Harem of Widows – A Soul of the Earth Story

Sugar sits by the window, clutching the blanket, staring into the sky again. She’s barely moved since he took her baby. Sugar used to be sweet—annoyingly cheery, really—so much so, we’d roll our eyes at her, while secretly wishing we could share her lust for life. But now, she’s silent. Like nothing’s left but the empty carcass of the mother she’ll never get to be. Or at least she thinks she’ll never be. Her life will change, if tonight goes well. We didn’t tell Sugar the plan since she’s useless right now. She doesn’t know we’re gonna kill Troy.

I wave at Sugar as I put my foot on the pedal, almost losing my balance, but she doesn’t see me. She just gazes into space, where her baby is. My little half-sister and brother are up there too. They must be three and five years old by now. I don’t think about them much, since they’re his kids, and he sold them. Mom doesn’t speak about them either. She probably doesn’t let herself, for my sake. Cause she’s got him to please and me to protect. And Troy’s other women ignore their losses to survive too, cause they’ve seen what happens when he grows tired of us. He won’t have patience for Sugar long.

I ride by Danza’s mansion first, Troy’s second in command. Willow waves at me as she sweeps the wrap-around porch like it’s any other afternoon. But then, her thumb pierces the air. They’re ready here. Just a few more hours to go.

It’s strange to think we’ll all be doing the same thing on the same day at the same time—nine p.m on the Fourth of July, 2085. Ems, who works the secret short-wave radio, says the word has spread far. Not just in our area—maybe through the whole Mid-West. Maybe even the whole northern American hemisphere. No one knows who first conceived the idea. But at the last radio check-in, the women were ready.

We got wise on New Year’s Eve, when that little Loners’ girl squeezed through the gate at the back of the compound and got Flavia’s attention. She thought it was some kinda scheme to distract us during an ambush. Almost turned the girl in to Troy. I’m glad she didn’t and sent for Mom instead. I’m glad Mom made the right choice to take our lives back and even sent a message to her childhood friend who’s with the Warriors now. Cause we’re all in the same mess, no matter which gang we’re tied to.

Gladys gives me two thumbs up from the window of Mario’s house. So do Mina and Tash and Giana. I pull up Ricky’s driveway to deliver the bottles of moonshine—my excuse for riding around the blocks of Grind Town, formerly known as Bonne Aire Gated Community. The signs Troy let me redecorate with those old cans of spray-paint he scored a few summers back don’t move me anymore. He was just keeping me busy, and away from Mom.

I hand the bottles to Melody and smile. “Hey, girl.”

She looks wrecked. Her hair is dirty, and I don’t think she’s changed clothes since the last time I saw her, days ago. Maybe she’s doing it on purpose—keeping dirty—so Ricky won’t come around too much.

“Hey, Kat.” Melody sets the bottles on the cracked, stone steps of their dilapidated mansion and sits down. Her yellow-stained T-shirt stretches around her belly. It might be getting bigger already. Ricky wasted no time with her. “It’s a nice day for a ride.” She looks solemnly into the streets we used to ride together.

She hasn’t got on her bike in months. Not since he said it was time. Her mom didn’t protect her the way mine has. She’s too far gone herself, messing with that moonshine. Which is why they don’t know about the plan. They don’t know this life is almost over.

Ester steps outside. She’s taken to looking after Melody and Ricky’s other young ones as best she can, but there’s only so much she can do. “Good day, Kat, it’s a good day,” she says. Her thumb sticks up a little too high, out a little too far. Her gaze is steel. Her jaw, set as stone.

We’re ready. We’re so ready.

I pedal as fast as I can past the rest of the houses. Massive vessels filled with chores and acts and treatment that’s pleasure for few and torture to most. At every door, a woman raises her thumb. Maybe tomorrow, we can make these houses our homes.

I speed by the front gates, where most of the Grind Town guards congregate. The smell of burnt herb and spilt liquor wafts past me, but it’s been months since the last real scrap with the Loners or Warriors, so at least there’s no reeking fresh heads on the fence’s pikes. Tomorrow there will be. To warn those who think they can come take their place. To remind us of what we’re capable of.

I come to a grinding halt by the fourth garage door where Troy lets me keep my bike. The other three spaces hold his useless, shiny trophies he parades through the streets whenever he’s scored any fuel to burn and waste.

“Baby Helen.” His head appears from behind the popped hood of the ancient red car. He can barely sit in there with his massive shoulders and beefy legs. But he still loves to tinker.

“Troy.” I dump my bike and try to make it to the door before he says anything else but—

“Where you been?”

I turn back around to him. I know from experience he doesn’t like talking to the back of my head, and that wasn’t a lesson I’d like to learn again.

“Delivered the bottles to Ricky, like you said. Got some chores to finish up.” I look him in his eyes when I speak to him. Mom taught me that. She says that’s why she’s his main, cause she doesn’t shrivel.

Troy wipes his greasy hands on a rag as he saunters towards me. He pulls his stained shirt over his head and tosses it to me. “Get me a clean one.” He must be popping his tanned chest muscles on purpose.

There’s a reason Troy’s the leader of Grind Town, and it’s not cause he’s the biggest, strongest dude here. Or cause he’s accumulated the largest weapons arsenal around with his sales. Or cause his body count—in dead men and kept women—is the highest.

It’s cause he’s beautiful. His skin, despite the smudges of gun or motor oil and the layers of dust everyone accumulates outside, always glows. His green eyes flicker with liveliness whether he’s beating you or boasting about you. Every woman in his house dreads his displeasure for fear of being passed along to a lesser man, and every other woman hopes Troy will take a shine to her and want her as his own. Cause somehow, they think life is better here. They think he’s better than the rest cause he sparkles. One look at Sugar should prove them wrong.

Maybe it’s also why he’s the only Grinder the buyers will talk to. His golden appearance must make them feel marginally less bad about buying babies that were ripped from their mother’s arms. Or wombs. They probably don’t care either way. Troy delivers. That’s all that must matter to the guys in the sky.

I return with a clean shirt and hand it to him. Tossing it would land me a blow to the head. I know him well enough after six years of testing my limits. Mom’s status as his favorite can only spare me so much.

Troy pulls the shirt I painstakingly washed in the tub and dried in the sun over his head, smudging the collar with the grease from his forehead. “It’s time, Baby Helen. I can tell.” He puts his hands on my hips. “My girl has become a woman.” His chuckle makes me recoil.

Don’t shrivel. Keep your chin up. Iron shoulders. Mom will protect me. Mom will change his mind. Mom will kill him before he has the chance to come near me. She promised.

“It’s gonna be tonight, I’ve made up my mind. Ain’t nothing Helen can say to make me wait this time. I’ll come get you at nine. Be ready.” Troy smiles his glorious smile at me with twinkling eyes. “Don’t be scared.”

Mom’s name isn’t Helen and his name probably isn’t even Troy, but he can call us whatever he wants to. It’s his prerogative, for now. Tonight, at nine p.m, it will be our privilege to call his corpse whatever we want. Thief. Tyrant. Murderer.

He must see the eagerness in my eyes and mistake it for lust. “Just like your mother.” He shoves me towards the door. “Get cleaned up. Tell Clarissa to do your chores. You’ve got a big night tonight, the first of many. Katherine.”

My name in his mouth sends shivers down my spine. I guess calling me Baby Helen isn’t so appealing anymore now that it’s my turn. My turn to make him some to sell. Cause that’s what he does, what all the gangs do. It’s why they keep accumulating dead men’s wives and their daughters. It’s why they don’t beat us to death, although Troy’s threatened to boot Mom since she hasn’t got pregnant again.

“Hey!”

I turn to him from the mudroom doorway. Even though I’m feet away and up three steps of stairs, he never seems to shrink.

“You know why we’ve gotta do this. We need to be able to defend ourselves. It’s my job to protect you. And your mom.”

Troy winks at me. He might actually think I believe him. Even Mom knows better.

All we need protection from, is you.

* * *

Mom’s in our second floor bedroom, the nicest one, besides Troy’s, of course. The girl it belonged to long ago must have really loved tennis to decorate every detail with rackets and balls. She was probably my age when she took off into space with the rest of the rich, which would make her about fifty now. Has she been happy out there for the past thirty-five years? Was it worth leaving Earth behind to rot?

She was probably my age when she took off into space with the rest of the rich, which would make her about fifty now. Has she been happy out there for the past thirty-five years? Was it worth leaving Earth behind to rot?

“Mom.”

She must see the panic in my eyes. “It’s gonna be okay, Kat. Just stick to the plan. Everything’s in place. It will all be over soon.” She doesn’t seem nervous, but it’s also unlike her to be hovering alone in our room in the middle of the day instead of “managing the lasses.”

“He said he’s gonna come get me tonight. That there’s nothing you can say to stop him this time.” I try not to shrivel. “Mom, he called me Katherine.” Only Dad used to call me by my full name.

She holds her hand up and comes close, wraps her arms around my back and pulls me in. She smells too much like him—crude grease and dried sweat. “He’ll be dealt with before I let that happen, I promise,” she whispers. Her long, auburn hair tickles my neck.

I want to believe her. I want to believe she’s strong enough to kill him. That the plan is foolproof. That he will eat enough of the spiked food Pheobs will cook for the men tonight. That Mom will slit his throat as we gather and watch him bleed to death at our feet.

I want to believe.

But Troy is slick. Slippery. Part of Mom thinks he really loves her. Part of her believes she isn’t just his main bitch because she keeps us all in line for him. She says she does it to shield us. But sometimes, it seems like she needs his approval more than ours. Like she does it out of some sick form of love. For him. The man who murdered her husband. The man who sells his own kids. He’d have sold me too if I’d been young enough to forget what life on Earth is like.

Maybe his decision about tonight is good. Maybe it’s the extra motivation Mom needs to see the plan through. Maybe she’ll do it for me.

I wiggle out of her arms and nod my head. “Okay. I won’t worry,” I lie. “Can I stay here till it’s time? He told me to get ready for him. Tell him that’s what I’m doing.”

Mom lowers her lashes and tips her head before she slips through the door, leaving me alone in the room we’ve shared since Troy kidnapped us. She always warns me not to say that, but maybe after tonight, we can all talk for real. Call things by their name, instead of some fear-induced fragment of the truth. Troy didn’t “take us in.” The Grinders slaughtered the men and boys in our settlement and abducted all the women, girls, and babies. We’re not wives and girlfriends in polygamous relationships. We’re their cattle.

I sit by the window, like Sugar one floor below me, and watch the men gather in the roundabout to celebrate this day that had some sort of significance in the time before the Take-off. Phoebe serves the stew made of who-knows-what with some sedative concoction. As soon as the sun drops behind the hills, so will the temps, and everyone will go home. Apparently, summer nights didn’t used to feel like winter, but I’m glad they do.

Cause this harem of widows is ready.

* * *

The men drizzle away from the roundabout loudly, arms wrapped around one another, stumbling along the streets to the estates they’ve claimed as their own. The frost is already starting to cover the cracked blacktop and the windows, making it hard to see outside. It’s almost time.

The front door slams shut. Troy’s heavy footsteps stomp on the wood floor of the foyer. He yells at Sugar to go to her room. He doesn’t sound inebriated. He doesn’t sound sleepy…

I crack the door open and hear the soft whispers of Mom’s wooing voice.

“Nah, Helen, nah. Not this time. You barren now. You ain’t been keeping your promises.”

More whispers, a little louder now. A little more panic. A wave of nausea swallows me whole. Troy isn’t sedated. Troy is just fine. How the hell is Mom gonna take him down now?

I want to run. Jump out the window. Squeeze through the gates and take my chances out there in the wilderness. But I know, a girl alone stands no chance. Some other gang would pick me up, and I’d be worse off… without Mom, and Sugar, and the others.

Troy’s heavy gait creaks the bottom steps of the stairs. He’s coming for me.

I quickly pull my dirty shirt over my head and put on Mom’s dress she left on the chair a couple days ago. He needs to think I got ready for him or we’ll be off to a bad start. I sit on the edge of her bed. I know what happens next.

To my surprise, he knocks. But I can’t manage to say a thing.

The door creaks open. He’s silent for so long in the doorway, I look up from staring at the wall to see what he’s waiting for. He doesn’t look eager; there’s a hesitation in his face I’ve never seen before. He’s wearing his favorite black leather jacket, the one I always oil for him on his birthday so it stays soft and supple.

“Come now, Baby—Katherine. It’s time.” He disappears into the hallway. I follow. It’s walk or be dragged.

Mom’s at the top of the stairs wringing her hands. Panic oozes from her eyelids, her shoulders raise and she shakes her head, all conveying her I don’t know what happened-look. The door to Troy’s room is open. I know what happened—the plan failed.

He’s washing up at his basin where we always keep clean water for him. His massive back is decorated with scars and lumps—medals for his perseverance through this life. He once told me he was a scrawny little dude growing up on the city streets alone. That he was so hungry and frail, his nickname was Ribs.

“Did you have a good celebration? Was the food…good?” My voice is thin. Fragile. I’m shriveling.

“Nah, didn’t have none. Don’t like fucking on a full stomach. Especially when I know I’m gonna have to do all the work.” Troy turns. There’s that sparkle. He didn’t feel bad for what he’s about to do for long. “Come here, Kat. Don’t make me tell you again.” He walks over to his bed.

We should have spiked the moonshine.

I shuffle over to the other side. Between us lies the place where he’s bed my mother. Where he raped Sugar and all his others, and for what? So he can get stronger and feel tougher and forget he ever was Ribs? So he can fight over a larger, better house to squat where nothing works anyway cause the world doesn’t run anymore?

A woman screams outside. My blood curdles but Troy doesn’t seem to think much of it. Women screaming is hardly unusual around here. He takes his chain off his thick neck and drops it on the nightstand. Then, an ululation. Loud, and prideful.

“What the fuck is going on.” Troy leans over the bed, trying to look out the window, but it’s too dark, and the frost distorts the light of the lanterns. He opens his nightstand drawer and pulls out a pistol. “Stay here.”

There’s a nightstand on my side too. Would he? He would. I yank it open. The gun feels cold in my hand. “Troy!”

He’s already opened the door but turns anyway, only to find the barrel of his own gun pointing at his face. “What are you doing, Baby Helen? Put that down before you hurt yourself.”

He doesn’t take me seriously. But I will make that sparkle dull if it’s the last thing I do. He will see how fucking serious I really am. I take the safety off and pull back the hammer. I’ve watched him for six years. Waiting for this moment.

His twinkle turns murky. “I was gonna be nice. Take it easy. Break you in slow.” Troy steps closer, pointing his pistol at mine now. “You know better than to waste my time.” He steps closer until his barrel almost touches mine.

Pull the trigger. Pull the trigger now. Pull it!

Feet pound the pavement outside. A gunshot, but not mine. More screams. Of joy.

“What the fuck!” A slicing noise turns Troy’s exclamation into a gurgle. His face turns into a question mark, but he doesn’t falter. He turns to the door, forgetting all about my barrel, still not believing I will. A knife sticks out of his back, blood dribbles down his muscles in gushing waves.

Sugar stands in front of him, her baby’s blanket clutched to her chest. He raises his gun at her…but I shoot him in the shoulder first. It spins him around, the gun drops from his hand and the look on his face makes me smile—it’s one of pride. “I didn’t think you had that in you, Baby Helen. My Baby Helen.”

Sugar yanks the knife from his back. Troy gasps and drops to his knees. Blood seeps into his dirty gray carpet.

“I’m not your baby. I know what you do to your babies.”

Charlotte, Rissa, Marisol, Celeste, and Sonya file into the room, just as we’d planned. We surround him as he sits back on his feet and looks up at me, clutching his chest.

Someone’s missing. “Mom!” I yell.

“I don’t think she’s coming for this,” Sonya says.

“She’s got to. She’s supposed to be the one. She was supposed to protect me. To save me from…from all this.” I can’t believe she aborted the plan. The gun trembles in my hand, and then it slips, clattering to the ground.

The haze in Sugar’s eyes is gone. “She locked herself in her room, soon as he took you. She coulda come after you, Kat, like we did. She coulda come with us.” Sugar looks like her cheery self for the first time in weeks. She holds out the knife to me as she bounces from one foot to the other.

I take it and grip it tight, as Sugar’s smile fuels my resolve. Maybe we don’t need Helen. Maybe she wasn’t really looking out for us, all along. Maybe, I’ve been surviving despite her all this time.

Sonya and Sugar and all my other sisters have my back, even if my mother can’t. The joyous screams of the women outside give me strength. They don’t care that it’s cold. They are finally free.

“Baby Helen, I—”

My blade cuts Troy’s plea short.

I am not his baby.