The v Girl Read online

  By some strange miracle, the bombs only reached three buildings. Our apartment complex and two deserted buildings that saw their best days before the ban on technology: the old library and the university campus that until yesterday hosted the soldiers’ communication center. Another bomb fell on the outskirts of the city and ruined the railroad. Not the modern, solar-fueled one Patriots use, but the one that takes me to my job every day.

  Monstrous soldiers wearing multi-terrain pattern capes arrive at the plaza. They’re followed closely by the commissioner and the Accord unit. Most cops have climbed the trees that surround the square to get a better view; half are standing near the stage. Aleksey is so burly that I can see his head above the crowd. The whole force of the local order is here. That’s enough to keep the families who live on the East side moving in utter silence.

  The Accord Unit usually carries j-devices that film how life is in the countries they visit. In theory, they should inform the rest of the world if the troops abuse unarmed civilians. In reality, they’re easily bought to deceive the international audience and play the farce that everything here is civilized. One of the Accord cops, a stout six-foot guy with a big belly, records the scene using a j-device. I recognize him. He has been in Starville before and was leering at me yesterday. Commissioner Lee-Rivers addresses the big-bellied guy. “Sergeant Gary Sleecket, could you please take a good shot of Sergeant Rocco?”

  Rocco, whose slate gray face if full of tattoos, addresses the crowd using a megaphone and a deceivingly polite tone. He informs us that that the few families that lost their homes will get new housing soon. He delivers a long speech asking us to have strength and courage. The camera focuses on some Patriot guards holding hands with a group of local women and children. They probably rehearsed this message. Patriots and Accord units share their passion for media manipulation.

  Someone asks Gary Sleecket to shut down his camera. Rocco’s voice loses its charismatic politician quality and turns menacing. They’ve discovered the rebels. Maximillian Kei, the Minister of War, condemned an entire city to destruction. Patriots will exploit survivors through forced labor, including visitant services. The rest will be killed or moved to camps.

  “See? All that’s left of the traitors is smoke. Consider it.”

  It’s as though he’s speaking directly to TCR members. For the Patriots to waste their bombs like this, when they need them so much to fight the Sentinels in the North, they must need to make a statement.

  Rocco shouldn’t have bothered. Most Starvillers won’t participate in our resistance efforts; they’re too scared. They tell legends about an immortal soldier. Fifty Nats shot him repeatedly, and the bullets never penetrated his strong muscles. The soldier killed his fifty attackers and built a palace for himself in the mountains. He has numerous descendants as strong as himself who are now part of the Patriot army.

  It’s a scientific fact: troops use genetic engineering and tonics to build their bodies. But mixing legends with reality brings superstition. Starvillers say that even if we had fire guns, we couldn’t kill a single one of them.

  Rey says the tonics are precisely the troops’ weak point. With no drugs, they’d destroy themselves without us having to lift a finger … so we sabotage Patriot railroads. Unlike the train Starvillers take to neighboring occupied cities, Patriot trains are electric or run on solar energy. When we mess up a railroad, we cause a temporary shortage of tonics and the biomechanical devices they use to inject them. We make it look like the capricious weather destroyed the rails. Otherwise, the Patriot’s retaliation would reach all of Starville. Like it reached Midian.

  Rocco addresses the issue of the situation of the people who lost their homes. “We’ll assign new housing for these families in a month. You have two hours to decide who will temporarily accommodate the families who lost their apartments.” And with no further words, the soldiers leave the square.

  Our former neighbors get shelter soon. We, the Velezes, don’t get any offers.

  Someone taps my shoulder. Mrs. Gibson, a privileged, middle-aged Starviller, smiles at me condescendingly. She could host all the families of my old building and feed them for a week and still have plenty for herself. “I can accommodate the two girls with me.”

  Mrs. Gibson means the two Velezes who have light eyes. In spite of our soft tans, we resemble our blonde mother. Olmo’s and Dad’s brown skin reveals the ethnic mix Starvillers hate so much.

  Mrs. Gibson’s offer might appear nice, but it’s insulting on so many different levels. Separating my family, leaving Olmo without my protection. Dad has done nothing but heal the few Starvillers who search him out, including her, most of the times charging nothing. And still, nobody will offer him a temporary shelter?

  “They gave you an order!” I say doing nothing to conceal my fury.

  Azzy shouts swinging her long brown hair. “You have to shelter us, people. All of us! Not only pieces of my family.”

  I point my fingers at the barracks. “If none of you volunteer then I’ll bring the soldiers and tell them that you’ll need motivation to carry out their orders!”

  Angry voices discuss. “You should do it, Gibson. You have no kids.”

  “Why me? Peter Rivers has more rooms in his house.”

  Similar discussions break all over the crowd. My mind keeps repeating a litany as they fail to reach a consensus. Everybody hates me. My family loves me because they have to, but everyone else hates me. I hate them more.

  “Never mind! I’d rather be homeless than staying with a bunch of bigots who can’t even …” I can’t keep up because my voice is about to break.

  We start toward the museum. All eyes are on us when Olmo falls head first, and the crowd roars with laughter. Sara Jenkins, a shy girl, is helping me to comfort a weeping Olmo, when I see Rey, furiously forcing his way through the crowd. His family is with him.

  “We’ll take them,” Rey shouts.

  But nobody hears Rey’s offer because they keep laughing at Olmo.

  I look up at Rey trying to convey my gratitude with my eyes. All of a sudden I get some scared looks and everybody falls silent. Why are people staring at me in surprise, even fear?

  I turn and see Aleksey, standing right behind me. He’s so scary I stumble away immediately. In an accented, menacing tone he demands to know what’s going on.

  Nobody answers. A lot of people stare at Aleksey with the morbid curiosity they’d look at a mistake of Mother Nature. Elena Rivers whispers something to Ava Peterson and they burst into a fit of giggles. At first I think they’re mocking Aleksey’s unusual height. Then I realize all the girls are ogling him. He’s too masculine and animalistic to be called handsome, but the cop isn’t unattractive. In fact, his bestial treats and roughness make him the one of the most attractive men in the crowd. At least that’s what the girls behind me are whispering.

  Rey glares at Aleksey. We hate the Accord cops as much as we hate the soldiers. “No problem here. We’re just discussing something.”

  Aleksey’s eyes are accusatory on the crowd. “It looked more like you all were playing hot potato with the destiny of a family.”

  Olmo laughs, but this is a serious matter. A Patriot order is unquestionable. If Starvillers ignore it, and the cops inform the soldiers, the consequences could reach the whole town.

  “You’re wrong, General. I’ve just offered shelter to this family,” says Mrs. Gibson.

  “So you offered your house to the four members of this family?” Aleksey emphasizes the word four.

  “I offered shelter, too,” says Rey, looking at me. I mouth a thank you. True to form, Rey offers the little he has to help someone in need.

  Aleksey glances at the toddler in Rey’s arms. His eyes move to Duque and Baron, who are scowling at him. “Is your apartment big, Starviller? Or would it be better for them to find different accommodations?” Before Rey can interrupt, he adds, “This family will be better at the Accord clinic. I heard this man is a doctor. We’ll need his talent w
hen the clinic starts operations.”

  Someone scoffs and both Rey and Aleksey glare at the perpetrator. Peter Rivers hunches under their withering stares.

  “Of course, we wouldn’t deprive the Accord units of Dr. Velez’s … talents, General,” says the commissioner in a derisive voice.

  Rey throws a protective glance over my family. “It isn’t necessary. Dr. Velez’s family and mine have a strong relationship. They’d be more comfortable at my apartment.” Rey’s eyes meet mine, making me blush.

  Aleksey’s tone is contemptuous. “You’re deluded.”

  “Am I? Well, it’s none of the Accord unit’s business anyway; we haven’t broken any treaties. Not that your people care much about treaties, anyway.”

  Rey and Aleksey enter a glaring contest. The tension is palpable. Starvillers will have a gossip fest this afternoon.

  I look to my right. The clinic is four miles from here at the top of a tree-cloaked hill. “We’ll go to the clinic,” I say in a firm voice, and the crowd whispers approvingly.

  Aleksey’s blue eyes meet mine for a second. It’s a strange look that I interpret as hate. Maybe he’s still mad for the way I treated his penis.

  “Lily, how could …?” Rey protests.

  Aleksey interrupts him. “The lady said clinic. Everyone heard it. Now clear the space.” His deep, authoritative voice discourages protests. Aleksey takes my dad on his back and walks toward the West side, and the crowd clears a path to let him pass.

  Defeated, Rey clenches his fists and stares at me in disbelief. I avoid his eyes and hurry after Aleksey. As much as I despise cops, Aleksey saved our lives yesterday. I hate to feel like I owe him, but my family will be better at the clinic.

  The hill’s bottom is surrounded by industrial buildings. The infinite stone steps are the only way to access the clinic if you don’t have a helicopter. I look up, feeling tired already. Aleksey scoops up Olmo in his arms. The endless staircase is too much for Olmo’s diseased lungs.

  The clinic is well-equipped, almost like a Patriot mini-hospital. We cross a courtyard that separates the emergency rooms from the L-shaped building made of storage rooms that will be our temporary shelter. There’s running water and electricity.

  A baby-faced, blond cop, Tristan Froh, brings some cots and assigns us rooms. Mine is at the end of a white-tiled, long corridor. From my room’s window, I see cliffs and forests, the university ruins, and the mall ruins.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Velez and Mr. Velez. The rooms don’t have a thermostat, but I will get you a fan and a heater.” His accented voice sounds sincerely sorry and he’s blushing. The way he calls me Miss Velez is so formal, but so cute. We assure him we don’t need a thermostat. We’re used to not having one.

  Azalea regards Aleksey shrewdly and misses nothing of Dad’s attempts at conversation. Aleksey answers grumpily, in monosyllables. He only uses full sentences to inform dad that some Patriot casualties and wounded civilians will arrive soon.

  As if on cue, we hear the first of several helicopters approach.

  We stay in Dad’s and Olmo’s room and hear all of the activity: Ear-piercing screams, hurried orders. It seems as though charred bodies are coming in on gurneys carried by female soldiers. The medics ignore my dad’s help, but gladly accept Aleksey’s. Some of the victims have died in transit. The survivors, most of them soldiers, will go to a real hospital as soon as they get stabilized.

  We fall asleep on the floor. It’s dark outside when Dad enters the room to bring us some food. They’re leftovers of whatever the soldiers ate. We’re done quickly, and we’re still hungry, but I’m sure Dad gave us his portion of food, so I don’t complain.

  “That cop … Aleksey … is a medical expert. He’ll stay here instead of at the Accord headquarters. I don’t know why he’s helped us, but it’d be better if you all keep your distance.”

  Well, he’s a former soldier. He saw me naked and got a boner. Of course I’ll keep my distance.

  That doesn’t mean I won’t think about him when I go to bed.

  * * *

  Rey and Aleksey are naked in bed with me. While Rey’s mouth possesses the rest of my body, Aleksey’s monstrous erection breaks through my V. Mournful, low-pitched music plays insistently as pleasure runs hot through every single inch of my skin.

  In the darkness of my new room, I wake up feeling a throbbing, moist sensation between my legs. The dream was so vivid that I feel the warmth of Rey’s mouth all over my skin, and I keep hearing a somber tune. It takes me some minutes to remember I’m here in the aftermath of Midian’s destruction.

  Dad has said all the patients have been transferred to hospitals. The soldiers and the medical staff have gone with them. If the clinic is deserted, where does this barely audible music come from? It’s not part of my dream; it comes from somewhere nearby.

  In an attempt to forget the dream, I look out the window, and a peculiar sight catches my eye. In the middle of the dimly lit helipad is a group of tall, attractive women, chatting with some Patriot soldiers. Under their long open coats they wear short, orange unitards. I recognize that uniform. These women are visitants.

  They look plastic, well-groomed, and not at all like recruitment victims. They are evidently Patriot citizens, voluntarily serving the army. They must be waiting for the helicopter after having given their services.

  One of the soldiers points to a room above his head, not far from where I’m spying. The most beautiful of the visitants, a curvy long-haired brunette, climbs a scaffold to get there and knocks.

  Nobody opens the door for an eternity, but the visitant is insistent.

  The music has stopped. I crane my neck to get a better view. When the door finally opens, I’m not at all surprised to see Aleksey scowling. He holds a double bass bow in his hand. She smiles, evidently pleased with her “client’s” good looks and enters the room.

  When his door closes, I decide I’ve seen enough. I return to my cot, fighting the anguish that runs through me. After recruitment, I can end up giving unpaid visitant services. As a vassal.

  The music doesn’t resume the rest of the night. Moans and muffled screams have replaced it.

  In the morning, as soon as I’m forced to face the grim reality of my life, last night’s dream disappears into oblivion. But if my mind forgets the dream, my hormones don’t.

  I need an escape.

  Chapter 7

  Divine and Joey glue their mouths together with slow, deep, passionate kisses. He pulls her closer, wrapping her tight in his strong arms. She’s naked under her camisole. His hands cup her butt, overflowing with her dark flesh. The sounds of their mouths mix with the sounds of the forest.

  It’s been two days since the air raid. I’ve been so busy with the pills that I haven’t engaged in my favorite occupation.

  There’s a French word for people who do what I do.

  I’m a voyeur girl. Sort of.

  No, I don’t spy on people against their will.

  No, I don’t get a kick from watching through peepholes.

  No, I won’t ever observe someone in the privacy of their homes.

  What about when they have sex in the wild, knowing anyone can watch? On those occasions, I enjoy the show and feel no guilt about it. The glade where Divine and Joey always make a show out of their love is an almost perfect circle of old trees surrounding grass and orange flowers. Why should I say no to their invitations?

  I’ve come to terms with this part of my personality. I’m not hurting anyone, and I need a distraction from the horrors around me.

  Yes, I’m a girl with certain tendencies. Or some might call them perversions. I’m a V-girl with a kink. But when I think about myself as a V-girl, the V is for voyeur instead of sexually inexperienced, and I don’t hate it at all. Better a voyeur girl than—ugh!—a virgin.

  So when the Comanches call me V-girl, I like to pretend they call me voyeur girl.

  The biracial couple stands on a patch of grass and orange flowers, their cloaks
long forgotten. I sit with my knees right up to my chin, behind a bush full of orange-colored flowers. I’m not hiding from them, but I don’t want anybody else to see me peeping.

  Joey always forgets I’m around. When he’s with Divine, the whole world stops existing for him. With trembling hands, as though this is his first time, Joey removes her camisole, leaving her completely naked. Her enormous breasts, round hips, and even her marriage tattoo are a beautiful sight. Joey’s eyes travel down her body with a mix of reverence and desire. Eager lips go sensually from her neck to her breast, and then to her firm stomach. His muttonchops caress her bared skin.

  He kneads her breasts carefully with adoration, and then presses them together with his hands. It makes them look bigger. He sucks each nipple and carefully pinches one of them between two fingers, rolling it slowly. She moans and shivers. He kisses her neck, his lips traveling down until he kneels on the soft grass. She arches her body and puts one of her legs on his shoulder.

  I sigh contently. I love to see the power she has over him. Joey isn’t tall or handsome. He has rough features and at thirty-six, he’s starting to lose his sandy brown curls. But he’s got strong arms and the remarkable skill of never leaving a single piece of his woman untouched. He’s the one I like to watch. His complete devotion to Divine, the way his face contracts from a combination of passion and love. I’m sure he’d give his life for her.

  The flapping tongue under her makes her squeal, and each squeal makes him grunt. Pleasing her turns him on; he’s so aroused. When she comes, his face is full of love, joy… and her fluids. He grins. He loves giving her happiness.

  She bends her body putting her palms in the grass, and he enters her from behind. Her hips meet his thrusts. The muscles between my legs contract when I watch the way her breasts bounce with each thrust.

  I’m unconsciously biting my thumb softly. These voyeuristic sessions are the most liberating experiences in my life. I wouldn’t change them for anything in the world. Except peace and food.