ventilation and some light from the night sky beyond the little prison. Benches sat two feet off the dirty floor and were on three sides of the rectangular space. The fourth side, one of the ones that comprised the short end of the car, appeared to be made of two metal doors that swung outward. I lay on the dirty ground at the far end opposite the doors and in front of one of the benches.

On the benches and the floor sat a dozen women counting myself. In the dim light, I glimpsed their wide, frightened eyes. Their ages ranged from the mid-teens to early thirties, and their clothes were as different as their ages. Some wore jeans and shirts, others were clothed in dress pants and blouses. Some wore glasses, and others didn't. A few were beautiful, some were plain like me, but none were what I'd call unattractive.

I tried to shift my legs, but there came a metallic scraping sound and something arrested my movements. I glanced down at my ankles and saw I was shackled. My wrists were likewise attached to one another, but at least they were locked in front of me. I ground my teeth together and shook the wooziness out of my head.

"Where. . where am I?" I asked the women.

"Hell," a nearby woman quipped. I recognized her voice as the one I'd angered. She had long, dark brown hair and narrow, dark eyes.

"You're not making things better for any of us saying that, Riley," a woman near her scolded her. That was the second woman I'd heard earlier.

"Why should I care about everyone else? I don't know any of you. All we've done is give our first names," Riley snapped.

I tried to stand, but the holding car suddenly jumped as though it hit a bump. I tipped over and fell into the arms of the friendly woman. "Easy there. The stuff they gave you is just wearing off," she told me.

"'Stuff?'" I repeated.

The woman smiled. "You're really out of it, aren't you? Do you remember your first name?"

"What does it matter? They're probably taking us somewhere where they can kill us all," Riley argued.

The woman who held me glared at her. "It matters to put names with faces just in case we need to help each other." She returned her attention to me and squeezed me between herself and a young girl of sixteen. "I'm Karissa. What's yours?"

I clutched my aching head in my hand and scrunched my eyes shut. "Amelia, but where are we?" I persisted.

Karissa shrugged. "In this boxcar driving somewhere. It's been like that for a few hours. Ever since the first of us woke up."