Skin

Twilight. Ines’s favorite time of day. She loved the way the world softened as the sun set, how the shadows lengthened—the stillness. But right now, she wished for night. She’d give anything for the cover darkness provided—the ability to disappear.

She was being hunted.

It was her fault, really. She knew better than to be out in the open. Exposed. Her brown skin was a target, a beacon. They had first spotted her while she scavenged along a roadside ditch for tubers hiding in the damp soil.

A foolish mistake. The woods were safer, more sheltered. But her stomach had been screaming for nourishment, and every so often, her vision would swim with black dots. She was getting weak and reckless.

That hunted feeling first came creeping up her spine while she was elbow deep in mud. It was a feeling Ines wouldn’t soon forget. The awareness of being stalked came washing over her like an icy wave. Slowly at first and then everywhere at once, the fear drowning her. It lit within her a primal urge to run.

She tamped it down. Instead, she stood purposefully and wiped her hands on her trousers. Without a glance in the direction of the threat, she climbed the shallow slope of the ditch and made her way across the clearing towards the woods.

She forced herself to walk at a steady pace, not wanting to raise the alarm. She would make her escape once she reached the forest, where there were more places to hide. Her pursuers had other plans, though.

Voices shouted. Men’s voices. A few of them by the sound of it, but how many she couldn’t be sure. They each let out a whoop of excitement, hounds picking up her scent.

Ines’s heart leapt in her chest. And then she was running. No, she was flying, fleeing so quickly her feet hardly touched the ground at all.

Ines had fled from the city after her mother received a notice in the mail that she was to be harvested the following week. Ines hadn’t wanted to leave, but her mother insisted. Living in the city was a death sentence, only a matter of time before Ines received her own letter in the mail. Run, Ines.

So, she left. It was easier to avoid the hunting parties in the rural environment. All alone, she spent her days trekking through the rolling countryside and occasional wooded area, skirting rural communities. She fed on berries and the rare small animal she could catch with the pocketknife she had stolen from a farm. The remoteness was an effective way to avoid most hunting parties, but not a guarantee.

She was sweating now. Fat drops were rolling down the line of her spine, streaming from her brow and stinging her eyes. She took little care to be quiet or to cover her tracks. There was no time for that. Crashing through the underbrush, weaving between trees, scrambling over roots the size of pythons, she ran. Ran for her life. The group of men were not far behind. They would not give up.

They were after her skin.

She clambered over a log, catching the fabric of her shirt on a branch. There was a hitch, and then it cracked and gave way scraping her left rib. She barely felt it. Pick up the pace, Ines.

When she reached a break in the trees, her heart soared. It was a clearing. The remnants of a fire long since burned out. The ground was sandy and black and covered in charred wood. Beyond the clearing, the woods continued in all four directions. If she picked a direction and made it across the clearing before the men caught up with her, they would not know which way Ines had gone. It was a chance, her only one.

She was halfway across the clearing when a movement caught her eye.

Somebody was here—a boy, close to her age. His skin was so dark it nearly hid him among the blackened wood.

But Ines had seen him. And he saw her. They stared at each other, bewildered.

She had to make a choice. She could tell the boy to run and risk being caught herself. Or she could turn him in. With skin like his, he would sell for more than her. Darker skin was always more desirable. Prestigious.

The hunters were getting nearer. She could hear them.

If she sold the boy out, surely the hunters would go for him, and she might have a chance to escape.

She should do this. It was in her best interest.

The boy was backing away from her, his eyes terrified. She knew that fear.

“Go,” she said. And then, more forcefully, “Run!”

The hunters collapsed into the clearing just as the boy made it safely out of sight. Ines might not be so lucky. As a last effort, she dashed to her left. Her only chance was to make it back into the trees and find a place to hide.

A hand clasped around her wrist. One of the hunters had entered the clearing separate from the others. Ines saw her mistake. The men chasing her had distracted her, allowing this one to peel off from the group and ambush her.

The hunter yanked her to him with one arm, and the other came to Ines’s head.

She had chopped her hair short to the nape of her neck long ago, finding the short curls were less conspicuous and more practical. She was thankful for it now as the man’s hand tried to find purchase in what little hair she did have. He struggled to gain control of her, and in that moment of limbo, Ines stomped down hard on the man’s foot. She ground down with all her weight and twisted, using the momentum to strike a blow with her elbow to the man’s jaw.

She would not go down without a fight.

The hunter howled, releasing her.

But her efforts were in vain. She had run out of time.

They surrounded her. Four of them. Towering over her in all of their ivory-skinned glory. Skin Hunters. Monsters.

Ines loathed them. Hated them for their blatant disregard for her humanity. All they saw when they looked at her was her skin. Not her. Ines. A girl. A human.

She would make them a profit. A decent one. That was all.

One of the Skin Hunters stepped forward, asserting himself as the leader. He was hulking and bearded with yellow, tobacco-stained teeth. He reached for her. She barred her teeth when he grabbed her chin with a gloved hand. A rumbling growl came from low in her belly.

She was used to men like him, people like him, sizing her up, scanning her up and down. They would eye the smooth skin of her neck or the delicate curvature of an exposed arm with hunger. Desire. Ines would get a flash of all the things they must be turning her into in their minds. A stylish jacket, a designer handbag, a limited-edition catcher’s mitt. They wanted to use her. To wear her.

The Skin Hunter gripped her face harder, breathing through his mouth. The stench of his breath made her sick, or was it the gloves he wore? They were deep, brown ochre—expensive gloves for a hunter. Ines recoiled from his grasp, but she couldn’t escape the Skin Hunter’s iron grip. Who had given their life for those gloves? Who were they before?

Nighttime rolled in, and the Skin Hunters set up camp. They bound Ines and tied her to a giant oak, placing a guard to watch over her while the others sat around a fire farther away. Their raucous laughter and celebratory behavior filled her with unspeakable anger. The ropes that held her were tight. They had taken her pocketknife from her. She had no means of escape. Nothing left.

Her guard was scrawny and sickly looking. The dark, sunken hollows of his eyes were made even more prominent from the shadows cast from the fire. He sneered at her, glaring. A bruise was already changing color where she had caught him in the jaw.

Ines was just nodding off to sleep when one of the other Skin Hunters approached from the fire. He was holding something in his hand. The smell of it made Ines’s mouth water. Food.

The guard stood, eyes narrowing. “It’s not your shift yet, Mullins,” he said to the approaching skin Hunter.

Mullins motioned to Ines. “She needs to eat something, or she won’t make it back to the city.”

The guard narrowed his eyes even further, turning back to shoot Ines a nasty look.

The second the guard turned his back to his companion, Mullins pulled out a knife and bashed the guard over the head with the hilt of it. The guard crumpled to the ground. Mullins kicked him again until he was sure the guard was unconscious.

Ines was too shocked even to cry out.

“We have to hurry,” Mullins said, his face twisted with distress. He won’t be out for long.”

He set to work cutting the rope and freeing her hands. His own hands were shaking badly.

Ines’s eyes strayed to the other Skin Hunters by the fire. She could hear their loud voices carrying through the trees. How were they not aware of what was happening? What was happening, exactly?

When Mullins finished with her hands, he stopped. Her feet were still bound together, and her torso remained tied to the tree. Kneeling beside her, Mullins reached into his pocket and took out something wrapped in a stained handkerchief.

Ines stiffened.

Mullins unfolded the kerchief with care. Inside was a locket. Heart-shaped and engraved. He opened the locket and showed its contents to Ines, a strange look on his face. The picture inside was of a dark-skinned woman. Her eyes crinkled at the edges and her smile was full of warmth. Mullins looked at the picture longingly. Ines did not understand. Mullins was white. He was a Skin Hunter. Who was this woman?

“Her name is Mary,” Mullins said. Then softer. “My Mary.”

Ines said nothing. She didn’t know any Mary.

Mullins closed the locket and held it up between them both. It swung back and forth hypnotically. Ines could see now that the engraving read, Dearest.

Then without warning, he thrust the locket into her hand, closing her fingers around it and squeezing. Ines flinched at the movement but did not pull away.

She could not read his expression, but she thought maybe she understood him just a little.

“You give this to her if you ever find her,” Mullins said softly.

The moaning of the guard brought Mullins’s attention back to cutting Ines free.

“Why?” Ines whispered. “Why are you helping me?”

“It isn’t right,” was all he said at first. Then after a pause. “I couldn’t help her.”

Ines nodded but said nothing.

“I’m not a bad man,” he whispered more to himself than to her. “Please forgive me. You tell Mary I’m sorry too.”

He finished cutting the ropes, easing away from Ines like he was the one who should be afraid. The ropes fell from her body.

Ines stood; every muscle in her body tensed. Waiting.

“Go,” Mullins said.

She wavered, cautious. The chain of the locket swayed where it dangled from her fist.

“Find Mary,” Mullins said at last.

This time Ines didn’t hesitate. Be free, Ines. She ran.