Circus Save Me Read online

  Contents

  Foreword

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Acknowledgments

  Erin O’Kane

  K.A Knight

  Circus Save Me

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to places, events or real people are entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 Erin O’Kane & K.A Knight, all rights reserved.

  Written by Erin O’Kane & K.A Knight

  Foreword

  Welcome to the Circus, step inside if you dare...

  Thirty-five years later…

  I brush the tangled locks of hair from my face, trying to get a better view of the unending task before me. My body aches from hours of physical labour as I sit back on my heels and scowl at the dirty footprints that are being tracked onto the freshly cleaned kitchen floor. My hard work erased in a moment. Frederick will have my hide if the floor isn’t spotless when he comes in for his dinner. I remember the last time I wasn’t quick enough for Frederick, and the newly healed skin on my back throbs in response.

  No point in complaining about something that can’t be fixed. As I am always reminded, I am lucky to be alive, and if that means working for someone like Frederick, and keeps me off the streets, then so be it. There is always someone less fortunate. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

  With renewed vigor, I start scrubbing at the floor again when some of Frederick’s men walk into the room. Keeping my head down, I continue with my work, not wanting to call unwanted attention to myself. I don’t think Frederick would ever let one of his lackeys truly hurt me, not out of loyalty to me, but because of what I bring to his business. As one of the few women in this shithole of a settlement, it grants him power that others don’t have, and as part of that, I am protected. If I die, he loses that power. That doesn’t stop him from getting rough with me when I don’t follow his rules, but he has stepped in a few times when a patron wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  Two pairs of dirty leather boots appear next to where I am crouched on the floor. I slow my scrubbing, tightly gripping the worn-out brush as if it’s my lifeline. Without raising my head, I try to see who has been sent to me today. In my experience there are three types of men left in this world. Most will just leave me alone with a disdainful look or shove out of the way. Others have more violent tendencies, especially towards women, it’s best to avoid them. Then there are the friendly ones. Those are the ones to look out for, they are by far the most dangerous. It will start with a smile, or a small gift, and before you know it, you are cornered in a back alley with no one to protect you.

  Thankfully for me, both of these men fit in the first category.

  “Get up. He wants to see you.” Grunt one barks, shoving my shoulder.

  With a small gasp I fall forward onto the dirty floor, supporting myself on my hands and knees. I stay in this position, not wanting to antagonize them.

  “See? She does know her place after all,” the other henchman comments, and I can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

  A bolt of anger and disgust fills me at their comments. I should be used to this by now, yet a small part of me kicks and screams to be unleashed on these men that think they own me. Pushing these dangerous thoughts aside, I sit back on my heels and look up at the men. I am playing with fire by looking them in the eyes, but I’m still angry and it makes me bold. The men run their eyes over me and I fight back a shudder. My shapeless tunic covers my body to my ankles, but my hair and delicate facial features do nothing to disguise the fact that I am a woman.

  I brace myself for a backhand that never comes, it must be my lucky day. Either that or whatever Frederick has planned for me is worse. I swallow back my fear at the thought and get to my feet, unsteady after hours of being on my knees.

  Being ushered out of the meager kitchen, I stumble through the narrow corridors of the tavern Frederick runs his business out of. It’s not much to look at, and it’s certainly seen better days, but it’s the best that we have. People want somewhere they can go to gamble and drown their sorrows, and that’s exactly what Frederick gives them. Well, what he gives the richer people; the poorer ones go to the tavern in the middle of the settlement. We can’t have them mixing with the rich, can we?

  The two men behind me stay quiet, occasionally pushing their makeshift weapons into my lower back, a constant reminder that they are in charge in this situation. As if I needed a reminder that I have no power here.

  We arrive outside of Frederick’s office and a sense of trepidation fills me. I’m not brought here often, and when I have been it’s never for good reasons. His office is for business, and in this world, women have no place unless they are being sold. I have been lucky so far in my twenty-two years on this dead world. Frederick bought me from my last owner years ago, and I have never been at risk to be sold or had to use my ‘womanly wiles’, but I feel my luck may be coming to an end. Patrons have been offering to ‘rent’ my services for years now, and so far, Frederick has turned them down, saying they can’t afford the fee. One of these days, someone is going to have something that Frederick wants, and he will use me as a bargaining chip.

  “Come in,” I hear from behind the door and my heart leaps into my mouth.

  I shouldn’t be surprised that he knows we are outside the door, he always seems to know when we are nearby. I suspect that he was ‘altered’ by the blast all those years ago. He certainly has the scars to support that theory. Not that anybody would dare accuse him of being ‘altered’, not if they value their lives.

  I walk into the office, aware of Frederick’s eyes on me as I take in my surroundings. The room is opulent. Well, as opulent as you can get in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. There are candles everywhere and books lining the walls. Two worn leather sofas fill the room, and there is a large, lacquered desk over by the window. Frederick watches in silence as I enter the room, my head held high and my walk confident. He may own me, but I will not be cowed.

  “Girl. Look at me,” he orders.

  He never calls me Rhea, only Girl, or Slave. There is power in a name, and he knows this. His deep voice sends shivers down my spine. It’s a voice that is used to getting what it wants and being obeyed without question. The rumors say he was close to the blast when it went off and that the blast burnt his vocal chords, which is why his voice sounds so deep and raspy now. I tend not to listen to the rumors, they only get you in trouble.

  Doing as ordered, I raise my eyes to meet his. For someone who was so badly scarred, he takes great pride in his appearance, and I think this just adds to his reputation. Standing at over six feet tall, he is intimidating at the best of times. His long, greying dark hair and neatly trimmed moustache and beard only add to this. Piercing, steely grey eyes bore into me and I have the distinct impression that I am being tested.

  I hold his gaze for four of the longest seconds of my life before I drop my eyes, focusing on my battered shoes. I obviously pass whatever test he intended for me, as I see him nod to himself out of the corner of my eye.

  “I need you to go to the market and pick up a package for me.”

  I glance up at him in shock. All of this to send me to market? Could he not send one of his trusted men to do this? To choose to send a woman to the market, when he had seve ral able bodied men that could do it for him, was an odd decision.

  Is he testing me? Sending me out of the house is a risk, one he is apparently willing to take.

  “Why?” I ask, the question slipping from my lips before I can stop it.

  Pushing up from behind the desk, Frederick slowly walks towards me. I shouldn’t have said anything, just been the meek slave that the world expects me to be, but my anger from earlier is still running through my system, making me bold. I keep my eyes down, but clench my fists, the only sign of my rebellion to subservience.

  “Do I need to remind you of your place?” His gravelly voice asks as he circles around me, like a predator tracking his prey.

  I remain quiet, knowing I will only provoke him if I say anything. Besides, I don’t trust myself not to say something that will put me in further trouble.

  He remains behind me. He must be standing still as I can’t hear him moving. He does this to unnerve me, and it works. I can feel my heart speed up as my mind goes into overdrive thinking of what he might be planning to do.

  A sharp crack fills the room as his hand meets my cheek and a white light fills my vision. Falling to my knees, I cradle my face. I must have really pissed him off for him to hit my face. Usually he keeps to areas that are covered. Staying quiet, I press my face to the ground so not to antagonize him further.

  With a sigh, he walks back to his desk, wiping his hands on a small towel he keeps there. He acts like I made him punish me; like this is something he would rather not do.

  “Go to the market. Thomas knows you are coming, he will give you what I need,” his order is a clear dismissal.

  I hurry to my feet, my face burning both from the slap and from my wounded pride. Avoiding the eyes of Frederick and the two smirking lackeys waiting outside of the room, I hurry away before I do something that will get me killed.

  Leaving the town house through the old slave entrance, I tug my hood up to cover my bright hair. Being spotted and recognized as a woman will only bring me more problems and I don't have the time to deal with them if I want to get back to avoid a punishment. My worn brown cloak offers me little protection from the heat bearing down on me; instead it makes my body sweaty and uncomfortable. The cracked steps leading down to the broken pavement mean I have to tread carefully so not to fall and hurt myself. The fence is rusted and mangled, but the gate still works, even if it does creak worse than the floorboards in my room - if you can call a basement that. I shouldn’t complain, Frederick isn't too bad, he doesn't force himself on me even if he is handsy, and I am at least earning a meager wage.

  Pulling open the gate, I wince at the noise before gently shutting it behind me. With a glance at the street behind me, showing me the row of undamaged town houses that the rich and powerful occupy, I turn to face the settlement I call home. The road is partly paved, even if holes and cracks run along its surface. I trudge along, reminding myself it could be worse. The large houses slowly turn into smaller houses the closer to the poorer side of town you get, and the pavement ends in a giant crater where one of the pre-war bombs dropped. I carefully pick my way around it, the remaining few trees swaying in the breeze next to me. Crows squawk on their branches, watching me as I walk.

  The road eventually splits into four dirt paths, each heading to a different part of the settlement. I quickly cross the section and head down the one that leads to the center of town, the buildings turning into the shacks of the poor. Still, it’s better than living outside the protection of the settlement. Although it would be much easier to traverse these roads in the car that Frederick and his lackeys use, instead my feet burn and my calves ache since I’ve already been up since dawn working.

  Men’s voices reach me as I turn onto the dirt road. Ducking my head, I let the hood obscure my face. Keeping to the edge of the road, I grip the edge of my cloak carefully, my hands turning sweaty. The temporary boldness I was feeling from being away from Frederick and his guards flees at the thought of being alone with random men. Luckily, they pass by, completely ignoring me, my cape marking me as someone's property offering me the desired protection.

  The road stops at the center of Cinders, the shacks here mixed in with old buildings that were not destroyed when the bombs dropped. Stalls populate the main square where the vendors and travelers sell their wares, and traditional shops line the way with the tavern for the poor smack bang in the middle of the square. Men bustle back and forth, busy with their tasks, laughing and joking between themselves. There are no other women present, the only other women who live in Cinders work in the tavern. Anxiety courses through me, as does a sense of elation at being away from Frederick’s watchful eyes. It allows me some freedom, and covered as I am, I can dally a little and maybe even spend some of the money I have saved. The breeze rustles my hood, the blonde ends of my hair twirling in it. A smile stretches across my face as a small boy chases a little girl through the man's legs in front of me; the boy with a wooden sword and the girl with a princess tiara. My boldness returns, the meek slave retreating as my shoulders straighten and my inquisitive nature surfaces. I know I shouldn’t stare, I should lower my eyes, but something in me screams for once not to give in.

  “Daddy, why can’t I have a sword, too?” She whines, tugging on the stocky man’s pant leg. He looks around before crouching before her.

  “Shhh, Angelina, girls like you and your momma don’t need a sword, now do they?”

  “But why?”

  “The men will protect you. Why don't you go look at some dresses?” His face is filled with hope as he watches her. She frowns at him, her bottom lip poking out in a pout as her face twists.

  “But I want to fight too, Daddy. I'm stwrong like Peter!” She stomps her foot, her pink dress swaying with the motion.

  “You should teach her her place, and soon.” The man her father is standing with warns, the disgust evident on his face as he watches the girl. “She should be seen and not heard, remember that next time you come to do business.” Her father bows his head in shame and whispers to the girl.

  Anger burns through me, but I quickly swallow it. I’ve been taught my place many times, even if the little girl’s thoughts echo my own. It isn't that kind of world anymore. The stories and hushed whispers from the cook where I lived before are the only reason I know anything of the world from before the war. Where women were fighting for equality and could do and love as they wished, where they were free to be what they wanted. Where women fought alongside men, and worked alongside them in what they called politics. It sounds like a dream to me, the wishful thinking of a little girl who only ever wanted to be treated the same as the men. All thoughts of freedom, being able to go where I wish and say whatever I wanted, were soon squashed as I grew up. The rose tinted glasses that only children wear, falling away to reveal the world we live in now. Where the remaining women serve the men. The father stands, turning back to the man he was talking to and engaging him in conversation. The little girl pouting at his feet. As I walk past, I whisper to her.

  “One day you will understand, Little Princess. Maybe then you can take the sword instead of the dress.”

  I hurry away, unwilling to be caught for such words. I slide past the men and hurry to the stall I need.

  “Hey!” The shout causes me to stop and turn to watch the commotion on the other side of the stall. At the water well, four large men are pushing a man around. His water spills, splashing all over the floor. He’s as tall as them but slimmer, obviously not a worker like these men. His body is trim, but obvious muscle pushes at his shirt and tight pants, the black leather sticking to his legs like glue.

  “That ain't for you, freak. Get your water from the other well!” One of the men in a dirty brown shirt and pants spits at his feet as his friends cackle with him. The man’s back is to me, but I can see it hunch at the word freak.

  “Which well?” The smooth voice asks. The others move restlessly around him as the obvious leader of the group steps into the man's space. To th e man’s credit, he doesn’t back down, instead his spine straightens as his black hair moves with the wind.

  “Over there, you stupid freak show,” the bigger man shouts, pointing at the contaminated well in the corner. I frown, surely he can’t mean to offer this poor soul water which will make him ill? Nibbling on my bottom lip, I debate what to do. My eyes flicker between the scene and the stall I need to visit. My decision is made, however, when the men close the circle, pushing and kicking at the man. I must've missed something, and they have clearly decided to take matters into their own hands. I need to stop this before someone gets hurt! Against my better judgement and all the hard earned lessons about being invisible, I hurry across to stand outside the circle. They ignore me, too busy pushing this poor soul and taunting him. This could go so wrong, the punishment I will receive scaring me even now, but what sort of person would I be if I just watched while someone gets hurt?

  “Fucking freak!”

  “You see his hair? Fag!”

  “Go home, freakshow!”

  My anger gets the better of me as I look for a way to help. My eyes land on a rock, I quickly bend over and clutch it. All my insecurities and doubts flying out of the window, my anger getting the better of me, revealing the true self that I hide behind a shy mask.

  “Stop!” I shout. They still ignore me, so I throw the rock at the leader’s head. It connects with his face, pulling a groan from his lips. Clutching his nose, he spins around to face me. I quickly jump through the spot he made when he stumbles back and stand in front of the man, not even sparing him a look.