My bare upper arm aches, and I sluggishly rub my fingers on it. There are several raised bumps on my arm that weren’t there before, and I rub it harder, feeling something hard under the skin. What the fuck? I try to peer at it in the dark, but I can’t see anything. Images of the aliens and the light shining in my eyes, the nightmares, the terror—it all rises, and I panic. A whimper escapes in my throat.
A hand touches my other arm. “Don’t scream,” a girl whispers.
I roll my too heavy head until I can look over at her. She’s about my age, but blonde and thinner than me. Her hair’s long and dirty, her eyes big in her lean face. She glances around the room, and then puts a finger to her lips in case I didn’t understand her earlier warning.
Silence. Okay. Okay. I choke the cry rising in my throat and try to remain calm. I nod. Don’t scream. Don’t scream. I can keep my shit together. I can.
“You all right?”
“Yeaaah . . .” I slur, my mouth unable to form words. And… I drool all over myself. Lovely. I lift one of my heavy hands to swipe at my mouth. “Thorry—”
“You’re okay,” she says before I can panic again. Her voice is pitched low so as to not wake up the others. “We’re all a bit hung over when we wake up. They drug everyone when they arrive. It’ll wear off in a bit. I’m Liz.”
“Georgie,” I tell her, taking time to sound out my name properly. I rub my arm and point at it, at the strange bumps. “Whattth going on?”
“Well,” Liz says, “You were abducted by aliens. But I guess that one was obvious, right?”
I smile wryly. Or I try to. I probably just end up drooling on myself again.
Liz shifts next to me. “Okay, let me see if I can hit the big highlights. Everyone else here?” She thumbs a gesture at the others piled into the cage, still sleeping. “They’ve been abducted, too. All Earth, most American. I think there’s a Canadian in there. You twenty-two?”
“Yeth?”
“Yeah, I thought so. We all are. Let me also guess: live alone, not pregnant, no major health issues, no nearby family?”
“How—”
“Because we’re all in the same boat,” Liz says, her tone bleak. “Every girl they pick up has the same story. Except for Megan. She was pregnant. Two months along, she said, and they vacuumed her out like it was no big deal.” Liz shudders. “So I’m guessing that wherever they’re taking us, they don’t want pregnant girls. Just young and healthy.”
Oh god. I swallow hard, fighting the urge to puke. There’s really no place to do it, though I’m starting to suspect I know why the place smells like sewage. Liz’s scent isn’t exactly pleasant. “How . . . long you been heeere?”
“Me?” she asks. “Two weeks. Kira’s been here the longest that we know of. She’s the one with the earpiece.”
I look around, but I don’t see an earpiece on anyone in particular.
“It’s a translator,” Liz explains. “You’ll see soon enough. I’m throwing too much at you at once, aren’t I? Okay, let’s try this again. See those tubes?” She points at the far wall, at the things that reminded me of oversized lockers. “Kira saw what was in them. She said they’re more girls, just like us.”
I gasp, the sound watery and overloud. More people?
Liz waves a hand at me, indicating we should be quiet, and I nod, rubbing those itchy bumps on my arm. She peers around to see if anyone’s coming, and when no one appears, scoots even closer to me. I smell her body next to mine, her scent sweaty but human. “Yeah. So . . . they picked up Kira and she said they kept talking to her and she couldn’t understand them, so they took her by the ear and more or less stapled in some sort of earpiece that translates things. But I guess they only had one of the suckers, so she has to translate for the rest of us.”
“S-stapled?” I repeat, horrified at the thought.
“Yep. Tagged her like a cow.” Liz grimaces. “Sorry, I’m from Oklahoma. I guess that visual doesn’t bother me as much as you. Where you from?”
“Orlando.” I’m not sure if my mouth will work around “Florida” without a spray of spit.
She nods. “We’re kind of scattered all over the place. Anyhow, from what Kira’s been able to pick up, our new friends are smugglers of some kind. Guess what they trade in?”
“Girls?”
“Ayup.” She points at the lockers again. “My guess is that they came here to pick up eight, then had such a good run that they decided to squeeze a few more into the hold and make out like bandits or something. Kira says someone new pops up every other day or so. We figure they’re going to pack us up like sardines and then sell us off to . . . I don’t know. Wherever.” She shudders. “I’m trying not to think that far ahead because I’ll just start screaming, and you don’t want to know what happens when you start screaming.”