Page 5

She lay on the floor, consumed by darkness.

Selima’s body was racked with pain, her face swollen and bloody, but nevertheless she forced her eyes open.

She wanted to convince herself that she was still alive, but more than that, she wanted someone to reach out to her, to ease her suffering.

She’d been confined in the gloom of this van many times, the lack of windows rendering the interior virtually pitch black, but over the weeks and months she’d trained herself to penetrate the darkness, to pick out individuals amidst the crew of workers who were her constant companions in suffering.

Sobbing gently, Selima sought them out, her tired eyes raking their faces for a sympathetic gaze, a consoling word.

But there was no movement, no reaction from her fellow captives, just eleven pairs of hostile eyes surrounding her, their anger, their condemnation clear.

For a moment, Selima thought she was imagining it, but then a hissed voice made the collective mood plain.

‘What have you done?’

The rest of the journey passed in utter desolation. Selima had dreamed of liberation, had dared to imagine that she might bring this hideous nightmare to an end, but she had gambled and lost. Now she would pay the price.

Selima clamped her eyes shut, hoping against hope that if she did so, then the awful reality, the crushing sense of doom, would dissipate.

Perhaps when she opened them again, she’d be back in the freezing accommodation block, the terrible events of tonight just a bad dream, a cautionary tale reminding her to stay in line.

But the burning agony in her cheeks, her chest, her legs gave the lie to that hopeless fantasy.

The van slowed now, before speeding up again, bumping over rough ground.

With each jolt and jar, Selima’s fear rose.

What was she going to do? What was she going to say?

How could she successfully plead for her life?

Normally she would invoke her children, appealing for clemency, but she knew that would cut no ice.

Should she offer to work for free? Or debase herself in other ways to ensure her survival?

But these ideas withered as soon as they were born.

There would be no reprieve, no salvation, tonight.

The van shuddered to an abrupt halt, the engine dying.

A moment’s silence, the tension thick in the van, then the rear doors were flung open.

The security lights that flanked the perimeter of the site flooded the interior, revealing the hostile expressions of those around her, but Selima’s attention was not focused on them.

Instead, her gaze came to rest on the statuesque presence that now filled the doorway.

The woman who housed them, controlled them, degraded them.

A few months back, Selima had heard one of the guards let slip her real name – Leyla – but in the camp everyone called her “Boss”.

‘Everybody out,’ Leyla barked, gesturing angrily at the van’s inhabitants.

Immediately, the other workers sprang into action, hurrying to obey. Hoping her tormentor hadn’t yet heard about her failed escape attempt, Selima complied, labouring to raise herself from the floor.

‘Not you,’ her captor hissed.

‘Please … please … I not mean any harm,’ Selima garbled. ‘I … I am … lost, confused.’

But she received no reply, Leyla leaning in and grabbing her by the hair.

Selima cried out in pain, but her attacker barely responded, grunting angrily as she hauled her from the van.

For a moment, the cool air was a relief, but Selima had no time to enjoy it, as she was now being force-marched across the dusty yard.

‘The rest of you, follow me,’ Leyla barked, picking up the pace.

Selima couldn’t see anything, her face pointed to the floor in an agonizing headlock, but she knew the others would obey. This woman, this cruel, savage woman was the Goddess of their world, the architect of the numerous indignities they endured and the few crumbs of comfort they enjoyed.

‘Please, I’m sorry … I’m sorry …’

Selima knew she had to say something, to beg for her life.

‘I do anything … anything you want.’

‘It’s too late.’

‘Forgive me …’

They came to a sudden halt. Now her tormentor raised Selima up, clasping her ponytail with an iron fist as she held her face to hers, their noses just inches apart.

‘You ungrateful bitch,’ Leyla snarled. ‘You could have done well here, could have earned some money for your mongrel family, but you blew it. I offered you a home, a wage, a future, but you threw it back in my face. Now you must pay the price.’

Leyla broke into a wicked smile, prompting Selima to cast an anxious glance over her shoulder, taking in the bulky machine directly behind them. Immediately, terror arrowed through her, whole being consumed by fear.

‘Please, I beg you …’

Shoving her head down angrily, Leyla was on the move once more.

Now Selima was screaming, twisting violently in her vice-like grip, but it was no good.

She was powerless to resist, her fate all but sealed.

She saw Leyla reach out, pulling down the lock lever, before wrenching the battered metal door open.

‘No, no …’

Selima was digging her feet into the earth, determined to save herself from a fate worse than death.

But a savage stamp on the back of her calf loosened her grip and she now found herself being bundled inside the hulking metal contraption.

Stumbling on the lip of the doorway, Selima pitched forward, landing with a thud on the filthy floor inside.

Aware of her terrible predicament, she struggled to her feet clumsily, turning to try and escape through the open doorway.

But before she could move, the heavy door slammed shut, the lock lever descending sharply, trapping her inside.

This time the darkness was total.