The Middle Passage: They Come for Everyone

By Allison Ince

After trading their freedom to save the lives of law enforcement and gang leaders, Memory, Ghost, and Abednego have agreed to be slaves for the Elite. They will find that it was the toughest sacrifice they have ever made. The underbelly of global slavery is now unveiled before them. The volume of slaves, the array of slavery, and the violence they are destined to witness will shake them to their core. What is this “middle passage,” and will they survive it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685173241

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Auction

A aah! Aaah! the screaming echoes out, cutting through her darkness and pulling her to reality. The wails pack the airways as a microphone blares out numbers and prices.

Memory! Memory, wake up! a voice reaches out to her.

She tries to peel her eyes open, but there is a light bearing down on her. Stage lights are everywhere. All kinds of smells assault her. Smells of perfumes, oils, and colognes fill her nose. Sour wine and sweet cigars waft in her direction. Most of all, she swears she can smell the sweet scent of cash.

Beyond the wailing, she can hear an ocean of human conversations. Laughter and chuckles, arrogance vocalized, stream into her ears. The air is warm with human breath; nonetheless, she shivers as she surfaces from sleep.

Memory? the voice further rouses her.

She takes a deep breath, gags, and unseals her eyelids. Sharp sprites of light penetrate her black cocoon. Brightness tears through her world, letting her eyes soak in the illumination. Memory lifts her heavy eyelids slowly.

The blackness spins away like water down a drain.

The blurry scene around her begins to take shape and form into golden light, polished wooden floors, and silver bars. No, the sweet smell was not cash but steel bars.

Memory’s heart erupts in speed as she jerks herself up. She glances around her to see she is in a cage of some kind, like the decorated ones you may see circus animals in. There is even hay beneath her. All four walls of the cage have bars. There is no privacy whatsoever.

There are other cages around hers, all lined up in the huge auditorium. People walk by in suits and fancy dresses, with glasses of wine and liquor, smoking cigars and thin cigarettes.

In the other cages are men, women, and children as young as two. Some of the caged are weeping, begging for help to those passing by. Some are quiet, as if they are used to this scene. Memory is not used to this scene though. She had no idea places like this, scenes like this, existed in reality.

Aaah! A shrill shriek smacks the ceiling but does not disturb the steady streams of conversation.

Memory swerves around to the other side of her cage and stares through the bars. She spies a young girl, maybe thirteen or so, being dragged over to a large stage where a woman in business attire speaks into a microphone. The girl wears tattered clothes, a purple T-shirt full of moth holes, and unraveling pedal pusher shorts. Her coffee-brown hair is wet with tears, and her face is pale with fright. Two men in black suits drag her up the stairs to the platform and place her on a squat pedestal for all to see. The girl wraps her arms around her torso and quakes with fear.

Memory’s heart speeds up again as she frantically strives to make sense of everything. Her throat tightens as her palms moisten and her head pounds. She can feel her lungs squeezing in on themselves, and she begins to feel dizzy.

She stares at the woman on the stage who smiles sincerely and begins to describe the young girl’s qualities to the watching audience. Memory can feel her stomach lurch.

Have you ever been to an expo at a county fair? the warm voice booms from nearby.

Memory looks to her right. Through her bars, she can see Abednego in a cage as well. His cage is so close to hers she could reach out her hand and touch his bars. His eyes are narrow and fearless as though he were in the middle of a war.

Yes…once, Memory answers, her mouth going dry.

Abednego gazes around them.

That’s what this reminds me of, that and the old slave auctions, he whispers.

Yeah…except didn’t slavery end after the Civil War? Memory’s eyes burn with tears.

It’s a sin, Memory. The only person who can free us of it is Christ, Abednego utters, still watching the scene unfold around them. We were naive to believe it ended.

Why are we here? Memory asks, turning her attention back to the stage where the teenage girl is being dragged down the stairs.

You don’t remember? Agent Jagger must have hit you harder than I thought.

What?

Abednego creeps a little closer to his bars. When Hidey got Shadow to take us, we were transported to the Experiment Halls. Of course, the Elite had to decide how to ‘put us to good use,’ so they decided to sell us…here. Sell us to terrorist groups, mafias, secret society families, agents, anyone rich enough and powerful enough to buy us.

But why did Jagger knock me out?

Abednego shrugs with sorrowful eyes. He said he ‘felt like hitting something.’

Memory nods as she turns her focus back to the stage where another human is dragged up the steps.

Lord, help us, she utters.

*****

How long have you been here? a girl with shaggy, short blond hair mutters.

Tech licks his lips and heaves a heavy sigh.

Two days, he murmurs.

Where were you before? she inquires as she drapes a soggy mop head across the Spanish tile. Her voice is smooth and has a country twang to it. She wears a gray T-shirt, dirty with black spots, and jeans that are holey with wear. Her hair is boy-cut but still long enough to get in her eyes. Her smile is wide, tender, and bright.

It’s a long story. Tech pulls his mop left to right. It is heavy and makes his arms sore with a burden he has never known.

Tell it, she pipes.

He smears a weak grin on his gloomy face, trying to be as happy as the girl. My brother and I were taken to the Experiment Halls. Then the Elite had us sent to…

The girl stops mopping and looks up to see Tech caught on the word.

They call it the trafficking hold. We takeaways call it the auction, she explains.

Tech nods, his vision in a daze. Yeah… He pauses. The auction. My brother and I got separated. My friends were still in the Experiment Halls when we were taken to be…sold.

She grimaces with a reassuring smile. And now you’re here mopping with a fellow takeaway.

Yeah. He dunks his mop in the plastic purple pale. How’d you get here?

Couldn’t pay off a debt, and no one would pay it for me.

What debt?

She gulps. I don’t like to say. I’m alive at least.

They are both mopping in the bright-lit entryway of the Spanish-style mansion.

Like a ransom, it’s like how we owe death for our sin, but Christ took it for us.

A ransom… She stops mopping and cocks her head at him. Like when someone takes your place, right? Or if someone was to take my place as a takeaway?

Yeah! Or paid your debt for you. Tech smiles.

So Christ paid our sin debt? the girl asks.

Yes. He nods, continuing to mop.

I’ve never had it explained to me like that.

He looks up at her and smiles softly.

*****

Where are the exact locations of all the variables? Hidey asks Dr. Evny.

Why don’t you ask your father? Evny glowers at Hidey.

Evny catwalks about her laboratory. There is an unconscious man on her examination table to whom Hidey pays little attention. She meanders about at the edge of the lab.

Evny has on her black high heels. Her crow-black hair is pulled back, and her face is stoic as she turns a vial of solution upside down and begins to feed a syringe the liquid. Her white lab coat is stained with smears of velvet blood. Her purple gloves stand out against her pale appearance. The examination room is drenched in grey shadows, except for the gallons of yellow light spilling down over the man on the table.

Hidey shrugs and fiddles with a beaker on one of the counters.

Evny sighs and rolls her eyes. All right, Neophyte Jagger, it’s simple really. I’m surprised you don’t already know. Weapon number 0101 is missing. The second-generation weapons are all sold. Five were sold to a guerrilla warfare group. I don’t know which one, so don’t ask. The others were sold or are being sold… I don’t know their whereabouts either. There. Happy?

Hidey’s mouth drops. But that’s not exact.

Evny pierces her lips. I guess it isn’t as simple as I thought.

What about the third generation?

You know the answer to that. One is missing, three are liquidated, and the rest are rented out to different agents, then returned, then rented out again. You expect me to keep up with all their locations?

Hidey says nothing but leaves to look up their records. She knows the first-generation weapons are rented out to different agents who come directly to the Experiment Halls to lease. She knows the third generation is also rented out, if not missing or dead, but the second generation is what nags her. Where are the variables she worked so hard to attain? Where are they?

Chapter 2

I Was Sold

S old! the lady with the microphone roars. Another person is dragged from the podium and through the crowd.

A ray of light floods Memory and Abednego’s cells, washing out the light of the beams already above their cages. They hold their hands over their eyes to guard themselves from the saturating beam.

Ladies and gentlemen, I would advise you to turn your attention to the holding cells on your right. These fine specimens are special variables delivered straight from the noble Experiment Halls of Virginia. Our generous scientists have allowed us to sell these three unique takeaways.

Three? Memory gasps to Abednego.

They both peer over to see Ghost unconscious in a cage nearby. It also has a stage light bearing down on its red metal.

What happened to Ghost?

Abednego shrugs. They must have tranqed her on the way here. We got separated when they were crating us.

The woman on stage gives a tender wink to the two men in black suits. They march toward Memory’s cage. Her heart pounds in her head. They near her cage, closer and closer. Her palms sweat. She switches her gaze from them to Abednego and back again.

They come a foot closer to her cage when they make a sharp turn and direct their attention to Abednego’s cell. They unlock his door and drag him out. Without saying a word, he allows them to lead him by the arms to the stage. They turn him about and stand him on a short, wide marble pedestal like a prized antique item.

This fine young variable has the uncanny ability to summon and control fire. It would be an excellent weapon to anyone with a taste for destruction. The bidding will begin at a hundred.

Memory sees cards fly up and down as the woman blurts out numbers. The numbers rise from 115 to 180 in a matter of seconds.

I have a hundred and eighty-five.

Hundred and ninety!

Two hundred! her smile is gentle. Do I have any other bidders?

No cards flash upward. Sold for two hundred dollars!

Memory’s mouth drops. This can’t be happening.

Her eyelids thin as she follows Abednego, but she loses sight of him in the crowd. Memory turns her attention back to the two men who rummage through Ghost’s cage.

No…no…, Ghost whimpers, groggy and weak.

Leave her alone! Memory screams out but to no avail.

Ghost’s head rolls from side to side. The men drag her limp body up the stairs to the stage and place her on the pedestal. She slumps down to her knees and weeps. Memory’s heart falters at the sight of her broken friend. One of the men who led her up there takes out a small metal gun. He places it on her neck and pulls the trigger. Immediately, Ghost stops crying. Her face becomes numb and mute of emotions; she looks like a robot or one of the orderlies in the Experiment Halls. Her body is stiff and unmoving. She stares straight ahead.

This variable has the ability to turn itself invisible, the perfect killing machine for your liquidations in broad daylight.

Snickers move through the crowd like a soft breeze rustling trees. Memory gawks at the crowd who smiles and murmurs.

We will begin the bidding at eighty dollars.

Memory cannot believe the prices of her friends.

It’s like it costs nothing to buy us. She awes in horror.

The woman blurts out numbers as the bidders raise their cards.

Ninety.

One hundred.

There is stillness in the room.

Sold! For one hundred dollars!

Once more, Memory strives to follow another fellow Zoek’s exit from the room, but she falters when another pair of men drag Ghost through the tight audience. Memory glances around as the men come to her cage. She takes a deep breath as they open her door.

She can feel thousands of eyes look her up and down with greed and hunger. She feels like blood sausage in the presence of vampires.

She makes eye contact with some of the young women who snicker at their male counterparts. Their teeth shine, their eyes sparkle, and their lips glimmer as their bodies sway. Blood diamonds drip from their ears and lightweight evening gowns dance over their glass-smooth skin. They cock their heads as if they were admiring a painting. These are her buyers and sellers. These hold her future in their loose and careless hands.

I don’t want to be sold. The thought sprouts up in Memory’s mind.

Her heart doubles in speed, and her throat surges with the burning sensation of stomach acid. She wants to fight back, but the eyes that stare her down almost have a paralyzing effect.

Where would she run to? How could she even escape the crowded room, packed with Elite agents with guns and tranqs? Dread and helplessness suffocate her will. She wilts in the hands of her captors.

God, I’m scared, Memory prays.

Her warm eyes fill with hot tears. They walk her up the stairs and place her on the small and wide pedestal. The muggy stage lights blare down on her. She can barely see the crowd beyond the light. Memory suddenly feels naked and used. Hot tears spill over her eyelids and drip down on her black scrubs, but she does not realize she is crying.

I’m a human being! Don’t they realize that? her thoughts swarm.

She suddenly feels it: the peace. A voice speaks softly from somewhere outside herself yet deep in her heart. It says, I am with you.

Memory takes another deep breath and closes her eyes. She opens them and finds her focus on the other takeaways in cages to her right. Their eyes gape with dread. Memory gulps gastric acid down her throat and focuses on the numbers.

This variable has the ability to vaporize objects…or civies.

Chuckles roll through the room like thunder.

We will start the bidding at ninety dollars.

The numbers tumble from the woman’s mouth at an overwhelming speed. Memory can hardly keep up with the ramble of digits. Finally, the last number arrives.

A hundred and ninety-five! Sold!

The word hits hard. Sold. It reverberates through Memory like an electrical shock, jarring her body and mind.

The two men rush her down the steps of the stage and through the crowd of bergamot-scented Elite men and women. Her heart feels