Metaltown by Kristen Simmons Page A

up, scanning the darkness to see who’d had the stones to touch her. One of her knives was knocked to the floor with a clatter. When she dove for it, something hit her hard against the side of the head. Bright white stars burst in the darkness. A slimy hand clutched around her mouth. She bit down hard, drawing a muffled scream from her attacker.
    She was thrown down on the thin mattress and it squeaked and groaned beneath her weight. Her mind was reeling. Fight, fight, fight. She kicked, opening her mouth to bite again, but a putrid sock gagged her as it was shoved inside. Her arms were pinned overhead, locked in place by a strong grasp.
    She began to panic. Not this time. Not again.
    Hands on her shins, her thighs. More than one pair. Two. Three. Pulling at her waistband, trying to get past her belt. She squeezed her knees together as the tears burned her eyes.
    Fight.
    People were getting up—she could hear them shifting on their nearby cots. But no one came to help. Two bodies laid across her to pin her down.
    â€œHold her,” one spat. She could smell the corn whiskey on his breath. Fury broke loose inside of her, burning down her limbs. She bucked back, knocking one of them against the wall. Again she was hit. Her eyes felt like they would pop out of her skull. Her mouth opened wide in a silent scream. But she didn’t stop. She would not stop.
    The clothes she wore twisted around her, but this was why she wore so much. They might get through one layer, but then they’d find a second, and a third. Finally, somehow, she twisted, and with a thud, landed on her back on the floor.
    She spat out the gag, and a second later was out the door, running through the entryway, past the snoring patrons in the other rooms. Running. Running, and no one was ever going to catch her.

 
    9
    LENA
    Lena sat at the table in her bedroom, surrounded by neat stacks of paper, staring at her wall monitor with tired, blinking eyes.
    â€œMiss Hampton, it’s time for bed.” Darcy was perched beside her, on a stool Lena often used during her singing lessons. The fatigue was heavy in her tone.
    How late was it? Midnight? No, Lena realized, several hours past.
    â€œI had no idea how ill prepared I would be,” Lena said, straightening her back. She was still wearing the slim-cut evening gown that she’d performed in, but it was now wrinkled and losing its shape. Her satin-gloved fingertips pressed against her temples.
    â€œYou’ll do fine,” assured Darcy. “No one will expect you to know any of this.” She motioned to the electronic files on the screen displaying countless facts and figures that defined the rise of Hampton Industries, and the history of Lena’s family.
    â€œ I expect myself to know it,” said Lena. “And if people are going to do business with me, I’ll expect them to know that I know it.”
    Darcy turned to face the dark window, her expression hidden by shadows. “Very well, then. What exactly have you learned?”
    Lena looked at her a moment, the sudden wave of relief washing away some of the tension between her shoulder blades. Sometimes she forgot she wasn’t alone in this massive house, that Darcy was here beside her.
    â€œThe company was started by my great-grandfather before the war,” Lena began. “It was just a small arms shop then, with a firing range attached to the back of the building.” Shooting had once been a recreational activity, an activity for stress relief, or hunting practice, as the game still ran thick in the mountains surrounding the Tri-City area. But the droughts changed everything. Season after season passed with little or no rain, and the farmland in the center of the country dried up, forcing a mass migration into the already packed cities.
    â€œThe famine brought a surge of business as people began to quarrel,” Lena continued. “Hampton Ammunition, as it was then called, was able to expand.