A Trade

All right, maybe it wasn’t the best way to start a conversation.

My knuckles throbbed and stung where the skin was broken. Uncurling my fist, I watched the spokesman from the other settlement scramble to his feet while clutching the side of his face. Hilly grinned, though I noticed an enraged twitch in our uncle’s jaw.

“And that’s why you send the laconic, brooding guy into the tough negotiations.” She gave me a proud pat on the back.

Our uncle didn’t look like he agreed with Hilly. The other group was livid.

“You can kiss every resource we have goodbye!” screamed their spokesman, spitting blood. “Our water, our grain—everything!”

“Maybe you should watch how you talk about women,” sneered Hilly. “You’ll probably keep more of your teeth.”

Uncle grabbed the back of her threadbare cloak and shoved her into my arms. The message was clear: Both of you, get out of here.

I dragged her back fifteen feet. Close enough to keep an eye on the proceedings but far enough to remove Hilly’s words and my temper from the discussion.

As much as I hated what Uncle was about to do, our reality was that women were a commodity as much as food, water, and shelter. We had plenty of women in our settlement, but food was becoming scarce. Either everyone would slowly starve, or Uncle would need to make a trade. Probably several trades.

Hilly’s expression darkened, and I drove my fist into the trunk of a tree.