Chapter 7

                                    

                                              
 It felt so good, smelt even better. As the hot water cascaded off her body, she realised she had never experienced luxury like this before. Except it was not luxury, it was two small rooms. One contained two bunks and a fitted wardrobe whilst the other consisted of a toilet that sat surprisingly close to the shower within the wet room. Every wall was clad in a mottled cream plastic and lined with a white trim that contained mold in places. Still, to Kira this was the best it had ever been. Her surroundings sent mixed thoughts through her mind. The tattooed man appeared to be telling her she was not a slave, and she did not feel like one at the moment. On the other hand, they had bought her. As she let the rage build up in her at that thought, she squeezed shower gel from the unmarked white plastic container attached to the wall. The smell was intoxicating; it made her realise how bad her aroma must be. A few days in the back of a van with only the odd toilet stop whilst eating gruel in the dark did that. But it was more than this. The gel may have had the most wonderful fragrance she had ever experienced. She re-lived this experience when she felt the soft white towel on her face. She breathed in deeply, taking in its rich, just washed, smell. After all that had happened since taking the bread she wondered if she was now dead and in heaven.
                          
After she dried herself and redressed, wincing at the stench her grey jumpsuit give off, she sat and waited. She had had enough sleep to last a lifetime in the back of the van. Her legs jittered up and down whilst she clenched and unclenched her hands. Here she was again, in another cell of sorts, waiting to find out what her future held.
                          
Kira stood at the knock. She opened the door, beyond stood the tattooed man. "You ready?" he asked. Kira said nothing, instead stepping into the corridor and locking the door behind her. Seeing her mood, the tattooed man decided not to make conversation, so they walked to the dining area without saying a word, only the hum of the motor stopping the awkward silence. The dining area itself was nothing more than a few tables and chairs near a long counter containing numerous catering standard hot plates. Within about half the units that the kept food warm, sat bowls to create a self-service environment. Food such as chips, sausages, baked beans and peas were placed there waiting to be selected. Kira paused when she got to one end. "Go on," the tattooed man said, "take a plate." He motioned towards a small pile of cheap white ceramic plates at this end of the counters.

                          
Kira reached for one, ignoring the collection of serviettes next to them. "They..." the tattooed man managed before Kira touched the top plate. She pulled her hand away at the short sharp sensation of heat. "...might be hot," he concluded, too late. Kira turned and gave him a scowl. "Use the napkin." She attempted to pick up the plate once more, this time using a serviette as a guard between her hand and the heat of the ceramic.
                          
As she made her way along the hot plates, Kira was like a child in a sweetshop. She did not know what all the food was but tried everything anyway, piling her plate high, so much so that beans almost ran off the side. Once they had made their way to a table, Kira sat, wasting no time in tucking in. This food was so fresh, nothing like the stale bread and dry meats she ate in the slums. She barely swallowed before cramming in another mouthful.
                          
"Slow down, the food isn't going to run out," the tattooed man chuckled. Kira looked up and gave him another of her trademark scowls. She understood he was joking but did not know how she should feel. She constantly expected them to take these luxuries away, that at some point they would say enough is enough and beat her. "Ok, ok, you go ahead. I suppose being stuck in a van for seven days does that to you."
                          
'Seven days!' Kira thought, almost choking on her food, clearly the darkness had played havoc on her judgement of time. She was going to question it as the rage built up inside her once more, but her mouth was too full of food and her prime survival instincts told her that she did not know where her next meal would come from, so she accepted it and carried on eating.
                          
The tattooed man tucked into his smaller plate of sausage, chips and beans. Despite not being asked to, the tattooed man felt the need to explain what was happening. Well, as much as he was allowed to say. "I suppose I should let you know what I can. Where should I start?" he asked himself quietly, "I suppose my name. I am Luka. I come from the slums just like you." If he was trying to gain her trust or get her to pity him it did not work, Kira was too interested in her mound of food. "I come from the Bohinj region of Slovenia, although you will probably know it as Sector 19. There is a beautiful lake there; before I was born it was surrounded by little villages and vast open countryside. The mountains on either side looming over and protecting the lake and valley. But long ago the locals were turfed out so the rich people could build a city around the lake and have private use of the mountains for something called skiing." Even though Kira was listening, she did not show it. "In Kozloville they live an easy life with all the luxuries available, whilst my people are forced to scavenge to survive; to beg, borrow and steal. So you see, I am just like you." Kira looked up, once more giving that scowl of disdain. Luka met it with a laugh, "you may not think it now but we are much more alike than you want to believe. I can only apologise for the way we have treated you so far, but when you meet our leader, you will understand. For now all you need to know is that the world was different before Princips came to power." He rested his hand on something next to him and pushed it forward. Kira had been so engrossed in her hatred of this man that she had not realised he had been carrying a book, one he placed on the table when they sat down. "Read this, it will help explain what life was like before the mega cities and slums." Kira looked at the torn and dogeared cover, an old black-and-white photo of two mean in heavy clothes and round helmets, each caked in mud and carrying a long gun, sat upon it. They stared out of the picture with forlorn looks on their faces. Kira was taken aback by the sadness that seemed to encompass their entire bodies. Above them danced some embossed lettering in white. She could not tell Luka that she was unable to read it. It had taken long enough to find her cabin, and that was only so quick because she could count, her mother teaching her because of the limited credits they had and the budgeting that required. She looked back at Luka and tried to hide the fact she had no idea what the title said. With a quick nod she slid the book to her side of the table then carried on devouring her pile of food.