And the sweaty, musky smell of sex.
“Frex. Forgot about the Season for a second,” Harley says as a half-naked couple bump into him, so distracted by their passionate groping and kissing that they don’t even notice Harley standing there. “Let’s go back inside.”
“Come on, we’ll just go away from the crowded areas. I don’t think I can stand being inside anymore.” I think I will never like enclosed spaces again. When I was younger, before the freezing, I never felt claustrophobic. Now, even here, on the edge of a garden, outside, tight bands squeeze the air from my lungs, and my vision lingers on the walls that seem to constantly be pressing down on me. I close my eyes. If I let myself think about it, it’s so, so much worse.
“The light is good out here,” Harley says as we start down the path away from the Hospital. “Shite, I wish I had my paints!”
I laugh. “Go ahead. Get them. I’ll wait here.”
Harley hesitates. “It’s not safe. Not now.”
I think of the crowd of people I ran into on my first run. Now seems like the perfect time to be out—none of the people are going to care about me. They’re way too busy with each other.
“Seriously,” I say when Harley looks wistfully back up at the Hospital. “I’ll go to that wheat field. No one’s over there; they’re all in the garden or on the road.”
“Come with me,” Harley says. He grabs my wrist and starts to pull me to the Hospital, but I wriggle out of his grip.
“I really need to not be in a building. I need some fresh air. Go on!” I laugh, shooing him down the path. “I’ll be fine.”
Harley hesitates again, but the pull of his paint is too much. “Be careful, Little Fish,” he says seriously. I nod, smiling. He sprints up the path to the Hospital. I stroll the opposite direction, toward the field.
I was right: the further I get from the garden, the fewer people are around. The path is practically empty, and it is only from the moaning and sighs that I know there are people further out in the fields, behind the trees, in the ditch beside the path. I try to ignore them. It creeps me out to see people so loose. I know that when I lived on Earth, I must have seen people having sex on TV a million times. But it’s not the same when people are having sex right in front of you.
“It’s her.”
My first instinct is to freeze; my next one is to run. I know from the tone of voice that whoever spoke was talking about me. I risk glancing back. There are three men, all about Harley’s age, all following me. I don’t recognize two of them—Feeders who do some kind of heavy labor judging by the size of their muscles.
My stomach drops.
I do recognize the third one.
Luthe, who’s always staring at me, always watching me in the Ward.
“Hey, freak!” Luthe calls when he sees me looking. He wiggles his fingers at me in a mock hello, and the other two men laugh.
I start walking faster. I wonder if the moaning, sighing masses of sweaty people in the fields will look up if I call for help. I somehow doubt it.
I can hear their heavy footfalls behind me. Their stride is longer than mine; they’ve already set their pace quicker.
“Don’t think I wanna freak,” one of them says.
“I do,” Luthe responds.
I quit caring about what I look like. I run. My legs pump high and hard, and I have panic to fuel me. One of them curses, and I realize the chase is on. I cut into a field, but the wheat slows me, and my wild race leaves a clear trail right toward me. I leap over a pair of lovers in the field who do not even notice my presence, let alone my plight. I turn around to see how close the men are.
Too close.
And I am too stupid. I trip over a pair of heaving bodies and land in the wheat, rolling over tall, sharp stalks. The girl, who is on top, looks at me with love-hazed eyes, then grins in an inviting sort of way. I scoot back, feeling the wheat bend and break under my body, struggling to regain my footing.
But I’m not quick enough.
One of the big Feeder men is on top of me first.
I struggle to get up, but my squirming only excites him. I still my body, but jerk my hands. He pins my wrists to the ground under his meaty fists, and now the other two men have caught up. The other Feeder grabs my ankles. Luthe drops to the ground beside me, leaning over my face. Grinning.
I thrash against the men. They all laugh, a deep, guttural sound that isn’t humorous at all.
I jerk my head to the naked couple I tripped over. “Help me!” I say.
The woman arches her back, digs her hips against the man she’s riding.
“Help me!” I scream.
The man beneath her stares back at me, but his eyes are glazed. He smiles dreamily. The woman notices, and turns to look at me. “It only hurts the first time,” she says, and then she thrusts against the man, and he moans, and she moans, and they have forgotten all about me.
Luthe straddles me and rips my tunic off, curses at the undershirt I’ve been wearing in place of a bra, and rips it off, too. The tattered remains of my clothes pool at my arms, but my breasts are exposed. And even though I’ve seen half the crew of this ship walking around naked in a lovemaking haze, I am ashamed of my nudity. And terrified.
Luthe bends over me and buries his face in my breasts. I try to wriggle away, but he moans in desire and grinds his pelvis harder against my hips. One hand fumbles with his trousers while the other twists my breast, hard. The Feeder man holding my arms makes a noise deep inside his throat, and bends down, licking my arms, nibbling my skin playfully at first, then harder bites that were they to have come from my boyfriend Jason, I would have liked.