No food for one week.
That was the ultimatum.
The women were lined up, their backs against the wall of battered concrete.
Having never been to this side of the ship in days past, Vienna’s eyes flitted to and fro, from the yellowed bulb hanging on the ceiling to the hum of the generator in the deck below. Isabelle’s legs quivered in the cold of the dawn, her feet sensing the waves of salt water pummeling the hull of the vessel. Anita stood still.
The jangle of keys, metal and sharp, emanated from down the corridor, characteristic of only one person they knew on the entire ship. The tap of his shoes, rhythmic and deliberate, echoed.
His brows pierced the tense atmosphere. “At half past two this morning, I woke up to the clangor of a crash, nearly soundless. Yet not invisible,” Ares spoke matter-of-factly. “One of you stole a fruit from the tree in the atrium.” His mouth tightened. “Unless the culprit reveals herself, you know the consequences.”
Yes, they knew the consequences. It was not she who committed the crime, yet Anita understood why someone else would. Perhaps all that person wanted was a taste of heaven.
Seconds passed, which became minutes, and soon enough Anita realized no one would confess. Her mind told her she will be punished, beaten and dragged, yet she thought of the daughter of Isabelle, and the brother of Vienna, and her eyes did meet her neighbors’. The lives of these fellow human beings bore greater weight to her than her own.
Every other back remained against the wall.
She stepped out from the shadows and into the light.
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