The Wastelands

Chapter 25

The emcee's voice blasted through the speakers placed perfectly around the auditorium so everyone could hear. The line of slaves moved steadily forward; not a single one returning after going on stage. People spent money left and right, bidding on whomever they saw as a good fit for the work that needed to get done. Many of their new owners were in a hurry to get out of the building and the crowd of buyers began to thin.

The sale went by at a quick and steady pace compared to the last auction he'd been part of. There were more slaves waiting in line to go on stage this time, but the host handled the deals better than ever. The curators of the slave trade needed to make their cash and acquired any individual they could find that would bring in the dough. They made sure to have the best of the best announcers and the man screaming into the microphone never failed. That Victor Hodgins didn't joke around when it came to buying and selling.

His voice barreled down the hallway, creeping into their ears likes sticks of dynamite. Each word brought them closer and closer to their unknown fate. Their heads hung low and their eyes focused on the dirty floor. The young man waiting in line was used to the monotony of auctions and leaned against the wall to wait his turn on stage.

Guards ushered the line forward and only one small child stood before him. The young girl—no older than ten—whimpered and wiped tears from her face. Her deep red hair was in a mangled mess with bits of leaves and dirt stuck in the strands. Dirt dyed her light blue jumper to a brownish shade with rips and tears in the fabric. She wore sandals and the cold air hitting her feet and bare legs kept her in a constant shiver.

It was her first auction.

The S on her arm was still fresh, still trying to scab over. She picked at it, scratching around the burn.

"You'll make it worse if you keep doing that." Casey spoke quietly, grabbing her attention.

"It itches. I can't help it." she replied, her voice so small and innocent.

"I know, but you don't want to make it worse. It'll get infected." He pressed, speaking from experience.

She nodded and lowered her arms. The urge to rub the burn raw intensified and she tried to ignore it. The tall guard with kinder eyes stepped in front of her. He gently nudged her toward the stage. She shuddered and squeezed her hands to tight fists. She passed her fellow slave a terrified glance before slipping through the burgundy curtain. He met her stare, unable to pass her any hint of encouragement. There was none to be found as a slave.

The bidding war began on the girl's life and he leaned against the wall after shuffling forward. Casey went through his usual thoughts before stepping into the limelight. Typical nonsense that floated about his mind whenever he went to a new owner. Normal things like what he could do better in order to avoid punishment. The scars on his back burned every time he saw a whip—his least favorite form of abuse. The crack of that thin piece of leather startled him so much that even a simple lightning strike jumped his heart into overdrive. Punishments were hard to avoid, regardless of how small the misdemeanor.

He used to think about his family. Not so much his mother, but his father. He hadn't seen the man since he was a boy, but he dreamed about finding him constantly. Of all the villages and cities he was transferred to, he hoped he'd see the man standing in the crowd or even passing by in the streets. That maybe if his father recognized him, he'd make an offer the auction house couldn't refuse and he'd finally be free again.

It was just a fantasy.

A moronic dream never to come true.

There's no point in hoping for better things. He told himself that every day in order to never lose his place in society. Slaves were at the bottom of the food chain and he'd never climb to the top.