Born 01 - Born

God."
    Serge almost rips my arm off as he pulls me into him. "She's a fighter. I caught her; I get first dibs."
    The other guys laugh, "Dirty bastard. You're old enough to be her daddy." One of the men opening the door winks at me as he laughs.
    "I'm gonna be her daddy, alright." My stomach turns and twists. I know, no I hope, Serge is saying it to protect me, but I don’t know what he's been doing for the last ten years. Maybe he likes his job. He did chase me down.
    The redhead leans in. "She smells bad, Serge." Serge takes my cuffs off as the back door is swung open and I'm pushed toward the opening. I look back at the woods once and climb inside of the truck. I'm thrown forward. I feel something jab between my legs. My face hits the wooden bottom of the truck. I look back at the redhead grabbing at my thighs. I kick before I can stop myself. My boot lands on his nose. I hear a crunch as he is thrown back. He screams. Serge sees what I've done and closes the door. I don’t notice the other people in the truck. I just see the light leaving me as a scream tears through the air.
    "She broke my fucking nose!"
    People pound on the door and muffled screams fill the air around us. I can't make it all out but it seems the redhead should be allowed to break my nose as revenge. The other men are calming him down. In the dark, cold air of the truck, I hear others. I hear breath and fear in the blackness.
    I press my sore hands into the wooden floor and push myself up onto my knees. I put a hand out in the dark and feel nothing.
    A woman whispers into the darkness, "Sit against the wall before we start moving, girl."
    I crawl my aching body to the wall of the truck and sit. I press my back against it.
    In the dark, I sit as reality fills the small space I am trapped in.
    In flashes, I remember it.
    The crystal clear image of my hands pressed against the gun.
    The sound of her crying outside my door.
    The feel of the vibration from her pounding in her fit.
    The fear in my heart that everything will be different if I open the door. The look in Leo's eyes.
    I miss Leo.
    Will I ever see him again?
    Does he miss me?
    The truck starts up. The air and metal and wood vibrate with the engine. I take a breath. I feel something tickling at the back of my hand that’s pressed against the hard wooden floor. It's a hand. I turn my hand over. It's an automatic response. It's not something I would have done before, but the endless list of things that are possible in my world are taking turns in my mind.
    I feel a small hand fill my palm. It's a child's. Its small body is suddenly pressed against mine. I try not to shake or tremble. It must be more afraid than I am.
    We bounce down the road. I know we are less than a day's walk from the breeder farm. It can't be far in a truck.
    Soft whimpers and moans fill the truck that is no longer cool. The body heat creates muggy warmth that makes my skin feel dirtier than it is.
    The little hand in mine is hot. My hand is sweating. I want to switch hands or just drag mine up and down my pants for a second but I don’t. I wrap my hand around the small hand. I won't look away. I won't let it suffer and cry while I hide. I am different now.
    The truck comes to a stop suddenly. We are all jerked forward after getting relaxed in the repetitive motion of the drive.
    Metal scraping along the back of the truck fills the warm silent dark of the truck.
    The door swings open, filling the huge delivery truck with light. The white light makes my eyes seal instantly. I cover them and brace myself. I squeeze the little hand. I see dark shapes moving around the opening.
    "Out you go, bitches."
    I force my eyes open to the light. It takes a second for them to focus. I don’t look at the open door. I turn and look at the little blonde girl who is sobbing silently next to me. She is about ten or eleven. Her hair is matted and dirty. The tears have made lines of clean face in the filth. Her bright blue eyes are filled with terror. I hold her hand. I won't let her go.
    I look at the other women. They range from the young girl next to me to a lady I think is in her thirties. Fat, thin, dirty, clean, tired, crying, frozen, confused. The group is diverse. Except in color. I notice everyone is white.
    Before I can process this too much, I notice the redhead giving me a death stare from outside of the truck. He grips his rifle and watches me.
    I look down as the grin spreads across my face. I feel a nervous giggle about to