Chapter Text
I
The unforgiving sun of eastern New Mexico made a brutal contrast with the cold vault they had left just a few minutes ago. For this small group of people, who the previous day were saying goodbye to their loved ones, the endless wasteland made them feel like the last inhabitants of the Earth. Most of the group was made up of a few families who secured themselves a place in one of the cryogenic vaults in America, saved for the personal use of those with enough means to afford their security in a new future. But one young woman stood amongst the rest, alone and without any family who could bring her comfort in such jarring circumstances. She had been one of the few who ditched the vault suit to more common clothes, in the hopes that it would bring less attention upon herself. It also helped her keep a sense of normalcy — she remembered the day she bought that shirt, and so she clung, if not to her family, to the memories of it. That evening, a day after she had returned home from Massachusetts, her mother had insisted on going to the mall with her just to distract her and her mother had insisted on buying her something, so the young woman picked up a cheap white shirt with a picture of a basket full of blood-red cherries. That day seemed so distant the young woman could have sworn she had invented that memory.
But it was real. As real as the nothingness they stood in.
“Attention everybody,” a man called for the whole group, keeping two teenage girls and a middle aged woman next to him. She knew who he was; Mr. Edmund Gould . He and his wife had been the ones who protested the most for her presence in the vault. “We have been provided a guideline regarding what to do after waking up in case communications didn't work. First, we should find the closest city and make contact with the local authorities, and according to our location,” the man looked at a map on his pipboy, “that city should be Roswell. We should head up there as soon as possible and —”
The disagreeing turmoil soon silenced the man, several voices asking him why was he the one deciding what to do, how would the group walk across the desert under the midday sun with children and elderly people under their care, and how was he sure that it was even safe out there. They hadn't moved from the entrance to the vault, more humble than the experimental ones made by Vault-Tec and designed to sustain a living population for a long period of time.
“What year is it?” The young woman asked while raising her hand. “How much time has passed?”
“What?” The man said, looking at her as if she had asked him for his wallet.
“What year is it? We were supposed to leave the vault as soon as the situation in the outside world stabilized, we were never given a date,” she pointed out. “But there's nothing around us. I remember there were a couple of buildings next to the vault that now are gone, and the vault itself seems to have no energy, so maybe…”
“Maybe what?” Linda Gould asked her, berating her for daring to speak to her husband. “Come on girl, you wanted to speak, so speak.”
“Maybe there’s been a fault in the system that —”
“There was no fault in the system,” the man said with confidence. “This is not one of those vaults made for the common people to survive the war. This was a privileged refuge made to protect the people more valuable for the future. Even if they made some questionable exceptions,” the man said the last words looking directly at the lonely young woman. “I myself was one of the most important shareholders at Vault-Tec. Do you think I would have risked my own family if I weren’t sure that this vault was safe?”
The young woman shrunk into herself, feeling that everyone’s eyes were on her. Her parents had invested all they had to ensure she had a place in the vault, but she knew she wasn't welcomed by most. “Just look at the date on the pip-boy,” she insisted. “You brought a pip-boy with you, right? Look at the date.”
With an arrogant smile Mr. Gould took a look at his pip-boy. His expression didn't change, but he delayed his response. “It doesn't matter. The important thing is that it doesn't detect any significant radiation. Probably everything is fine out there, I doubt the Chinese would have dared to attack the United States of America with atomic bombs. This was just a drill,” he concluded. “Once the sun lowers we'll move forward. I think everyone would agree that we can't stay here forever.”
Not everyone was convinced by his leadership and reasoning, but nobody seemed to be in the mood to speak up. The young woman felt uncomfortable, and not just because of the interaction before. Looking up at the blinding blue sky she saw a few ravens fly west, their distant figure as black dots against the blazing sun. She sat on the floor, claiming a corner of the shadows for herself, hugging her backpack against her chest and thinking of her parents back in California. She hoped they were fine, safe wherever they were, and waiting for her.
The same unawareness that had crept through her was present in the rest of the group. She counted the heads; seventeen individuals, herself included. At least they're not alone, she thought, they have someone to hold them.
Once noon passed and the sun became more merciful Mr. Gould told the group to begin its march. Military rations were shared amongst the dwellers by Linda Gould, who only gave one ration to the young woman under the argument that her daughters needed them more, even though there were three rations per individual. The young woman looked at the package, wondering how out of date it may be, no matter how much manufacturers insisted that small doses of radiation could preserve food indefinitely.
The young woman marched at the tail of the group, taking on her surroundings. An endless desert spread its reach in every direction, the bleak nothingness only disturbed by ruined remains, like colossal fingers of iron and concrete that had broken through the ground and now pointed at the heavens in accusation. A few feet away from her a tarantula crossed her path with hers, content in her solitude as the animal found shadow inside a prickly pear cactus. If only the young woman could find comfort and safety behind some flowers and spikes.
They walked and walked until they came to a halt, an unsettling image ahead of them. Like a bleeding wound upon the golden flesh of the desert, a camp filled with red tents was spread ahead of them. Smokes danced up in the sky, being challenged in height only by an assertion of wooden crosses. Once again, the group became unsure of what to do, but Mr. Gould insisted on approaching the camp, arguing that it must be the aid they were supposed to come across.
Red banners waved at the entrance of the camp, framing the figure of a golden bull. But what caught the young woman's attention were the guards. There was no uniformity between individual men, but if one didn't pay attention and looked at the full picture, they looked like Roman soldiers.
It didn't take long for them to be noticed by the guards. “Not one step forward, profligates. This camp belongs to Caesar's Legion, state your purpose or leave.”
Confused looks were exchanged between the vault survivors, who didn't know how to respond and became increasingly on edge as they picked up on the details.
Peering inside the gates the young woman found an army of terribles, tens, perhaps hundreds in number, all dressed in a mimicry of Ancient Rome. Most were wearing football equipment in place of lorica, the headwear varying from brown, ragged hoods to feathered helmets, one wearing a frill helmet and other the skin of some animal. The improvised quality of their equipment didn't match the discipline they showed, being as dissonant in contrast as the weapons they carried. Pistols, shotguns, machetes and even spears, all the men were heavily armed.
“Speak, profligate,” the guard demanded.
“Ah, yes, I apologize sir, we're just a bit exhausted,” Mr. Gould said, rubbing his hands together like a rat. “I'm glad to see that things have not come to ruin. We're heading towards Roswell, but as you see, we have no vehicles. If you gave us a place to stay for tonight we would be immensely grateful. There's old people and kids with us, you see.”
“Do we look like the Followers?” The guards exchanged glances and laughed. “There's no asylum for profligates here.”
“What did you just call me?” Mr. Gould tried to belittle him like he had belittled the young woman before. “I'm a very important man, it's convenient to have me as a friend.”
“Do you offer payment?” The guard asked.
“Of course! Once we reach our destiny I'll pay you whatever price you ask for,” Mr. Gould said.
“So you can't pay now?” The guards laughed again.
“We just need to reach Roswell and I'll pay you back, sir, with interest,” Mr. Gould promised. “I'm a man of my word.”
It was the last straw for her when no one else called him out this time. “Pay them with what? The rations?” She questioned even before any of the soldiers in front of them could. “We have nothing but what's on our backs, and they don't look like they'll accept dollars...”
“Why wouldn't they accept dollars? Are you saying the government of the United States of America is gone? Don't be absurd,” he looked at their group, looking for support. Like before, uncertainty under his leadership, but no voice raised concerns. “Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds?”
“Stupid? Fine,” she reached for her backpack and searched inside until she found her wallet. Avoiding looking at the picture of herself with her parents she picked all the bills she had; it amounted to one hundred and fifty two dollars.
“You had money and didn't say anything!” Ms. Gould accused her.
She ignored her and approached the men. The small group they had first encountered had grown in numbers, more men dressed in those strange uniforms looking at them with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. All of them towered over her, and most had their faces partially or totally covered. Up close their choice of uniform would have been amusing, as if they came out straight of a late night show or a B series movie — sports equipment and badly sewn short tunics, but their imposing physique and weaponry made their bizarre fashion unsettling. Doing her best at hiding her fear, she approached the one who was closest to her and handed him the bills. “Well sir, legionary, what can you give us for this?”
As she had expected, the men laughed. Then, the one she had talked to picked up the bills and shredded them to pieces in front of her.
“Now profligate, if what you want is a place to sleep I have enough room in my tent for two,” the man tried to reach for her, and in her attempt to get away from him she fell on the ground, making the group of Roman-like soldiers laugh again.
“Look, she's already on her back,” one of them said, “I think she wants you, Caro!”
It made them all roar in laughter and she felt her cheeks burn in shame. She tried to get up and regain some dignity, looking at her feet and slowly stepping back.
“One does get tired of filthy tribal slaves,” the one named Caro agreed. “If you don't have anything to sell, stop wasting our time, but I can warm you up good for the night. You just need to open those pretty legs a little.”
It was appalling. She felt disgusted, but ignoring them seemed to work for now. At least she had made her point clear to Mr. Gould. The world wasn’t like the one they were born in, and a new one had emerged from the concrete corpse of the old. They couldn't think as if they were still in America, whoever they were before didn't matter. She was already celebrating her small victory in her mind when her situation took a turn for the worse.
“How much for her?” Mr. Gould said. “You mentioned you have slaves over there, right? Well, she's for sale.”
“What? No!” She protested. “I'm not for sale!”
“Shut up,” Caro made a gesture and two men grabbed her while he inspected her with a hungry gaze. “Now we're talking, profligate. How much do you ask for her?”
“Please Mr. Gould, don't do this,” she begged, “you can't do this!”
For a split second Mr. Gould showed some guilt, but not as much as the rest of the group. No one dared to look her in the face, and she pleaded once again, hoping for someone to speak against this cruelty.
“Understand this, girl, it's nothing personal,” Mr. Gould finally said, “but without a place to pass the night we're all dead anyway. I need to think of my girls first.”
“No, no, no, no,” she cried in a mixture of fear and anger.
“It's either you or us,” he said. “We could even buy you back after we reach Roswell and —”
“There's no fucking Roswell you moron!” Julie snapped, tears of rage falling down her cheeks. “Look around you! Look at them! Do they look like all-American boys to you? Fucking clown!”
“Enough of this,” Caro cut their argument. His hand moved to grab her jaw, moving her face side to side in a way that felt too natural, as if he had done this a hundred times before. “She does look young and healthy. Is she a virgin?”
“A woman like her? I doubt it,” Ms. Gould said. “But if she's healthy that's better, she'll have experience.” Caro nodded, as if considering her words.
“I wouldn't mind a bitch who knows how to ride for once. Have you had children?” Caro asked her directly while lifting up her t-shirt. “You look fit for breeding,” then he pulled up her bra as if he was assessing the value of merchandise.
“No, you can't, you can't do this to me!” She fought again, more furious at her group than at the men who were trying to buy her like cattle.
“And why not?” Caro’s hands moved down to her hips and she tried to struggle against his touch. “Oh, we're going to have so much fun you and me.”
“Share her with the rest of us,” one of the men grabbing her said, licking her neck. “It's been weeks since I had one who put up a fight.”
“If I buy this little cunt I'm not planning on sharing,” Caro smiled at her, “at least not while her holes are still tight. And then you'll have to pay me for each fuck.”
“Then I'll buy her for myself,” the other man grabbing her said, turning his head to look at Mr. Gould. “Whatever Caro offers you, I'll pay you more.”
“And how are you going to pay that much, Celsus?” Caro taunted him. “You can't even afford a wife.”
“I want to buy her too. She has lips for sucking cock,” another soldier claimed from the crowd. “Come on profligate, say a price.”
Any crumb of guilt and pity on Mr. Gould ’s face was soon replaced by festering greed. For the first time, he looked at her like the imposing soldiers did — fresh goods ready to be sold and bought. “How much does a slave cost?”
“A female of breeding age costs 250 denarii,” Caro explained. He then proceeded to inspect her body again, from her breasts down to her lower belly. She feared that he would remove her jeans too, but she didn't struggle, trying to stop herself from sobbing. This had to be a nightmare, some dreadful dream induced in her cryogenic sleep. “She looks better than the tribals we usually deal with though... Even if she's not a virgin, she does look unspoiled, and perfect to bear healthy children. I offer you 300 denarii for her.”
A hand, belonging to Celsus, brushed the underside of her breast. “By Mars, she does have great tits. I raise his offer to 350 denarii,” he smiled at Mr. Gould. “I’ll give you 5 denarii now if you let me touch her tits.”
“You're worse than a degenerate,” the other man grabbing her said.
“Those tribals are flatter than me,” Celsus protested, “I've been missing a good pair of tits since we left Malpais.”
“Speaking of Malpais, if the Legate hears of this there will be consequences,” a legionary warned him. “Publicly pawing the tits of an unsold slave will be punished, you know that.” More legionaries agreed, even Caro, who was looking around, as if he expected something terrible and ominous to fall upon them.
“It'll be just a moment, he doesn't have to know,” Celsus argued, producing his coins and throwing them at Mr. Gould. “And I need to know if she can feed my sons before I buy her,” then he told the other man to seize both her arms behind her back while Celsus moved in front of her. “Look at those eyes, what a pretty little bitch you are.”
The young woman wriggled in desperation as Celsus removed his gloves, always looking her in the eye. His touch was tentative at first, measuring her, “imagine how you're going to look when I put my seed inside you,” then he grabbed her with more vigor. The young woman closed her eyes, not wanting to cry through the humiliation. Never had she felt more like a little child, scared and alone. Rough fingers began to play with her nipples until they hardened. She still had her eyes closed, but heard how Celsus moved closer to her, pitching her nipples almost with anger, making her feel more uneasy. Then the hands were abruptly removed from her body, giving her a brief respite.
When she opened her eyes Caro was pulling Celsus away. “Enough, you touched her enough,” he said. “I don't need to see how you try to feed from her tits.”
“I buy her now, profligate,” Celsus said, fixated on her with ravenous hunger. “Before anyone can make a counter offer, I’ll give you 400 denarii. Dammit, I need to fuck this cunt now.”
“450 denarii!” Another legionary said.
“Fuck you,” Celsus snarled. “I already bought her, she's mine.”
“My husband didn't agree on the sale yet,” Ms. Gould pointed out. Celsus said something between his teeth in a language the young woman didn't understand, but she wasn't sure if it was because it was indeed a language she didn't know or her sanity giving up on her so soon.
“We offer 600 denarii together,” two men said, walking up front and wanting to have their chance at assessing her value first hand. “She does have more than one hole…”
“So much fuss over some profligate bitch. This better be worth my time,” a man stepped in front of her, better dressed than the others. His armor still had an improvised quality to it, but it was bulkier, made out more of metal than repurposed sports equipment. His presence brought with him a sense of authority that made the others pull away from her, except for the one grabbing her. “You were right, Celsus, the little bitch is pretty. The prettiest little bitch I've seen in a long time.”
“Ave, Tertius,” they all saluted him. From what some of them uttered, he was a centurion. It was surreal, a bad joke with her as the punchline.
But it was real, and to her horror, Tertius undid her jeans and shoved his hand inside her panties. Unceremoniously he put a finger inside her, more as a prove than anything remotely erotic. It hurt as he forced himself on her, and it hurt more when he began to set a rhythm until he forced a physical reaction from her. There was still some resistance there, but despite her fight and complaint Tertius pushed a second finger inside, his gaze more lecherous as he seemed to enjoy how tight she was. “I’ll be the one to buy her and breed her,” he concluded, nodding at his men and then at Mr. Gould. “This is the kind of woman who begets strong sons. I offer you 1000 denarii, profligate. Not even for untouched tribal cunt we pay this much. You won't find a better deal for her elsewhere.”
Mr. Gould exchanged a look with his wife, who nodded with the cruel ghost of a smile hiding on her greedy face. “Done, she's yours, sir, Mister Tertius.”
The other legionaries looked disappointed, as if they were kids robbed of their new toy. Julie wanted to run away, and to her own surprise, once the man holding her let go of her arms, her brain opted for the flight response. Pulling down her t-shirt and bra she tried to flee, only for Tertius to laugh behind her, giving her some ground.
“Prepare me a collar while I catch her,” he commanded. Looking over her shoulder Julie saw him running towards her, quickly closing the distance separating them until to her disgrace he trapped her between his large arms. “What a feisty little thing you are. I like it.”
“No, this can't be,” the young woman could only refuse with words, too weak to escape from this brute. “Let go of me! Please!”
“Save your strength for later, woman,” Tertius said, dragging her with him without any effort, “soon enough you'll be put to good use,” he pulled her closer so he could whisper in her ear. “Which hole do you think I should fuck first, little whore? Should I breed you right away or would you like it if I shove it up your ass?”
“But you can't do this! I said you can't do this,” and in desperation, she did the only thing that came to her at the moment; play their anachronistic game. “Mr. Gould can't sell me because he's not my paterfamilias. Only his own daughters and his wife are under his potestas, and therefore I'm not his to sell. I can prove that I'm a sui iuris woman, and sui iuris women are not for sale under Roman Law.”
Tertius opened his mouth to speak, but his lips quivered before closing it again. His grip on her tightened, more nervous than possessive. The young woman was to complain again, but Tertius looked down at her and shook his head. It felt like a silent warning, and that's what began to unnerve her too; the silence.
She expected to be laughed at like before, but beyond the group of soldiers the commotion and ruckus began to fade away, a wave of somber silence washing over the camp.
A second time the legionaries shifted their attitude, showing submission in the presence of a superior authority, but something was different. Not a single word was uttered, the deafening silence only broken by the caw of distant ravens and the sound of a pair of footsteps approaching. Even the wind changed, bringing an unreal chill as it twirled around them. Tertius had changed his attitude too, tensing behind her. Julie felt how his hands were sweating, making his grasp on her forearm clammy and sticky. Whoever was approaching had a gravitational effect on the world around them, a bad omen about to become true.
The first thing Julie noticed was a pair of cold blue eyes fixated on her, piercing her with a stare that made her want to hide behind Tertius, as if her brain sensed something unsettling beneath his human face. A long forgotten horror to humanity breathed back to life that she had summoned by mistake.
“Ave, Legatus Malpais,” Tertius saluted the imposing presence in front of them.
The Legate didn't shift his attention from her, his hard features unmoving as if he was a statue. The intensity made her cower, but a voice inside her head, her most irrational instincts whispering from her reptilian brain, told her to not avert her eyes, as if she was in front of a wild beast.
The Malpais Legate was noticeably older than the other men, who she guessed were between their late teens and late twenties. Crow feet accentuated his eyes, and grey hairs crowned his temples, contrasting with his otherwise dark hair. He had handsome features, but the stillness made him uncanny, terrifying. There was tension in his jaw and his squared up shoulders, a gesture not born out not of insecurity, but arrogance. If Tertius commanded authority, the Legate was the embodiment of it. He irradiated it without effort, wearing it with pride over his armor, which was a proper piece of craftsmanship instead of salvaged materials. The crimson cape waved behind him, cut against the setting sun that bled the sky in red tones. All men had stepped away from him, as if he was a source of radiation, keeping a submission she would have imagined impossible from them just minutes ago. The young woman felt pulled apart by his presence alone, the unnatural hue of his eyes reaching beyond her flesh and bones, down to her very soul.
“What's going on here?” His voice was deep, cold as steel and just as cutting.
“Sir,” Tertius’ hand was tense, holding onto her as if she was a shield, “I was merely acquiring a slave.”
It was then when the Malpais Legate finally focused his attention on the centurion. The young woman didn't realize she had been holding her breath until that point. “And you think that would be possible without the need to have the whole camp as witness?”
“No, of course not, legatus. I mean, I don't need to have the whole campt as witness. We had a disagreement about the price and then she tried to escape.”
Gathering her courage, the young woman spoke up, knowing she had nothing left to lose. “He didn't buy me, sir, he certainly can't buy me. I can prove that I'm a free woman, and as such I deserve to remain free.”
“Shut up you whore, how dare you address the Legate,” Tertius was about to slap her when his superior doing a gesture with his hand was enough to stop him.
Malpais Legate had become more interested in her. It was frightening, but she assumed her situation could hardly get worse. With a jerk of his head he commanded Tertius to release her, and by instinct she stepped forward, wanting to get away from her almost master. “Well?” The Legate asked her. “Explain yourself, woman, speak.”
Even though he had not raised his voice nor changed his tone, she winced. “I’m a sui iuris woman, which means —”
“I know what it means. Can you prove it?”
Her heart was racing, about to jump out of her chest at any moment while she reached for her ID and handed it to the Legate with trembling hands. “Mr. Gould was the one trying to sell me, but he's not my paterfamilias. No man here is related to me, none of them can sell me.”
The Legate demanded Mr. Gould's ID, who after voicing his indignation ended up caving in when two legionaries threatened to get it by force. Mr. Gould gave his ID to one of them, who handed it to the Legate. Through all the exchange the Malpais Legate kept looking at her with those unnervingly intense blue eyes.
“Julie Anabel Willard,” the Legate read out loud. “Born 2052…” That gave him pause. “Between 24 and 26 years of age I assume?”
“I… Yes, I'm almost 25.” Julie was surprised he deduced her age by her birthday, given that they were an uncertain amount of time into the future.
His eyes scanned the rest of the document. “Parents, Anabel María and Arthur F. Willard.” He then looked at Mr. Gould’s documents and his jaw tensed. “Edmund J. Gould.” A shadow obscured his eyes, something that went beyond mere anger. “It seems you're telling the truth, woman.”
“I told you,” Julie felt more relaxed, but she wasn't going to make the same mistake two times in a row and celebrate beforehand. “I was born a free woman, to free parents in a free nation. I also speak the language, so I'm not a barbarian either. I do meet all the requisites to qualify as a free citizen in… In…” Where are we?
“You can't sell this woman,” the Legate agreed, then addressed Mr. Gould directly, “and I do not like being lied to.” An unspoken threat crept through his voice, making Julie feel terrified even if she wasn't the receiving end of his anger.
“Do you know who I am, sir?” Mr. Gould tried to appear as intimidating as the Legate, puffing up his chest and pursing his lips in a gesture of contempt his employees must have seen many times. A mouse trying to intimidate a dragon. “I have powerful friends in Washington!”
“Mr. Gould,” Julie decided to intervene and defuse the tension, not wanting to get killed by Mr. Gould's stupidity now that she had gotten on someone's good side, “and do you know who he is?”
“As if you knew, you insolent brat,” Ms. Gould demeaned her.
“I don't know, not for certain,” she looked at the Legate, who had crossed his arms and had a renewed interest in the conversation, “but I can guess. In Ancient Rome a legatus was usually a high-ranking military officer, and depending on the period, a legatus could be appointed by the Senate, be a former consul, a senior officer or even be more diplomatic in nature. I assume in this case is a military position, and since this is Caesar's Legion, it was this Caesar, who acts as imperator or augustus, the one to appoint this man as legatus. Depending on the size of the army, he could be the one directly responsible for all the military operations, with only Caesar above him.”
Mr. Gould and his wife had rolled his eyes several times during her explanation, but surprised words were exchanged between the legionaries, Malpais Legate included.
“I must admit I'm impressed, woman,” the Legate acknowledged, “and that's not a common occurrence. What else do you know?”
Julie bit her lower lip, trying to come up with something else. “Latin?”
“Is that so? How come?” The Legate asked, in Latin.
“Ita,” she answered in the same language, “I'm a historian… Not particularly interested in Ancient History, but I was specializing in Medieval Europe and well, you need Latin too…”
As they spoke, the anger in the Legate's eyes had been replaced by a gleam of curiosity, who now had Julie as his sole focus. She tried to ignore how from time to time his cold gaze would scan her body with a different type of interest, not too dissimilar to the men under his command.
“You’re a trained historian?”
Julie nodded, and feeling bold, took a step towards him. “I don't intend to insult you or your men,” she said, still speaking in Latin, “but if I have to guess, none of them can speak it properly. And they don't seem to fully know much Roman law either…”
“Your guess is correct. I doubt a single one of them can understand the entirety of this conversation,” the Legate admitted. He looked at the mass of his men, who straightened their posture as he laid his eyes on them, aware of how they were being judged. “Even though we try to educate the tribals, English is the lingua franca of the Legion for the time being.”
“I can help with that,” she proposed, “as a free woman, of course. Something terrible must have happened in America, and we have nothing for now. I know both about the Old World and ancient history, sir, I can be useful. I promise I won't give you trouble either. I understand you can't accept a group of strange people like that, but I don't mind working so they —”
“They? No,” he went back to speak in English. “I accept your proposal, you'll serve the Legion and me as a free woman, but your work is only yours.”
“But… I can —”
“Those are the terms, woman,” the Malpais Legate gave her a few moments to weigh on his words before continuing. “I offer you my direct protection in exchange for your services, but my protection applies only to you. If any of these profligates want to serve the Legion as free men and women, they'll have to prove their usefulness just like you did. Those are my terms. Do you agree or not?”
Julie contemplated her possibilities. She was in an uncertain place at an uncertain time, with nothing but the contents of her backpack and surrounded by hostile people. The universe had given her a bad hand, but she tried to convince herself that she could play it. Perhaps in private she could convince the Legate to grant aid to these people. Her eyes scanned the faces of her group; men, women, children, elderly. None of them were fighters, and none of them fought for her, but she pitied them. Her situation was as dire as theirs.
I want to live. Julie concluded. Under his scrutinizing gaze she gave him an insecure nod. “Yes, yes, I do.”
The Legate's expression didn't change when he nodded back. “Come with me.”
Not waiting for her reaction, the Legate turned his back on her and marched towards the biggest tent in the camp. Julie took a deep breath and followed him, dreading how perceived she was.
“You stupid bitch,” Mr. Gould barked while she walked slightly behind the Malpais Legate, “I’ll give you five minutes inside that tent before you're on your knees choking on his cock. Do you think he's going to give you a job, or treat you like a princess because you read some books? It's going to end up the same for you, dumb moron, put on a fucking collar! Let us get something from this! This one would pay a pretty coin for you, it would give the rest of us a chance to survive!” At her silence, Mr. Gould tried to negotiate. “We'll get you back, I'll give you my word! Please!” Now you're the one begging, Julie thought, surprised by her own enjoyment of his misery in particular.
The Legate tilted his head, looking at her with curiosity and that burning intensity that rivaled the sun flaring in the horizon. It was a test not of her aptitudes, but her character. She was naive, but not stupid; this was another gamble, and she decided to keep playing her hand. Only one person had promised her freedom and protection, the option for Julie was clear.
“I prefer to remain a free woman,” she told the rich man. Then she exchanged a look with the Legate, who had so slightly raised his eyebrows. Painted on his cold facade she noticed a hint of satisfaction. “Why don't you sell yourself if you care about your family so much,” and with that she turned her back once and for all to those people.
“You can't do this to us!” Ms. Gould screeched. “My husband is trying to be pragmatic, you selfish bitch. You're going to whore yourself for free, while the rest of us die!”
“I said no, Ms. Gould,” Julie reaffirmed herself, feeling empowered by the Malpais Legate standing next to her. “I never wanted to be in this position in the first place.”
“Then take my daughters too!” Mr. Gould yelled. “That one may be naive, but I know what you're going to do with her. My daughters are younger and prettier than that used bitch! The most beautiful women in good ol’ America. The youngest one even won a national beauty pageant! Miss Atomic Teen America, I'm sure you heard about it."
“What? No Ed, don't you dare!” For the first time, his wife disagreed with him.
“Linda, listen, I'm not selling them, I just want him to take them under his protection,” Mr. Gould tried to explain. “You heard her, he's an important man. Like the vice-president or the secretary of war or something, they'll be safe with him while we reach Roswell. He'll take good care of them, right Mister Legatus? They're good girls, and I know how to read people. You're not one of those men who hurt innocent girls, are you? I recognize a good man when I see him.”
“Make up your mind, profligate,” beneath his coldness Julie perceived contempt in his words, “are they innocent girls or beautiful women?"
Fumbling his words, Mr. Gould was doing a bad job at trying to appear as powerful as the man in front of him. Then he grabbed his own daughters and forced them to face the Legate. Both girls looked terrified, and Julie felt guilty for the situation they were in.
Malpais Legate barely showed interest, sparing them an aloof look. “Girls it is. They're too young,” he declared.
“Already young women,” Mr. Gould argued, “fifteen and seventeen.”
“Dad please, no…” One of them sobbed, hugging the other.
“Too young,” the Legate repeated a second time, changing apathy for a threatening emphasis on each syllable.
“Then my wife!” Mr. Gould exclaimed. “You like them older? Fine, we all have our tastes. Then I sell you my wife, she must be your age and I was going to divorce her anyway!”
“Motherfucker!” Ms. Gould yelled. “How can you do this to me?”
“You shouldn't be fucking my brother,” Mr. Gould said to his now surprised wife. “You thought I didn't notice?”
Tension was building up, about to reach a critical point when it was punctured by Julie, who couldn't stop herself from laughing, forcing herself to cough behind her hand to conceal it. The Legate looked at her in a silent question, and all she could offer as an answer was to shrug. He was still annoyed, but the anger had so slightly faded from his muscles.
“If you have anything to sell, perhaps my men would be interested,” he said, placing his hand on the small of her back and pushing her forward. “Let's go, woman.”
Mr. Gould kept yelling at them, insulting her and trying to bargain with the Malpais Legate until he managed to get on his nerves again.
“Address me one more time and my name will be your last words,” the Legate threatened him, so chilling in his delivery that she could have sworn it changed the atmospheric pressure. When Mr. Gould opened his mouth again the Legate took a step in his direction. “Say a single word and you'll share a cross with one of your daughters. I'll personally drive the first nail through the bone.”
The threat was so brutal that it made Julie's stomach turn. Mr. Gould and his wife flinched, while their daughters sobbed in fear. The rest of the survivors became afraid, stepping back and gazing up at the crosses that now looked threateningly empty, like a promise aching to be fulfilled. Even his men kept themselves in somber submission in his presence. It was then when for the first time, Julie wondered if she had made a mistake — perhaps she had come under the shadow of the most dangerous man imaginable. Her future looked muddy and asphyxiating as if she discovered herself waist deep in a bog. If she turned back she would be lost, and standing still would only drown her. There was no escape but to move forward, hoping she wouldn't be swallowed whole.
The Legate had opened the flaps to his tent, inviting her to go inside under the scrutiny of deathly blue eyes. Pressing her lips together, Julie forced a shy smile, swallowing her fear and stepping into the uncertainty.