The Prey by Tom Isbell

heavyset bully pushes her to the ground. The girl lands smack in a juicy puddle of mud and manure.
    â€œI’ll ask you one more time,” the leader says. “What were you doing back there?”
    â€œI wasn’t doing anything,” Strawberry Blonde says, her voice quivering.
    â€œJust kicking dirt for the fun of it?”
    The heavyset prisoner takes a menacing step forward. There’s something off-kilter about her face—lopsided, even. “You all are up to something, aren’t ya?”
    The small girl’s chin trembles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    â€œI think you do.” She begins slamming her fist into her palm. Smack. Smack.
    â€œHey!” Hope suddenly yells. “What’s going on down there?”
    The three girls look up and exchange a glance. “Who the hell are you?” Lopsided Face asks.
    â€œI’m Hope.”
    â€œYeah, well, I’m Reality”—her two friends crack up—“and I say leave us the hell alone.”
    Hope climbs down the rickety ladder without a second thought, knowing she has little chance with these odds. Not three against one. Still, she reaches the ground and extends a hand to the frail girl, intending to help her to her feet.
    Before she gets the chance, Lopsided Face spins her around. “I said leave us alone.”
    It takes everything in Hope’s willpower not to throw a punch. “I am leaving you alone. It’s her I’m helping.”
    Lopsided doesn’t hide her disgust. “What’s with you girls from B, anyway? What makes you think you’re so special?”
    â€œWe just look after each other, that’s all.”
    Hope’s words surprise even herself. Here she is including herself in Barracks B as though she’s lived there for years. As though the other girls accept her.
    â€œMaybe you do, maybe you don’t, but you’re up to something. Kicking at the dirt. Searching in the gardens. It’s like you’re looking for buried treasure.”
    It’s what Hope thinks, too.
    A distant whistle shrieks. Time for the inspection.
    Lopsided Face gives an irritated glance, then leans in until her nose is mere inches from Hope’s. “We’re not done here.” She and her friends lumber away and Hope waits for them to disappear.
    â€œCome on,” Hope says to the frail girl. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
    â€œBut the inspection—”
    â€œCan wait. Come on.”
    Hope pulls her to her feet, mud and manure clinging to her legs.
    â€œYou won’t tell, will you?” the girl manages between sobs.
    Hope is irritated by the tears and confused by the request. “It wasn’t your fault those bullies picked on you.”
    â€œPlease don’t tell Athena—about any of this.”
    â€œFine. As long as you stop crying.” Then: “So your sister’s name is Athena, huh? What’s yours?”
    â€œHelen,” she says with a nervous smile.
    â€œOkay, Helen. Then get out of that dress and we’ll clean it.”
    Helen covers herself. “But what will I wear?”
    Hope lets out a long sigh; she has no time for tears, even less for modesty. She whips off her own dress and holds it out to Helen.
    Helen just stares at it. “But that’s yours.”
    â€œExactly. Now take it.” They exchange dresses and Hope fills a bucket with water. She begins to scrub. “Why’d they pick on you, anyway?”
    â€œSome of the other barracks don’t like us. They think we’re up to something.”
    â€œAre you?”
    Helen seems on the verge of speaking but stopsherself. “We’d better hurry,” she says.
    Hope wonders what it was Helen was about to say. “Go on if you’d like, I’m almost done here.”
    â€œBut it’s a special inspection. If you’re not there, you’ll be punished.”
    â€œWhat’re