The Quarry

[corncobby]

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Chapter 1: False Arrest

The officer’s hand shot out from nowhere, striking Jessica across the cheek and sending her staggering several steps to the side.

“I told you to remove your clothes. Either you do it yourself or we will do it for you.”

The young woman stared at the man with a look of horror, her hand coming to her stinging cheek in shock. He had just hit her! What the fuck? She took a pace backwards, her face a mixture of outrage and fear.

“How dare you! I’m an American citizen!” she protested, her voice shrill. “I want a lawyer! I demand to talk to the US embassy!”

The customs officer stepped forward, covering the distance between him and the young blond in an instant. He reached over and grabbed her hair before she could react, twisting her head round sharply. With his free hand he slapped her cheek again.

“There are no lawyers here, you American whore, and resisting the orders of a border officer is a criminal offense in this country. Do you want to be charged before we have even searched you?”

Jessica tried to twist out of the man’s grip, tears springing to her eyes.

“But I haven’t done anything! Why am I being searched? You can’t do this!”

“You’re being searched because we have the right to search any white bitch who cavorts into our country looking like a five-dollar whore from a street corner,” he snarled, his eyes dropping to the twenty-one-year-old’s sleeveless top and mini skirt. “Now take your clothes off and spread your legs, or the next time I hit you, it will be with this.”

His hand reached down to his belt from which he drew a thick wooden baton. He pressed it up against Jessica’s chin menacingly.

“Please… please, just let me go. I haven’t done anything, I swear! Please, my mother, she has money. She’ll pay you—”

The man’s arm shot forwards, driving the baton into the girl’s belly, just hard enough to knock the wind from her. He let go of her hair and let her double over in pain.

“Attempting to bribe a border officer is also a criminal offense,” he growled, raising the baton again threateningly. “Now strip or I will call in my colleagues for help and this will get very difficult for you.”

Jessica was crying now, tears falling in racking sobs as she struggled to suck air into her lungs. She opened her mouth to protest once more but stopped herself as the officer drew his arm back.

“Okay, okay, please…” she stammered, putting her hands out to ward off another blow. She tried to keep her voice calm as she asked, “Can’t it be a woman who searches me? I mean…”

The man leaned in close, his breath hot with garlic and stale beer. Jessica tried not to gag. “No, you slut, it can’t.”

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to the middle of the room, gesturing impatiently at her clothes. “Last chance.”

Miserably, Jessica obeyed. She slipped the vest from her shoulders and unzipped her skirt, letting it fall down to her ankles. The officer watched her steadily, pointing impatiently at her underwear as she hesitated. Slowly, the young woman unclipped her bra and rolled down her panties, holding her arms over the front of her body in a futile attempt to hide herself.

“Hands on your head and spread your legs,” the officer ordered sharply.

Jessica hesitated again, her knees going weak. She could hardly believe this was happening to her. It was like a reenactment from some nightmarish TV show about foreign prisons. She put her hands to her head, tears rolling down her face as she watched the man take a long, slow walk behind her. Suddenly, there was a touch to her leg, a sharp pinch that made her jump in alarm. She felt a scrape across the inside of her thigh like a plaster being pulled off too quickly.

The man took two quick steps back to her front, his face glowing with malicious triumph. In his hand, he held up a small bag of white powder fastened at the top with a long piece of tape.

“What do we have here?”



Jessica knew the man had planted the drugs on her. How could it be anything else? But when she accused him, he simply drew out his baton and hit her in the stomach. When she tried to speak again, he hit her a second time. And when she protested once more, she got a third blow. The other customs officers were similarly unsympathetic as she was led out of the room in handcuffs, wearing her vest and skirt but minus her bra, socks and shoes. They looked at her blankly as she desperately shouted out her innocence, as though they didn’t even understand her. Was the corrupt officer the only one who spoke English or were they in on it too?

In a blind panic, she was dragged down several dimly-lit corridors deep in the bowels of the airport before eventually finding herself at an exit to the outside. A large black van with a wire mesh across the window drew up and the officer bundled her roughly inside the back. He pulled her arms up behind her head and fastened the cuffs to a bar on the wall of the van. He snapped another pair of manacles around her ankles and attached them to a second bar at her feet. Then he shuffled backwards out of the van, slamming the door shut. Jessica found herself in complete darkness, her body shaking as struggled to comprehend what was happening.

“Jessie, is that you?”

A voice came out of the blackness from the other side of the van.

“Mum?” Jessie’s voice was a sob of anguish and relief.

“Oh Jessie! Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“Mum, they planted drugs on me!” the young woman cried. “This man took me to a room to search me and he stuck a bag of drugs to my thigh! He hit me when I protested! Mum, what are they going to do to us? Where are they taking us? I’m so scared!”

Jessie’s mother tried to keep her voice calm. “It’s okay, darling. It’s just a misunderstanding and I’m sure they’ll figure it out soon. Uncle Reyes will realize we haven’t made it and start making enquiries. We’ll be free in no time, I promise.”

She spoke with a reassurance she did not feel. Uncle Reyes, her late husband’s brother, had invited them to stay with him and his family in Valize, promising them a beautiful holiday by the beach. Valize was a dictatorship and Kate had been more than a bit nervous of traveling there, but Reyes had paid for first-class air tickets, a luxury Kate would never have been able to afford. She’d wanted to give Jessie a special treat to celebrate her twenty-first birthday.

She was still reassuring her daughter when the van suddenly lurched off. Both women cried out as their wrists and ankles jarred against the tight cuffs. The vehicle moved quickly, its tires squealing as it turned a corner sharply, knocking the prisoners to one side. Kate fell silent for a few moments, unable to control her own fear as the van sped away. She heard her daughter crying and spoke out again:

“It’ll be fine, Jessie, I promise. Uncle Reyes will call the embassy. It’ll all be over soon.”

“But where are we going, mum? Are they taking us to prison?”

“I don’t know, Jess, maybe. But it’ll be okay. We just have to be brave.”

She was quiet again as the van motored on. After a while, they felt a shift in the road beneath them, the smooth tarmac of the city changing to a rough track of stone and grit. It became bumpier and the two women were knocked about, the manacles biting into their skin as they bounced up and down on the hard wooden benches. Jessie began to cry again, from fear as much as the pain, and this time Kate had no words of comfort. An hour passed, then two, then three, the two women whimpering in the darkness as every bump sent a shockwave through their arms and legs. The heat began to rise inside the enclosed space and Kate realized she was terribly thirsty. When would they get food and drink? She had no idea.

When the van finally shuddered to a halt, it came as a shock. The back doors were suddenly flung open, releasing bright sunshine into the interior. A pair of uniformed officers climbed in and quickly released the chains attaching the two women’s manacles to the bars. They dragged the prisoners out by the hair and pressed their backs against the hot metal side of the vehicle. Jessie and her mother said nothing, too stunned to react. They blinked in the blinding sun, the cuffs on their wrists and ankles chafing painfully.

A third officer appeared, wearing a green military uniform and heavy black boots. He regarded the two trembling women with distaste, looking up and down Jessie’s skimpy clothing with a shake of his head. He said something in Spanish the younger woman couldn’t catch and then grabbed her breasts through her vest, squeezing them roughly. With her hands cuffed behind her back, Jessie could do nothing but try to twist her body out of the way. She let out a cry of outrage and shock.

“Get your hands off me, you bastard! Don’t fucking touch me!”

The officer’s fist shot forward, slamming into her stomach with a hard thud. Jessie dropped to her knees in choking pain, the air whooshing from her lungs.

“Stop it! You can’t do—”

Kate’s shriek was cut off when the man hit her too. He hit her a second time when she tried to speak again, dropping her down to the floor in agony.

“You don’t get to speak in this place, you American whores,” he snarled in heavily accented English. “Say another word and I’ll knock out your teeth.”

He picked Jessie up by the hair and slammed her back against the van, fondling her breasts once more. The young blonde whimpered in fear and humiliation but kept her mouth shut. She looked across desperately at her mother as the older woman struggled to her feet, her long skirt covered in brown dust from the ground. She was crying too, her calm demeanor demolished by the two brutal blows to her stomach.

The officer turned to speak to one of his colleagues, taking his hands off Jessie’s chest at last. The other man stepped forward and grabbed the young woman by her wrists, jerking her away from the van. Kate opened her mouth to protest once more but stopped herself as the guard raised his fist threateningly. He took hold of her wrists too and pulled her away in the same direction, heading to a windowless white building.

“Please,” Kate began timidly. “Please can I just ask a question?”

The officer didn’t turn to look at her.

“Please, where are we?”

The man let out a short bark of laughter. “You want to know where you are, American bitch?” he scoffed. “You’re in hell, that’s where. You’re in hell.”

[corncobby]

Kate and Jessie could not count how many women were down in the quarry but there must have been five hundred at least. Like the two Americans, they were all naked, the only covering on their bodies being the iron manacles on their wrists and the chains on their ankles. Most of the women were swinging pickaxes into the bare white rock of the quarry face, their high-pitched groans of effort audible above the constant clang of metal on stone. Other prisoners were picking up rocks and loading them into carts, while a third group pushed these carts along rough tracks toward the edge of the camp and emptied them out.

“Report down there,” the officer ordered Jessie and Kate, pointing toward a uniformed guard on the left side of the quarry. “You work till sundown.”

Neither of the women protested, having learned a hard lesson in the white building when they dared to open their mouths. Jessie had been shocked with a cattle prod, the pain more excruciating than she could ever have imagined. Kate had been punched and kicked, her nose left bleeding by a vicious thump to the face. The guards had stripped them, cutting the clothes from their bodies where they stood. Then they had snapped their wrists and ankles into tight manacles joined together by a pair of short iron chains. When Jessie had cried out at how painful the manacles were, the guard had shocked her with the cattle prod, pressing it into her breasts for the longest five seconds of the young woman’s life.

“Speak again and I will stick this in your cunt,” he’d warned.

Now the two women were outside with the sun blazing down on their naked bodies. They had been given nothing to eat or drink since their arrest and their throats were as dry as sandpaper. The thought of working in the broiling sun without water was horrifying, but they could offer no resistance as the guard shoved them down the steep path into the quarry. The ground was rough with sharp little stones that were agony on their bare feet. Kate stumbled almost immediately as she felt a splinter bite into her skin, falling to her knees and sliding helplessly several yards the path.

“Get up, you worthless bitch!” the guard snarled, taking out his cattle prod and giving the forty-year-old a long zap on her bare back.

Kate squealed in pain, sliding further as she tried to get herself away from the prod. The guard electrocuted her again, this time holding the instrument in place.

“Stop it! Leave her alone!”

Jessie could not hold herself back, advancing on the guard with her manacled arms raised. He turned around before she got close, thumping her chest with his closed fist and sending her sprawling to the ground. He gave Kate another long jolt with the cattle prod before turning his attention to her daughter. Jessie had no way of defending herself as the man leaned over and pressed the prod into her breasts. It was as though a white-hot spike had been stabbed into her chest, the pain almost taking her breath away. She tried to twist away, but before she could move the guard stomped on her belly with his heavy black boot, taking the wind from her lungs. He continued to fry her as she gasped for air, his face screwed up in fury.

“Listen to me, you American whore,” he growled. “In this place, you have no rights. If we want to beat you, we beat you. If we want to electrocute you, we electrocute you. You got that? Now, because it’s your first day, I’ll let this incident go. But if you ever try to strike a guard again, we will hang you up by your wrists and whip the skin from your back. You got that, bitch?”

When the girl didn’t respond, he fried her again, pressing the prod firmly into her soft breasts until she was weeping with pain. Jessie nodded her head frantically.

“Right, get up, both of you!” he ordered next. “No more warnings.”

The two women had no choice but to obey. Groaning with pain, they pushed themselves up from the ground and shakily got to their feet. The guard gave them a shove down the path and they stumbled and limped down the slope, spikes of agony shooting through their feet as they cut their skin on the stones. Finally they reached the bottom and the man pushed them roughly to their end of the quarry. He grabbed their hair and jerked their heads back, presenting them to the supervising guard.

“This is Sergeant Hernandez. He is your god here. What he says you do, you do. If he decides to punish you, you get punished. You understand?”

When the Americans didn’t respond, he raised the cattle prod in warning.

“Yes, we understand,” Kate answered quickly.

“Get to work. No rest till sundown.”

Kate wanted to ask whether they could have water at least; her throat felt as though dry sand had been poured down it. But one look at the guard’s forbidding features told her it was impossible. She stood with the daughter, trying to control her fear as Sergeant Hernandez approached them, his eyes openly appraising their pale naked bodies. He took a particularly long and lingering look at Jessie, an ugly smile spreading across his face. In his left hand, he carried a pair of pickaxes which he held out to the two prisoners.

“Start breaking rocks,” he growled. “Stop and you get punished.”

His right hand went to his belt where a cattle prod and short slender whip hung down to his thigh. Kate fought back her panic as she glanced across to her daughter, who looked as though she was about to break down. She tried to convey a message of strength, guessing what the guards would do if Jessie burst into tears. To her relief, the younger woman stayed silent, her eyes taking on an expression of glazed horror as she looked down at the heavy pickaxe in her hand.

“Move it!”

Helplessly, the two women made their way to the rock face, their bare feet treading on shards of broken stone. Kate looked across at the prisoners to her left and right, sweating young Hispanic girls, their bare skin burned a deep bronze by the sun. None of the women looked back at her, their eyes trained firmly at the blazing white rock in front of them. They lifted the pickaxes robotically, as if in a trance, slamming the sharp point into the stone, barely even flinching as tiny splinters spat out toward them.

“Work, you worthless gringo whores!”

Sergeant Hernandez had his cattle prod out and he sent jolts of agonizing electricity through Kate’s and Jessie’s shoulders. Both of them cried out, stumbling forward toward the rock face. The guard shocked them again, then took out his whip and cracked a lash across each of their backs. Neither had ever been hit with a whip and the pain stunned them with its intensity. Jessie let out a startled scream of agony, turning toward her attacker instinctively to confront him. Calmly, he zapped her breasts with the cattle prod and then lashed the rod across her chest. The young woman staggered backwards and the man followed her, raising the whip to strike her again.

“Your daughter needs to be taught a lesson in manners. I am going to give her ten lashes of the whip,” he said to Kate. “Unless you would like to take it for her as a good mother?”

Kate’s mind was a maelstrom of anguish. Could this really be happening? It was like a nightmare. But she knew she couldn’t watch her daughter suffer.

“I’ll take it,” she said in a shaky voice.

“Good. Then lay down your pickaxe and place your hands against the rock face. Don’t move until we finish.”

Kate could barely control her terror but did as the guard ordered, laying her palms out on the hot stone. She heard the man get into position, his boots crunching on the stone behind her. All of a sudden, she heard a whoosh through the air and then a fearsome crack as the whip lashed against her back. The pain was far worse than she could have imagined, the blow ten times harder than the one he had struck before. She let out a desperate cry, her body jerking forwards violently under the impact. A second later, the whip hit her again, the pain doubling in an instant.

“If you move, I will start from the beginning,” Sergeant Hernandez warned.

Kate could do nothing but take the lashes one by one. The pain was so great she could hardly breathe. Was the whip cutting her? She couldn’t tell. But it felt as though a hot knife was slicing across her flesh.

Finally it was over and the guard grabbed her hair, now sodden with sweat, and jerked her round to face him. His fist suddenly thumped into her stomach and she choked as the air rushed from her lungs.

“You are now responsible for your daughter’s behavior,” he hissed into her face. “When she is punished, you will be too. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” Kate gasped.

“Good. Now get to work and do not give me a reason to whip you again.”

He took a step backwards and watched as the two new prisoners lifted the pickaxes and swung them nervously at the rock. They struck so weakly there was barely a sound. Sergeant Hernandez’s voice snapped out like a lash:

“Put some strength into it, you useless whores!” he snarled. “One more hit like that and you both get whipped.”

Kate and Jessie, stifling their panic, swung the axes into the rock again, this time with at least twice the strength. It struck with a metallic clang and a small cloud of dust erupted from the rock face.

“Harder! All your strength!” the guard ordered, and this time he gave each woman a sharp shock with the cattle prod. “This is your last chance.”

It was hopeless to resist. The two Americans raised their axes again and drove them into the rock face with a high-pitched grunt of effort. The metal point struck hard, sending a shockwave through their manacled arms. A few bits of stone flew off the face and landed at their feet. The women hesitated, waiting for the guard’s reaction, but this time there was no jolt of electricity.

“Like that for the rest of the day. Don’t slow down and don’t stop to rest. I’ll be watching you.”

Kate and Jessie heard the guard take a few steps back. Helplessly, they swung the pickaxes into the quarry again, wincing as the impact shot through their slender arms. How fast were they supposed to work? The guard hadn’t said but, from the corner of her eye, Kate saw the other prisoners took only a short pause between each swing of the ax. She wondered how they could possibly manage it all day. After just a few strikes, her arms already felt tired. How could she keep going like this until sundown?

Beside her, she heard Jessica crying softly as she continued to heave the ax into the rock. She was terrified her daughter was going to break down but she didn’t dare say anything to comfort her. In her mind, she willed the young woman to be strong. This was all going to be over soon, she told herself. Uncle Reyes would contact the US embassy and someone would arrive to get them out. It would be a few hours, a day at most. They just had to survive until rescue came.

“Why are you slowing down? Did I say you could rest?”

Sergeant Hernandez was back, pressing a cattle prod into Kate’s back. The forty-year-old realized she had allowed herself to drift off, the swing of her pickaxe slowing with her thoughts.

“I’m sorry, I—”

She got no further as the guard took the whip from his belt and lashed it across her bare shoulders, turning her stammered apology into a desperate yelp of pain.

“Shut your mouth and work. Faster, harder, now!”

Kate forced herself to up the pace, lifting the pickaxe and sending it crashing into the rock once, twice, three times, four times in quick succession, double the pace of the women around her. Hernandez hovered behind her, whip and cattle prod raised.

“That speed for another minute.”

Kate groaned in misery. The four rapid strikes had tired her already, her lungs gasping for air in the sapping heat. She hesitated for a moment, inviting another agonizing zap of the cattle prod. Desperately, she brought the ax down against the rock, wincing as a splinter lashed against her bare breast. Ignoring the pain, she raised the ax and flung it down again. And again and again.

After a minute, her lungs were bursting and her chest was heaving in exhaustion. Her arms were burning, the pickaxe a lead weight in her hands. Sweat poured down her naked body in visible rivers, stinging her eyes as it dripped from her forehead. Hernandez shocked her with the prod again as her pace dropped to normal, warning her not to slow further.

“You’re going to have a hard time in this prison, bitch,” he hissed into her ear as she swung the ax down yet again. “You’ve six hours till sundown. Don’t want to make me come over here again.”

He lashed her one more time with the whip, enjoying the cry of pain it wrung from the American woman’s lips.