The only people who deserved to survive were already dead. Those that remained were like Ida. There were very few who lived in the tunnels that hadn't heard of her. Some called her the Bitch from Poorhouse 6. Others said she was the Devil of the Underground. Most people didn't want to become so acquainted with her that they had to call her anything. Of course I had never been one to follow the crowd. I was lucky enough to find her. I was lucky enough to be bought by her. She killed most other slaves, or sold the ones she stole from other slave owners to sell for herself, but I was lucky. I wasn't bad with a gun. Not nearly as good as she was, but I could keep her safe. That, I think, was what made her think I was worth keeping around.
I had been her girl for about three years the night we passed through one of the southern cave systems when we came across a small clutch of shimmering blue gemstones. Ida was certain that they were worth something, and although I was excited to have something of value to sell for food (we had run out of rations some days before) Ida insisted that they were some sort of trap and that I was not to touch them.
I remember the way she looked around, her bright green eyes seemed to glow in the darkness and it was almost like she had somehow mutated into something better than a mere human being. She was tall, lean, her muscles formed elegant lines under her green canvas clothing and scattered scraps of armor that made me dream of her touch. The way her platinum hair fell across the back of her head in a rebellious mohawk gave her a dangerous look that kept most thieves and raiders at bay, but not as well as the gun and grenades on her hips.
Ida was completely mad. I knew it. I loved her for it. She wasn't afraid to blast a tunnel to bits, even if it meant she lost her life in return. That's why people were so terrified of her. She hated the world. She hated herself, and every every life taken was just another notch on her belt. Hers was no different. She didn't care if she lived or died. I doubt she even cared for my life any more than what was necessary to keep an extra gun around. Ida had nothing to lose. It was brilliant.
I knew she was brilliant, but it was my pride that I had somehow become her equal, that I had a right to not listen to her that brought about my own undoing and the end of my time with my brilliant, beautiful, terrifying master. She was poking around the walls of the tunnel, holding her breath and looking for something like a trip wire or a gun. I found it first.
I grabbed at one of the jewels, thinking that if she was wrong and they weren't booby trapped she'd reward me. Maybe with a kiss, maybe with a new gun. Maybe she'd tell me I was smarter than I looked (she had told me this once, only to call me a stupid whore a few moments later when my lapse in attention got her shot in the arm). But I was wrong. Just as my hand clasped around the stone, something behind it snapped. I wasn't even able to let out a yell of warning when a loud BANG rang through the cave.
My stomach was hot at first. It felt like I had been punched in the stomach and thrown onto coals, when all at once the pain hit me. I fell to the ground, screaming out. Fire ripped through my hips and chest, and the ground around me got wetter, while my limbs got colder. From the ground I could see the shotgun hidden in one of the darkened cavities in the wall, but I barely noticed it before a steel toe snapped one of my ribs and pushed to the side.
"SHUT UP, CLOVER," my mistress roared. I heard her unclip her gun from her side, and I cried out for her to stop. I wanted to save her, somehow. I knew whoever had set up the trap was well on their way, but I couldn't do more than sob and scream. She pointed the barrel at my head and sighed, "Fourty bucks wasted. What a shame. Ah well. No need for both of us to die."
BANG.
She killed me to keep me quiet.
Isn't she brilliant?
She kept me safe for a while.
I was 23.
I probably would have died at 20 if not for her.
She beat me. But only when I deserved it.
And she stopped my pain quickly.
Wasn't she brilliant, my mistress?
I'm cold.