Chapter 37
Luna was deliveredto the northernmost docks by the leering, disgusting, stiff-neck, jerk policemen. The worst thing that had happened was one grabbed her ass, pulled her close, scared the breath out of her. But she was grateful nothing worse had happened. Grateful and pissed that she needed to be grateful. Furious that they had scared her like that.
It was as if she was under arrest, but all she had done was come ashore. And the way they beat Beckett. She wanted to kill them. She needed to know if he was okay.
A dumpy woman in a uniform with a badge that said, “Sue James, Guard,” led her by her elbow down the docks and shoved her into the open maw of a cavernous warehouse. Luna was told to stand in line behind eight other Waterfolk women. The woman directly in front of Luna had long dark hair and was older, older than Luna’s mother had been when she —
Luna whispered, “Do you understand what’s happening?”
One of the guards shushed Luna aggressively. The woman answered with a quick shake of her head.
So she quieted. Three scowling female guards called the first woman forward. They made her undress and then they sprayed her with a hose and scrubbed her body with brushes. She cried. Luna tried hard not to watch, but by the end, the anguish of the woman being bathed, the fear of the other women in line, it was all too much — tears rolled down Luna’s face and the lump in her throat wouldn’t swallow down.
She wanted to do something brave, like shove everyone aside, and make a break for it, but she had nothing — no money, no food, not even an idea where she was. And maybe she would be in worse trouble if she attempted to run and got caught.
And why she was in trouble? None of this made sense.
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After she was showered, a surly woman shoved what looked like a pillowcase into her arms. Luna unfolded it to see something that was a cross between a robe and a dress. Velcro cinched the waist. She put it on, ran her fingers through her hair, and shuffled to the opposite end of the warehouse where the other women, all dressed in the same sack dresses, waited by a door. Her fear rose. She needed someone to comfort her, maybe a smile or a kind word, but all the other women looked so frightened they wouldn’t meet her eyes.
A few minutes later a guard gestured with a grunt that they should follow him through a tented tunnel, across a parking lot, to, finally, a chain-link fenced area. The fence was at least ten feet tall. It had barbed wire curled around on top. The enclosure like a pen. A big pen. For animals. Luna’s stomach lurched. A woman said, “What the hell is this place?”
Hundreds of Waterfolk gathered near the door as the guard stuck a key into the padlock and yanked at it with irritation.. One man asked, “When are our administration hearings? When will our lawyers arrive?” More voices rose, asking the same questions, pushing forward to the door, scaring Luna, making her want to duck down and refuse to go in, but she was given no choice. She was shoved from behind, holding her arms like a shield, and forced into the clamoring crowd.
Behind her the guard grunted, “I told you yesterday, the paperwork is coming when it’s ready.” The door slammed, the lock clicked, and the guard stomped away.
A man yelled toward his back, “That was what you said yesterday; I demand you tell me when our date of release will be!”
The guard raised his hand dismissively and continued walking.
The crowd around the door dispersed and Luna was left standing alone. Inside a locked pen. Sure she was surrounded by fellow Waterfolk, but these weren’t the Waterfolk of the high seas, these were Former Waterfolk, lost, landed, dry, beaten down, and depressed. They weren’t happy to see her or welcoming or even seeming to notice she was there.
Worst part? She was still standing on the cement of the parking lot, but a foot further, most of the pen, it was all mud.
What had been the purpose of that humiliating shower to go into a pen with a mud floor? Luna was shocked. Horrified. And where was Beckett — where was anyone who could help her?
