Escape

by L. S. O'Dea

  “Wake, Little One.”

  She forced her eyes open against the gravity of sleep. They’d stopped. Mirra slowly straightened to stand on her back feet, panting heavily. She moved her arms from the Tracker’s chest to her neck.

  Mirra pulled on her legs. “Walk.”

  Still groggy with sleep, she unfolded her legs and slid to the ground. She stumbled backward. Mirra grabbed her arm to steady her. She smiled her thanks at the Tracker. Mirra patted her on the head and then walked a few steps away.

  They were in the deep forest. The trees towered above her. Daylight would have a difficult time reaching the ground here. The earth smelled dank and musty like a house closed off for too long. The cold darkness of the night would only give way to cool shadows even in the summer sun.

  Mirra stretched and sank her claws into the nearest tree. She scraped downward leaving long scratches along the trunk. She then crouched and began running her paws along the large roots that rose above the ground. She pressed inward with a claw and a click echoed in the night. A small panel on the trunk popped open. Mirra stood and pushed the opening wider, revealing a doorway. The Tracker bent and stepped inside the tree, motioning for her to follow.

  She hesitated. Was this where it ended? She took a deep breath. If the Tracker wanted to eat her it would have done so by now, unless Mirra didn’t want to cart around a carcass. She did travel better alive. Still, she had no choice but to cooperate. She moved forward, dragging her feet.

  When Mirra closed the door behind her a sharp click pinged off the sides of the tree. She paused, letting her eyes adjust. Outside had been dark but there had still been tiny glimmers from the stars, filtering through the canopy of the trees. In here the blackness was absolute.

  “Come.” said Mirra.

  Mirra sounded farther away. She didn’t want to be alone. Not here. She reached out, grasping for contact and brushed against fur. She latched on to Mirra’s strong arm. “I can’t see.”

  Mirra stilled. The Tracker’s steady breathing and the warm, soft fur under her hand were the only things grounding her in a world of nothingness. Was this what death was like? Nothing but darkness. Hopefully, she wouldn’t find out in a few moments.

  Slowly, images began to form out of the black. There was the solid line of the inside of the tree. Crevices ran in rivulets up the walls. If she reached out on either side, she could touch the wood. There was a passage in front with a walkway. Stones, square and smooth were under her feet.

  “You see now?” asked Mirra.

  She nodded and let go of the Tracker’s arm. Mirra led the way down the passage. She followed, stretching out her arms on either side to run along the trunk. It was incredible in here. The crevices and craters gave way to smooth wood as she walked along. The smells of dank earth were replaced by smoke.

  “We close,” said Mirra, quickening her pace.

  She struggled to keep up, stumbling over rocks in the path. The shadows became more structured, more distinct. There was light ahead and warmth. Mirra turned a corner and disappeared. What if she lost the Tracker? Could she find her way back out to the forest? Even if she did, she had no idea where she was. She chased after Mirra, flying around the bend and then skidding to a halt as light exploded into her vision, blinding her with its brightness. There was a fire and a huge, hairy man-like creature held Mirra in his grasp. It was a Handler. She’d seen one once before at the Tracker camp, right before it had killed a Tracker.

  CHAPTER 3

  TRINITY WAS UNABLE TO TEAR HER EYES away from Mirra as the Tracker struggled in the Handler’s grasp. Mirra was taller and faster, but the Handler was built like a rock, squat and solid. He was about her height but quadruple her width with long arms that almost scraped the floor. What initially looked like hair on his body were clothes made out of fur. His face was mostly concealed by a long, gray beard and mustache and his wiry, gray hair hung past his shoulders. She glanced down the passageway. Should she run or try to help Mirra? She didn’t know how to fight. How much help would she be? She took a hesitant step sideways toward the exit.

  The Handler gave Mirra one last squeeze and then let go, his hand gliding down her back. “Sweet, sweet, Mirra. Where have you been?” he murmured as he buried his head in the Tracker’s furry neck.

  She halted. They weren’t fighting. They hadn’t been fighting.

  “Mirra home. Mirra miss you.” The Tracker continued to wiggle and squirm as he petted her. “Look. Mirra find”—the Tracker turned toward her—“Little One.”

  The Handler stilled, leaving his hand on Mirra’s back. He turned his head and his black eyes bored into her. “You’ve brought me dinner.” He drew a large double-bladed knife from a sheath on his hip and stepped toward her.

  Her heart stopped and then pounded madly. That’s why Mirra didn’t kill her. She was a gift. As she turned to run, she stumbled and hit the wall, falling to the floor. She struggled to stand, her nerves making her legs clumsy. He continued to approach, the knife gleaming in the firelight.

  “No. No dinner.” Mirra placed her paw on his arm.

  He halted, but continued to stare at her. “If she’s not to eat then why have you brought this”—he looked her up and down—“Producer here?”

  Mirra kept her hand on his arm. “Mirra like Little One.” She stomped her foot. “No eat. She mine.”

  He licked his lower lip and then pulled it into his mouth with his upper teeth. He bit down for a second, shaking his head. He sighed as he sat on a chair near the fire. “Mirra, we’ve been over this. You can’t adopt stray creatures.” He stared directly at her. “It doesn’t work out well for them and then you’re sad.”

  She really did not want to know what had happened to the others.

  “This one different,” said Mirra, a pout in her tone.

  “Mirra, you promised to stop doing this,” he said.

  Mirra sat down on the ground next to his feet, leaning her head against his leg. “Mirra no mean catch her. Mirra follow. Mirra watch. Guards come. Mirra hide her. Now, Little One here.” She smiled, showing her mouthful of sharp teeth. “Guards no happy.”

  “You didn’t touch the Guards, did you?”

  “No. Mirra wanted kill but Mirra no kill.” Mirra frowned.

  “Good girl.” He stroked the fur on her head.

  She’d been right. Something had been stalking her. All that time, the Tracker had been following her. She could have been killed at any moment and she’d had no idea.

  “Why did you watch her? Why not just eat her?” He grabbed a nearby stick and began whittling.

  She tensed. That was a very good question.

  “Don’t know.” Mirra shrugged.

  The Tracker expanded and contracted her claws rhythmically as she spoke. The claws were long, a lot longer than hers. She tightened her hands into fists at her sides.

  He looked back at her. “She is a cute little thing. So tiny.” He glanced quickly at Mirra.

  Mirra looked at her and nodded. “Tiny. Helpless. Nice. Save River-Man. Save Mirra.”

  “Really? How did she save Mirra?” He cocked his eyebrow.

  “Mirra slip on rock. Little One pull Mirra back.”

  “I didn’t know a Producer had it in ‘em.” He continued to look closely at her. “May not be all Producer. Too small. Looks smart, too.” He waved for her to come forward. “Sit. Since we aren’t going to eat you, we might as well get acquainted.”

  She glanced down the corridor. There was no way she would make it out of here unless they let her and even if they did what would she do in the forest alone. She was a long way from the encampment. She took a deep breath and moved closer.

  He smiled showing a mouth full of grayish teeth and four exceptionally large canines. They made hers look like baby teeth. She stopped.

  He flicked his hand. “Come, come. My name’s Gaar. Mirra calls me Gaar-Mine but everyone else calls me Gaar.”

  She shivered. It was cold and the fire crackled, warm and inviting, e
xcept for the two predators sitting near it.

  “Come. Sit,” he said again, gesturing to another chair. “Unless, like Mirra, you prefer the floor?”

  The chair was large and wooden, made for his girth. She and her mom could sit in it at the same time. She sat on the ground across from the Handler. She couldn’t help but lean slightly away from him.

  “Relax. You would’ve been dead long ago if either of us had wanted.”

  There was no menace in his words, just truth. Strangely, it soothed her. She scooted nearer to the fire. The warmth sank into her body, coaxing the tension from her limbs. She was safe, at least for the moment.

  “What do they call you?” asked Gaar. “I doubt if it’s Little One.”

  Mirra frowned at him.

  “Trinity,” she answered quietly.

  “Why did you save Mirra from falling?”

  “She helped me get away from the Guards.” She was not going to admit that it was just instinct.

  He studied her for a long moment. She tried not to fidget under his steady perusal, but his eyes seemed to burrow into her soul, seeking the truth.

  Finally, he grunted and resumed whittling. “Why did you save the River-Man?”

  She hadn’t expected that. She paused. This time she could tell the truth. “Not sure. I guess I felt sorry for him.”

  He must have been satisfied with her answer because he didn’t bother to look at her. “You shouldn’t. The River-Men will snatch you from the land and drown you for supper without a second thought.”

  She swallowed around a lump in her throat. She’d been lucky, stupid but lucky. “Okay. Good to know.”

  He fell silent, seeming to have forgotten about her. She had just leaned back against the chair and started to dose when he spoke.

  “What are you doing in the forest?” He put the stick down, the point nice and sharp, and stared at her.

  His black gaze made her uneasy. She shifted. “I left the encampment, but only to find out where the Almightys take us.” Her voice cracked. There was a knot in her gut. “I’m pretty sure that my name is going to be on the Harvest List and...well, I didn’t want to go without knowing what happens to us.” She was not going to explain that everyone in camp hated her and she was trying to get them to accept her by figuring out the secret. That was private and more than a little embarrassing.

  “Smart girl.” He tossed another log onto the fire, the flames leaping to consume it.

  “See. Little One special,” said Mirra.

  “How did you think you’d figure out that secret?” Gaar rubbed Mirra behind the ears.

  “Three years ago, my friend, Travis, and I started sneaking out...”

  “Why?” he interrupted, watching her intently.

  She took a deep breath. She never spoke about Adam. Thinking about it always caused her pain. The heartache mingled with anger and shame, leaving a burning emptiness in her gut. “The Almightys came and took some of the babies. They called it a Special List. My brother Adam was two. He was chosen. So was Travis’ brother.” She glanced away. She wouldn’t cry in front of them. “Anyway, the last time I was in the forest, I climbed a tree and saw smoke from a chimney or small contained fire. It was near the river. I’m pretty sure it’s where they take us.” She leaned forward. He and Mirra lived in the forest. “Do you know?”

  “What were you planning to do after you found out?”

  “If it’s just another camp then I’m going to let them take me. If it’s...something worse, I’m going to warn my mom and the others.” She watched him expectantly. He didn’t say he didn’t know.

  “You no go back,” said Mirra. “It bad.”

  “Hush,” chided Gaar.

  “Why? What happens to us?”

  “What do you think happens?” He looked back at her, his eyes capturing the red from the fire.

  “If I knew, I wouldn’t ask. Would...” She froze, mouth hanging open. What was wrong with her? She couldn’t talk to him like that.

  His eyes narrowed.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. “All I know is that no one ever comes back.”

  “Do you really want to know the secret?” His eyes glowed as shadows played across his face.

  Did she? Right now, she could pretend that Travis and Adam were happy. Once he told her, she’d know the truth. “Yes,” she whispered.

  He studied her for a long moment. “They take you to the Finishing Camp.”

  She released her breath. Nothing bad. Just another camp. “What’s it like?”

  He shrugged and picked up another stick and began whittling. “I don’t know. I’ve seen it a few times but I didn’t pay much attention to the Producers. Not my business.”

  “Where is it?” Maybe, it was close.

  “Why?” He looked at her.

  “I want to see for myself before going back.” Travis might be there and perhaps even Adam.

  Mirra sat up. “Little One no go back. No safe. Gaar-Mine tell her.”

  She leaned forward. “I have to. My mom is...”

  “No. Little One stay with Mirra.” The Tracker shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Well, that settles it. Mirra says no.” Gaar chuckled.

  That didn’t settle anything. She’d try another approach. “Thank you for saving me from the Guards, but I can’t stay. They will punish my mom if I don’t go back.”

  “You no go,” growled Mirra.

  “It’s best if you learn now that Mirra usually gets her way.” Gaar smirked.

  This wasn’t funny. It was her mom’s life. “You can’t keep me here against my will. I’m not your prisoner.” She clamped her jaw shut. If she couldn’t control her temper, she could at least shut her mouth.

  “No. You’re Mirra’s pet,” said Gaar, his black eyes narrowing in on her.

  “I am not a pet,” she muttered, unable to help herself.

  He smiled. “This one has spunk. Definitely, not all Producer. What else are you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” How did he know? She looked down at the fire.

  “I think you do,” he said, amused.

  She glanced at him. She’d never told anyone. She wasn’t allowed, but her parents weren’t here. These two were never going to tell the Lead Producers or Almightys. She could be herself at least while she was with them. She raised her head.

  “My father’s a House Servant,” she said boldly.

  “Ahh. Yes. That’s it. It’s a wonder they didn’t kill you at birth.”

  “Who would do that?” The Producers were a superstitious lot, but even they wouldn’t kill a baby.

  He ignored her question, tipping his head to scrutinize her. “You were lucky. You can pass as a Producer. Not a good specimen, mind you, but you have enough of their characteristics. I’m sure you’ve been told to avoid the Almightys as much as possible.”

  She nodded. After her brothers and sisters had died, she’d begged her father to let her move in with him, but he’d said that they couldn’t take the chance of an Almighty even suspecting that she was a mix between House Servant and Producer. Interclass mating was strictly prohibited. She would be safer in the encampment because most Producers barely ever saw Almightys, spending their time toiling the earth and producing all the food for the other classes. House Servants, on the other hand, had daily interactions with the Almightys, since it was their duty to manage the businesses and homes of the ruling class.

  “But I can see House Servant around the eyes and ears.” He paused. “Hold out your hands.”

  She clenched her fingers into her palms. No one except her parents had seen this. She’d taken a lot of abuse from the other Producers because of the minor differences in her size, eyes and ears. She didn’t want to imagine what they would have done to her if they’d seen her fangs or claws, but he wasn’t a Producer. She took a deep breath and extended her arms.

  He scooted closer, placing her hands in his much larger one. He peered closely at her finge
rs, running the pad of his thumb over their tips. “Claws. You have claws.”

  She curled her hands back into fists.

  He laughed. “I imagine you spent your life hiding that fact. That and your ability to see in the dark.”

  “I can’t see in the dark.” It was an immediate, ingrained response.

  Gaar cocked his brow.

  “Not as well as my father,” she mumbled.

  “Takes practice. You have to accept it.” He looked at Mirra curled up in a ball at his feet, snoring softly. “You should sleep too. You’ve had a busy day.”

  He was right. She was exhausted. She nodded and lay down. “I do have to go back home.”

  “We can talk about that tomorrow. Just get some sleep.” He stood and walked over to a pile of bedding laid out on the floor. He chuckled quietly. “I bet you never thought you’d be sleeping in a tree with the likes of us.” He snorted. “You don’t even know what we are.”

  “I do too,” she whispered to herself.

  “You do?” He turned back toward her.

  She hadn’t meant for him to hear. “Mirra’s a Tracker and you’re a Handler.”

  Mirra growled in her sleep, her legs twitching.

  “She doesn’t like me being called a Handler. No one really handles a Tracker.”

  Good to know. She needed to learn what bothered them so she didn’t do it or she might still end up on their plate.

  “You heard stories about our kind, didn’t you?” He smiled, his teeth gleaming in the darkness. “We’re the monsters that keep you inside your fence, aren’t we?”

  She sat up. “No. They say that your kind doesn’t exist anymore. That you were all wiped out by the Almightys.” She stopped before adding for our protection.

  His smile faltered and then disappeared. He grunted and turned back toward his bed.

  She hadn’t meant to make him sad. “They’re wrong. I knew it even before I met you and Mirra. I’ve seen your kind...”