The Power to Live

By Thomas Porter

Two innocent sisters from Sinaloa, taken by human traffickers to California, are separated when one is sold to a new master in Colorado. During each sister's desperate search for the other they learn their bond is stronger than the evil men who control their lives. They learn that many possess the power to kill. But only one learns of an even greater, more elusive power. The power to live.

Characters:
Lozen and Elizabeth.
Sisters. During a minor skirmish in their father's drug war, they are taken as POWs. Treated as chattel, they are smuggled into California and forced into the sex slave trade. When one is sold to a new master in Colorado, they are separated. But their bond proves stronger than the evil men, on both sides of the border, who barter with their lives.

Napolita.
Smuggled across the border with Lozen and Elizabeth and sold to the same club in San Francisco. She grows close like a sister, but when the two blood sisters are separated and embark on separate, desperate searches for each other, Napolita is caught in the middle. She is slowly pulled apart by her circumstances until she is left on the pavement, bleeding and alone.

O'Groghan.
The top of a criminal empire who could snap your neck with one hand, if that's what it takes.

Marcos.
Club owner, crime boss, and slave master. He owns Lozen, Elizabeth, Napolita, and many other girls in his San Francisco club. He thinks he rules his little world but when he sells Lozen and Elizabeth and the transfer goes awry, he discovers how wrong he is.

Richard von Broughton.
Doctor. He worked as a surgeon, sometimes skillfully but oftentimes not, for decades. Upon forced retirement, his thirst for money supplants whatever thirst he had, decades previously, for compassion and humanity. Now he will cut out your eyes and your heart between martinis, avec plaisir.

Nancy.
A nurse who hands him the scalpel. Vestiges of her maternal instincts remain but they don't fare well in the battle raging inside of her between these instincts and her lust for money.

Samantha.
Kidnapped at 12 and enslaved by Marcos. All her teen years are spent in servitude. As she grows from a girl into a woman, whatever thoughts of resistance she may have once harbored recede until, by her nineteenth birthday, she is Marcos' madam and keeps the new girls in line for him. She is repaid in a way she could never imagine.

Bowery.
A 300-pound security chief who keeps the girls in line for Marcos. He maneuvers his bulk with dexterity and skill, but would really just like a damn pair of pants.

Chase and Serio.
Low level soldiers in Marcos' organization. They are responsible for the transfer of Lozen, Napolita, and Samantha to their new owner. When they bungle the job, they are sacrificed without regret.

Steve.
Works at his dad's roadside barbecue joint in Nevada. His vision passes through the ultraviolet ugliness that swarms around Lozen and Napolita. It is a wavelength he is not equipped to see. Instead, he sees the two girls for what they are, what they should be, and what they may become.

Read how their lives all collide during Lozen's and Elizabeth's desperate search for each other. Read of the many who possess the power to kill, and the one with an even greater, more elusive power. The power to live.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Porter
• Release date: Sep 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311365033

Thomas Porter

Author of The Power to Live, a story of girls sold into slavery in San Francisco who break the grip of their oppressors with unexpected powers, and raw strength of will, inherited from their Native American ancestors. Author of The Fallujah Strain. This short novel watches Maya develop from a selfish young girl blessed with blood immune to Ebola, which allows her to command others to serve her, into a young adult who may help change the world.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Elizabeth took her stilettos off and slipped them under the bed. She replaced her sequined skirt and blouse with checked pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, stuffed a change of clothes in her purse, and stepped into dark blue tennis shoes.

She sat on the bed and listened.

Bowery was sitting outside the room, at a desk near the end of the hallway. Elizabeth could hear him whistle aimless notes and occasionally slap himself in the thigh with his palm, a weird habit she never understood. The solid springs of the old, green metal office chair creaked loudly underneath his 300 pounds. Somewhere in her chest she could sense his presence, an unpleasant feeling she couldn't localize and was only vaguely aware of.

She stretched out on her roommate Napolita's bed and covered herself with a blanket. Two years ago, they met inside a windowless delivery truck in Sinaloa. Elizabeth and her sister Lozen were sitting against the front wall of the dark interior when the back door swung open and Napolita was thrown inside. Nine more girls followed before they were all driven over the border. During the following week they were sold off, Napolita, Elizabeth, and Lozen going for a single price to Marcos, owner of The Taurus. Since then, as they were forced into prostitution, Napolita became like the third sister.

Several minutes after Bowery, Taurus security chief, started his inane whistling, Elizabeth heard the chair roll across the floor as he stood up. She lifted her head from the pillow and listened to his steps ascend the stairs.

With her left hand, she reached across her body and quietly pulled the blanket off. She stood up, crossed the room, and opened the door a crack. From there she could see the desk and the empty chair to the left. She slipped through the door, walked quickly to the opposite end of the hallway, and entered a storage room. Elizabeth slowly pulled the door until it was flush with the door jamb, then clicked it closed.

On the opposite end of the room, over some crudely built wooden shelves, a window near the ceiling opened to the outside. It was the only window in the basement that was not covered with security bars. She didn't know why. She clumsily climbed between the side of the shelf and the wall until she was near the top. Pushing against the wall with her left hand, she reached over and opened the window latch with her right. It swung upward and Elizabeth felt the warmer air of outdoors at the same time she heard the door open wildly and slam against the wall.

Whoa there, Bowery said.

Elizabeth gave up all pretense of being quiet. She pushed up against the wooden shelf, knocking spare irons, towels, and cleaning supplies onto the floor. She grabbed the inside of the window frame and pulled herself up but Bowery grabbed her ankle and pulled down. As she fell, she spun herself face down and landed on the pile of towels and cleaning supplies.

Not today, Elizabeth, Bowery said.

She twisted her upper body to the right and spit at Bowery. You despicable bastards sold my sister.

I didn't sell your sister. I work here just like you do.

You work here like I do. Yeah. Right. I don't work here, you bastard. I'm a slave here. She spoke violently and spittle rained up at Bowery. She reached down but instead of the floor, her hand came to rest on an iron. She grabbed the handle and pushed up until she was in a sitting position facing Bowery.

I liked your little sister. I didn't want to sell her. But she was worth a Bugatti EB110 in mint condition. I've never seen that. You should be proud. Marcos is gonna love it.

Two years of suppressed rage built just below her sternum and migrated into her upper chest. Still propping herself up with her left hand, she patted her chest with her right hand as she said, I know what you sold her for. A car. Is it yours?

I wish. You know who it's for. Marcos himself.

I hope he dies in it, she said. Who's going to take care of Lozen now? Samantha? And what'd you get for her and Napolita?

Cocaine and cash for Napolita. Not collected the cash yet, though. Samantha's more like on transfer. A promotion. Learning the business side of the trade, he said as he awkwardly yanked her ankle toward him. Despite his weight, Bowery was nimble on his feet. But it was all he could do to reach down and grab Elizabeth's ankle without his own weight pulling him to the floor.

The tug jerked Elizabeth away from the shelf. She let the momentum carry her left hand up toward Bowery and the iron struck full force, snapping his right arm like a freshly-cut branch. The sound reminded Elizabeth of the gunshots she heard two years ago, just before she learned how far her father, her Papi, was willing to go in order to save himself.

Bowery screamed in pain. He slapped his thigh, this time for a damn good reason, and fell helplessly sideways to the floor. The extra weight he carried, once in motion, was too much for any man to control and he hit the floor like a bag of cement. He screamed again, but was in too much pain for form words.

The feeling in Elizabeth's chest rushed down her left arm, lifted the iron again, and swung it toward Bowery's face. The screaming stopped, replaced with blood flowing through his bleached shoulder length hair.

Elizabeth kicked herself backwards, away from the growing pool. She stood up and pulled the snub-nosed revolver from the holster on Bowery's chest. She dropped it into her purse, climbed the shelf again and pulled herself through the window. Elizabeth naturally long, smooth strides carried her away from the club and within seconds she was gone.

Chapter 2

My sister is going to die.

The thought started just below Lozen's sternum, migrated into her upper chest, and expanded until it felt like an overinflated balloon ready to burst. My sister is drifting away. She turned her head and whispered into the ear of Napolita, who was laying to her right.

Do you feel that?

Feel what? Napolita asked.

My sister. It feels like she's...

Be quiet. You want to get beat again?

Lozen looked toward the vehicle roof, about 4 feet above her. The tarp resting against her face covered her eyes but amplified her breathing. Her dark eyes were wide open and she stared, unfocused, into the blue.

A third girl, Samantha, also lay in the back of the van, but unbound and on top of the tarp. She turned over, trying to find a more comfortable position. The rustle of the tarp mixed sympathetically with the hum of I-80 as it whistled under the vehicle at 70 MPH.

The feeling started to hurt. In fear, Lozen kicked her bound feet, trying to shake it out the bottom of them. When one of these kicks struck the rear of the front passenger seat, the man sitting there stopped talking and said, Cut it out!

As the Transit Connect delivery van rolled down I-80 toward the Nevada state line, Lozen stopped kicking. That's not working anyway. The pressure built even more in her chest. It pressed against her, but from the inside. She forced her hands apart, against the ropes, then pressed them together. She shook her knees. She exhaled loudly through pursed lips. She groaned loudly before repeating loudly, Ow! Ow! Ow!

Why don't you shut up? Samantha asked.

I can't. Lozen lifted her bound hands to her chest. It felt like opening a pressure relief valve. She lowered her hands and felt more relief. She did this a few more times before discovering that relief came even faster if she moved her hands in a circle. Around and around she moved them, in a wider and wider circle from her brown drawstring pants to her upper chest. The sleeves of her light red cotton shirt made a soft, slightly high-pitched whir as she moved her hands rhythmically around and around against the tarp. I've got to do something about this feeling, she thought. It's too strong. It's not me. It's from someplace else. Someplace outside of me.

What are you doing? asked Napolita, who was lying to her left.

I don't know. I'm trying to find my sister, Lozen replied.

Your sister is probably still in San Fran Samantha said.

Maybe so. I don't know. But I can feel her. She's drifting. Drifting away. Drifting to death.

Just be quiet. I think those guys are drinking again, Samantha told her.

Ok, Lozen said, but who's going to watch out for me if she's gone? She continued making the circles, thankful for the relief they brought.

You three Sinaloa girls always stick together, don't you? Samantha said. Napolita, Elizabeth, and Lozen. Always watching out for each other. Isn't that special?

I'm sorry, Samantha, but yes, we have to.

Twenty minutes later, Samantha dropped into a light sleep and Lozen relaxed. A weight began tugging on her bound hands, at their highest point of the arc, as they passed above her upper chest. Maybe not a weight. A tug. Something pulled them. Pulled them up. Except up toward her head was really back down the road. Back toward San Francisco.

My sister is drifting away, Lozen whispered to herself. Drifting away to die.

How do you know? Napolita asked. The two girls were still under the tarp, laying very close to each other and whispering.

I can feel her moving. Away from us.

Is that what you're doing? With your hands? Napolita asked.

I think so. I can sense her.

My great grandfather could make water, Napolita said. He did a dance and then his band could dig a well in that spot. That sounds like you maybe, Napolita said. She shifted her body, trying to get comfortable.

He was Apache, like us? Lozen asked.

Yes, from Sinaloa, but his band was taken to a reservation in Arizona. After that they just got water from the government and he wasn't needed anymore, Napolita said.

It feels like that now. Like I can, I don't know, feel something. Somehow I just know it's my sister. In that direction, Lozen said, tilting her head up.

Napolita said, My grandfather called it the power. As in, 'Your great grandfather had the power to make water when the band had none.'

My sister could read my mind, Lozen said, still making the circles. She could tell me what I was thinking. No lie. But then she got really sick and couldn't anymore.

Napolita said, lightly shaking her head. Maybe she still can, but doesn't know.

My great grandfather had a dance too, Lozen said. He could make it stay dark until his band could get into the mountains.

What do you mean, 'stay dark'? Napolita asked.

They were hiding in Sinaloa. All the time chased by the Army. Sometimes just people from towns chased them. If it was at night and they were gonna get caught, he made the sun stay down until they could get away.

Shut up! the man in the passenger seat yelled. He threw a heavy glass pint bottle, shaped like a flask, into the back. It skipped across the top of the blue tarp just above Lozen and clunked against the