Blog battle – Pages tells me it’s exactly 1000 words.
Genre: Action? Near-future sci-fi?
Rough hands shoved Abby Spangler from behind, and she tumbled into the dark cell. Her shoulder smashed into the cement floor and she grunted.
“Don’t bruise her,” a man’s voice commanded in Vietnamese–they hadn’t discerned her understanding of their language yet.
The door slammed shut. Muffled voices withdrew.
The dank air reeked of mildew. Flies buzzed around the single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. Abby rolled onto her back and sat up with effort. She blew long blonde bangs out of her eyes and shook her head in a futile effort to manage her unruly mane.
Her cellmate watched, head bowed. “You okay?” The voice came out as a sheepish whisper, its quivering pitch indicating recent tears.
Tara hadn’t succumbed to the hopelessness of the other slaves Abby had seen. But she was on the verge.
“Not too bad,” Abby answered with a forced smile. “Everybody needs some electro-shock now and then. Quiets the voices in my head.” She chuckled, hoping to lift Tara’s spirits.
But the teenager sniffed and kept her eyes on the floor.
Abby groaned and slid into her corner. As planned, she whispered her callsign, briefed two months earlier before she let herself be abducted. “Ghost Orchid.” An image filled her mind–a white flower with long tendrils like frog legs hanging beneath a tree branch. Its roots blended so well into the tree that it seemed to float in mid-air, alone and unsupported.
Soft cries echoed through the thin walls of the holding cells–a former hostel near Cam Ranh Bay, judging by snippets of conversation in central Viet dialect and the few glimpses outside Abby managed thus far.
Traffickers brought kidnapped girls from the airport, where they arrived on flights with handlers arranging passage and bribing security. The port city served the syndicate well, with vessels bound to all parts of the world.
Here, at least, it would end today.
“Why don’t you just shut up so they’ll leave you alone, Abby? When you mouth off, you’re just asking for it.”
Maybe Tara’s not doing as well as I thought.
“No,” Abby said. “Nobody ‘asks for it.’ These are wicked men doing evil, preying on innocent victims. I don’t buy any logic that says it’s our fault we ended up here, no matter what led to this.”
She softened her tone. “Besides, they can’t afford to hurt us too much. They need pretty American girls–no bruises, no scars.”
Tara sighed. “You sound so chipper. You realize you’re going to be sold as a sex slave to some dirty bastard in a third world country?”
“Oh, yeah, take it one day at a time, right?” Tara rolled her eyes. “That’s not going to change how the story ends.”
Abby felt a vibration in the wood at her back and looked at the ceiling. The lightbulb swayed. A distant rumble built into thunder, then dissipated in a loud rush of air.
Tara glanced around the room in panic. “What’s happening?”
Abby grinned. “‘Not today’ meant we’re not getting sold off. Not ever. None of these girls are. Relax, this will be over in about two minutes.”
Or so the Colonel said.
She fought sudden fear at the realization she had no idea what to expect.
Screams resounded throughout the building–shrill cries of terrified men instead of the young girls Abby had heard for the last week.
Then the walls melted in slow motion, leaving soupy puddles covered in gray dust. Sunlight burst into the room, and both women blinked watery eyes to adjust.
Abby stood and counted survivors. Within a minute of the initial impact, seventeen girls huddled together in the goopy remnants of the slave traders’ holding facility. No collateral damage, no civilian casualties…
Tara asked, “Where did the slavers go?”
Abby studied the wet mess and grimaced. “I think we’re standing in them. This looks like the results of weaponized nanotechnology. Uncle Sam has some new toys.”
The chop-chop of approaching helicopters caught Abby’s attention and quickly drowned out the sound of Tara retching behind her.
Abby shouted against the sound. “There’s our ride, girls! Gather up. We’re going home.”
She helped the young ladies into open hatches where soldiers in active camoflauge scanned biometrics and guided them to seats. Finally, Abby took another look at the destruction and hopped aboard.
Colonel Hunter Stephens shook her hand. “Got your signal, Agent. Great work.”
Abby nodded and took her seat in a daze, struggling with confusing thoughts.
Stephens sat beside her and loosed a contented sigh. “Nice to do some good for a change.”
“Colonel,” she said, “the Agency had no idea where we’d get dropped off. That’s why I got taken–finding where they operated.”
“That’s right, Agent.”
“So how could you plant listening devices advanced enough to pick up a whispered callsign?”
Stephens said nothing, but his smile vanished.
Abby reviewed the preparation for her mission months earlier. Combat training, resistance techniques, a full medical check-up and thorough brainwave scan to set a baseline in case of traumatic brain injury…
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “The picture of the orchid. You saw that somehow, picked up my thoughts, triangulated our position by tracking my brainwaves.” She glared at Hunter, who sat silent as a statue. “What the hell kind of system does the government have?”
The picture of the orchid returned–a lone flower out in the open, seemingly unsupported yet held aloft and nourished by invisible roots, sustained by resources unseen at first glance.
“Agent, Ghost Orchid was never your callsign,” Stephens said. “It’s the coverterm for a special access program you’re not cleared for. You’d do best to forget this and take comfort that we rescued these girls.”
He flashed her a smile that any other day would seem charming. “Trust us, we’re the good guys.”
She turned to stare out the chopper’s window, unsure what to think, but absolutely certain she didn’t want to think at all just then.