Battle Hymn
When night fell they dragged the nineteen zoo cages out into the middle of the Aztec Soccer Stadium. Inside each box-car-sized cage over one hundred prisoners, all women and children, were packed like livestock. The stench of sewage and vomit gagged the back of Lydia's throat as she came to. No one had been given food or water or allowed to use restroom facilities since their capture. At least she hadn't been raped; covering herself with the residual curry powder had worked.
Lydia was groggy from her concussion but with the help of Maria Elena stood up. Desperate pleading and mournful cries of anguish from nearly two thousand women and children filled the humid night air. She looked around at the glowing eyes of hundreds of transgenics guarding the dark field around them. The menacing presence of the monsters paled to the horrific realization that tens of thousands of human spectators crowded the stands. Everyone in the world with any power stood against them. They were helpless.
Multicolored spotlights came on from the looming, flat-topped pyramid at the south end of the field and a droning musical beat blasted up from the ground. Daht daht daht daht da-da-da, daht daht daht daht da-da-da! The theme music repeated over and over as a rotund, bald clown-man with big orange sideburns lewdly danced around the stage on the top of the Aztec-styled pyramid. Simultaneously a one-hundred-foot-tall, 3-D projection of the scary clown-man danced around on the field between the cages full of horror-struck woman and children.
"Live from Aztec Stadium, home of the Aztecs, it's the Sacred Scary Clown Show! Here's your sacred scary host, Deeeean Browner!" The announcer's voice rolled smoothly up out of the ground.
"Hot as Lightning! More than three billion viewers have logged in!" The scary clown-man's familiar voice erupted out of the ground as he kept at his lewd gyrations.
Lydia never heard of the singer Elvis Presley, but a handful of very ancient viewers now recalled when that obese singer had mocked his adoring fans during his last concert tour nearly one hundred years ago. It reminded Lydia of an old television news program about late-twentieth-century drug addicts that Dan had showed to the older kids one Sunday after church. She vividly remembered a young prostitute who looked old, a "crack" addict, mockingly flaunting her emaciated body to male passersby even though she was covered with open sores. This repulsive clown-man was mocking his audience too and they seemed to relish the mockery.
"Veronica is dead." Yolanda's numb voice somehow penetrated the din rising up from beneath their feet. "They made us watch as they abused her for hours and then they devoured her while she was still alive. Her beauty cursed her. We are doomed and there is no God of love."
Maria Elena reached out and embraced Yolanda. "I'm sorry I brought you to this living nightmare. It's all my fault."
