Blood Red Road

to us?
    Then I notice that the floor’s rumblin. The pots on the wall swing an sway. The Swan’s on the move.
    Pinch! I scream. The hut door flies open. Miz Pinch steps inside an closes it behind her.
    Well well, she says. Awake at last. Pleasant dreams, I hope.
    Let us go! I yell. You got no right to do this!
    Right ain’t got nuthin to do with it, she says. In this world, you gotta take what you want. She shrugs. We want you.
    Whaddya mean, you want me?
    She lifts the lid on a water bucket an dips a battered tin cup in it. Yer young, she says, an strong. A natural-born fighter from the look of it. I knew it right off. You’ll be perfect.
    Perfect fer what? I says.
    She straightens up. Look at me with her small dark eyes, cold as stones. Perfect, she says, fer cage fightin.
    The little hairs on my arms stand on end. I shiver.
    That’s right, girlie, she says. You better be afeared. Cage fightin’s mean. Nasty. An it’s big business in Hopetown. You’ll do well fer us.
    I ain’t doin nuthin fer you, I says.
    You ain’t gotta choice, she says.
    You cain’t make me do nuthin, I says.
    Oh you’ll do ezzackly what I tell you, she says.
    I’ll see you in hell first, I says. Let us go! Pinch! Help! Pinch!
    Save yer breath, she says. He does what I tell him. She walks over with the cup of water. Bends down an holds my head up. Drink it, she says. Cain’t have you goin thirsty. Cage fighters gotta be in prime condition.
    I stare at her while I drink. I hold the water in my mouth, then I spit it in her face. She don’t say naught. Jest stares at me a moment, the water runnin down her face.
    You shouldn’t of done that, she says.
    She goes over to Emmi.
    No! I yell. Don’t touch her!
    She slaps her across the face. Hard. Emmi cries out. She lifts her head an I see her lip’s bin split open. Blood fills her mouth, trickles down her chin. She starts to cry.
    Leave her alone! I yell. She’s a child! She ain’t done nuthin to you!
    Miz Pinch comes over an kneels beside my bunk. Puts her face so close to mine that I can see every pock mark on her skin. So close I gag on her foul breath. It smells like meat left out in the sun. She smiles.
    Every time you disobey me, she says, every time you try to git away, I’m gonna hit yer little sister. Hit her or … burn her. If I take the notion to, I might even break her arm. But I ain’t gonna hit you. I ain’t ever gonna hit you, my beauty.
    She strokes a finger down my cheek. Her filthy nail scrapes aginst my skin.
    An you know why? she says. Yer worth too much to me. Yer sister … she ain’t worth nuthin. Not to me anyways. I guess we’re gonna find out how much she’s worth to you.

    I feel it when the sails go down. The Swan gits slower an slower an at last it shudders to a halt. There’s a clunk as the anchor hits the ground. We must be stoppin fer the night.
    We bin watchin while Miz Pinch gutted an skinned a rock lizard an set it to stew on a bucket stove inside the hut, all the time hummin to herself. It’s like we ain’t even here.
    I ain’t opened my mouth since she said that about hurtin Emmi. I bin tryin to think of a plan. Tryin to think what Lugh would do if he was me. If he was here. An how much I wish it was him an me here together an not me an Em. It wouldn’t be so bad then. I’d feel like maybe we had half a chance.
    All right, Emmi? I whisper.
    She nods, her eyes big in her thin little face. Her lip’s swolled up where Miz Pinch hit her, the blood dried all dark an crusty. I cain’t stand to think how I hit her too, back at the lake, an me her own flesh. She cried them first few moments after Miz Pinch whacked her, but she ain’t made a peep since.
    You was right about ’em, I says. I’m sorry. I should of listened to you.
    That’s okay, she says.
    It ain’t okay, I says. An it’s my fault she hit you. I shouldn’t of spit at her.
    I’m glad you did, Emmi says.
    That’s the spirit, I says. I’ll git us outta here, Em. I promise.
    Quit yer gabbin! Miz Pinch yells at us. Then she yanks open the door an shrieks, Grub up!
    Rooster Pinch slips inside the hut.
    You lyin bastard! I says.
    He’s all shifty-eyed an hangdog an don’t meet my eyes. Pretends he don’t hear me. Smells capital, my dear! He rubs his hands together, all fake cheery, an sniffs the air. Sheer ambrosia!
    Shut up, she says. Siddown.
    They shovel it down. When he’s finished, he swipes his finger inside his bowl an licks off the thin gravy. She nods our