Author's Note: Finding Treasure is the sixth book of the Treasure series:
Treasure
Buried Treasure
Claiming Treasure
Aztec Treasure
Abandoned Treasure
It is not intended as a stand-alone as it picks up events from the end of Abandoned.
The story makes references to human trafficking of children, organ harvesting, and sexual abuse. All of these were happening in real life during the timeframes of the story. "Trafficked" with Mariana van Zeller episode on Black Market Organs (available on YouTube) inspired part of this story.
The truth is more difficult than the fiction.
Unknown POV
Tijuana Cartel Staging Center
Ensenada, Mexico
Monday, August 3
rd
, 2020
It was better to be dirty and unattractive than a young and beautiful teen when the guards came in drunk.
I had learned this lesson the hard way over the past six weeks. I was raped the first time before the Cartel traffickers even left my village in El Salvador. I'd lost count of how many times it had happened since then. The traffickers didn't care about us beyond what we were worth to them. If we reached our destination ready to work off our debts? No one cared about what happened to us along the way. If you resisted them, you got a beating. My left eye was still swollen from being slapped a few days ago.
That's why I stank like old piss, and left my hair matted and dirty. I had to hope they liked girls younger than my sixteen years. The men looked past me, picking two of the newer girls. They screamed and struggled as the guards carried them out, and we did nothing.
No one wanted to take their place.
The thirty other girls kept their eyes down and stayed quiet. If the girls were lucky, they'd be dumped back into our room in a few hours, sore and bleeding. We'd clean them up and tell them lies about how things were going to be all right soon. We'd have new lives in America, just like we saw on television.
Other times? The girls didn't come back, and no one spoke of them again.
I looked down at the wristband. It had a barcode on it, letting the bad men track us like cattle. I ignored the pains in my stomach and tried to rest on the dirty pad in the corner of the room. We were only fed once a day, and not much at that. Sixty of us rode a crowded bus for two days straight to get here. A nurse used a device to scan my barcode, then checked my eyes and mouth before listening to my chest. She took a blood sample and attached a label she printed out. The whole thing took two minutes, and she didn't even ask about my injuries. Other than the guards, I'd seen no other adults since I arrived four days ago.
I didn't cry as I heard the screams from down the hall. Crying only got you in trouble.
This trip was not what my family expected when they paid six thousand American dollars to send me to America. The smugglers told her I'd be safe and happy in America. Her life savings were only half of the money the smugglers required, though. The other half I would have to earn after I arrived. If I worked hard, they said I'd easily earn enough to pay the balance by Christmas. Another year, and I'd make enough to rescue my whole family from poverty.
One man teased me I'd pay it off from my back, making a dollar a fuck minus expenses.
I fell asleep. I woke once when the two girls returned crying, and a half-dozen more times to noises or nightmares. In the morning, I waited to use the bucket toilet and wash my hands before breakfast. An hour later, I heard the guard call my name. "Yes?"
He checked my wristband with a device, looked at it, and nodded. "Come with me." I almost got sick as he pulled me to my feet and out of the room.
It was a relief when I ended up in the back of a delivery van instead of a room with other men. "Where are we going?"
"Clinic," he replied. "Be quiet and don't say anything unless you are asked."
I sat on a blanket by the spare tire for the next twenty minutes. When the door opened, a man in scrubs took custody of me and the van drove off. He led me through a back entrance, down a dirty hallway, and into a small room. "Strip," he ordered. I left my dress and underwear on the floor.
He led me to another room, this one brighter with medical equipment and a narrow gurney. "Get on, face up," he told me. I crawled up on the bed. I was afraid to fight him, and then it didn't matter after he strapped down my ankles and wrists with leather cuffs. He took a syringe from the table and injected it into my right elbow. When it went it, it felt like ice was moving up my arm. I tried to get away, but my arm didn't work. The sensation flowed into my chest, then spread through my body. Before I knew what was going on, I could no longer move. I started to get lightheaded, and realized I wasn't breathing. I tried to take a breath, and nothing happened. That's when I knew I was going to die.
The man shoved a metal scoop into my mouth, and I felt a tube in my throat. He turned on a machine, and I could sense my chest starting to expand. The blackness went away, but the feeling of helplessness did not. I was strapped down, my body wouldn't respond to my commands, and I could only sit and watch my own death.
I watched him as he washed his hands at a metal sink, then put on gloves and a surgical gown. I could feel him rub a smelly solution on my chest and stomach with cotton balls. Somewhere, deep in my mind, I knew I was in trouble. When he picked up the scalpel? That's when I tried to scream, and nothing came out.
He turned on the bright overhead light. I couldn't move my head or even close my eyes to avoid the glare. "I'd tell you to relax, but you can't move a thing," he teased me as the scalpel began a cut. I couldn't move, but I could still feel everything. I could see my skin splitting open and felt the blood leaking out. "Look at me. I love to see a person's eyes when she realizes she is going to die, and there isn't a goddamn thing she can do to stop it."
"But I can," a woman's voice said from behind us.
The scalpel slid down my side, bounced off the table, and clattered to the floor. "Who the FUCK are you?"
The woman walked forward until I could see her. She was tall, thin, and beautiful, and held a big gun in her hand. She was fashionably dressed in slacks, heeled boots, and a print blouse. "Sit the fuck down," she said.
The man held his hands up and moved over to sit on the desk chair. "You can't do this," he warned her. "I'm connected."
"That's what I'm hoping for." The woman grabbed his chin like a disobedient child and looked into her eyes. His eyes were full of fear, while hers were scary and black as midnight. I watched the staring contest while the machine kept me breathing.
The woman stared at him until he finally relaxed, slumping back into the chair. Her eyes returned to normal shortly after and she turned to look at me. "He's under my control now. He can't harm you, and he will tell me what I want to know."
She set the gun on the table with the other instruments before returning to my side. She turned my head and forced me to look in her eyes. They weren't black, but they weren't normal, either. They looked dead, and I was scared. "What did you give her?"
"Succinylcholine. It's a paralytic used to keep the patient from moving during surgery."
"When are the Cartel men coming to pick up the organs?"
"Thirty minutes."