Ren and Della: Boxed Set (Ribbon Duet Book 3)

by Pepper Winters

  She fell quiet.

  And I ran…for both our lives.

  CHAPTER THREE

  REN

  * * * * * *

  2000

  THE FIRST FEW nights of something strange and new were always the toughest.

  I’d learned that the hard way, and the lesson came again as I crashed to my knees next to a falling down shed in the middle of an untended field.

  Adaption.

  That was what I’d done when I’d been sold to the Mclarys, and if I didn’t remember the struggle it took to fall into routine, accept the inevitable, and find a new normal, then I probably would’ve curled into a ball, yelled at the vanishing moon, and suffocated the damn baby in my backpack.

  Those first days at the farmhouse had been the worst because I kept expecting something more. Something kinder, better, warmer, safer. It wasn’t the conditions I’d been thrust into or the back-breaking work I was assigned, but the hope that all of it would vanish as quickly as it had arrived.

  But once that hope had been eaten away by my starvation, life had gotten easier. Acceptance had been smoother, and I’d saved up my tears for when they truly mattered.

  Breathing fast, I peered into the dawn-smudged gloom for signs of a hunt.

  My clothes were still wet from walking thigh-high in the stream for as long as I could physically stand it. My muscles had bellowed from the chilly water, my ankles threatening to snap every time I slipped off an unseen rock on the bottom.

  It would’ve been far easier to sink below the surface and let the ripples take me. To lie on my back and rest.

  But I couldn’t do that because the baby zipped up tight would drown in the wet canvas, thrashing like the fish Mclary caught in his pond.

  She’d cried a few times in our night-time journey. Once, she’d whined due to me slipping up to my waist and getting her wet. Twice, she’d mewled like a kitten, hungry and tired. And at some point, as the straps of the backpack cut into my shoulders and I leaned more and more into her weight, forcing myself to put one more step in front of the other, she’d squalled loud and angry as if in protest for her conditions.

  I’d elbowed her again.

  She’d fallen quiet.

  And we’d continued on until I couldn’t walk another step.

  Rolling from my knees to my ass, I reached up with stiff arms and seized fingers to slip the backpack off my shoulders and scooted away to lean gratefully against the weathered boards of the shed.

  The long grass kept us hidden. The light breeze kept us quiet. And the morning light revealed it was just us in the sea of rye that hadn’t been cut or baled in years.

  That meant the farmer didn’t tend to his crops, and we were far enough away from the Mclary’s holdings to be safe for a few hours of rest.

  I barely managed to unzip the bag and let little blue eyes and blonde hair free before slipping to my side and dreaming.

  * * * * *

  Three days.

  Three days of broken sleep, sore limbs, and the never-ending need to run as far as possible.

  Three terrible days of learning what a baby ate reappeared ten times worse a few hours later. I’d had the gag-worthy task of figuring out how to remove a wriggling annoyance from clothing and clean up a mess that needed a hose rather than dry grass.

  I didn’t have a replacement diaper and didn’t want her getting my backpack and food disgusting, so I ripped up my only spare t-shirt and Frankensteined a covering for her squashed little butt.

  On the fourth day of hard-won freedom, Della Mclary crawled from the backpack and waited by my nose until I woke from exhaustion. I hadn’t even thought of her wandering off while I slept, and her shadow hovered over me, creating horrors of farmers and enemies and guns.

  My survival instincts, already on high-alert, lashed out, and I shoved her away from me.

  She rolled away, silent with shock until she came to a roly poly mess covered with leaves.

  And then she cried.

  And cried.

  And cried.

  The code in the barn was to stick to yourself. No one got too close because no one wanted to risk getting hurt, either by Mclary punishing the friendship or because of the inevitable ticking clock that meant everyone left eventually.

  Della had no such qualms.

  She’d sat in her pink onesie, stinking like shit and chubby legs kicking in dirt, while her midget finger poked at my cheek; over and over until blurry sleep became blurry awake.

  And now, I’d struck her.

  I tore at my hair, not knowing what to do, itching to shut her up by any means necessary.

  Crawling over to her, I cringed against the ripe smell and plucked her from the ground. Her weight felt heavier in my arms than on my back.

  I twisted her closer, ready to slap my hand over her mouth, frantically looking at the horizon to see who or what had heard us, but the minute my fingers went near her tear-stained face, she clutched my index and sucked on it.

  Her crying stopped.

  Her sniffles and flowing tears didn’t.

  But at least she was silent, and there was no way I wanted to shatter that miracle, so I sat with her uncomfortably, letting her do what all baby creatures did when seeking comfort—nuzzling and suckling, creating another layer of frost on my hatred rather than thawing.

  “Why did you mess this up for me?” I growled. “Why couldn’t you have stayed with your awful parents?”

  I would be so much better off without her.

  I should’ve left her behind days ago.

  We’d already gone through the food far faster than I’d planned. The cheese was gone and two cans of baked beans. I had one left.

  I didn’t even know if babies could eat beans, but I’d smashed it up and fed it as a paste, and she’d wisely never refused anything I offered. Not after my threat the first time.

  Feeling trapped and useless and totally unprepared, I rocked my nemesis to sleep, both our empty tummies cawing as loud as the crows in the trees.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  REN

  * * * * * *

  2000

  EVERYTHING I HAD in the world now fit into two cargo pants pockets and an empty backpack.

  I had no food or water.

  I had no tent or blanket, no spare clothes, no medicine, no toothbrush or soap.

  I’d done a terrible job at stashing away important things I’d need for this journey and regretted my stupidity on not planning better.

  I’d done my best to keep us semi-clean by washing in the river we followed by day, and tried my hardest to keep us fed by hunting rats and rabbits and cooking them over the smallest fire I could by night.

  Della screamed the first time I bashed in the head of a rabbit caught in my snare and skinned it in front of her. Unlike the previous times she’d cried, sucking on my finger didn’t shut her up.

  She’d cried and cried herself into a stupor until her gasps and hiccups trailed into sleep, and I’d woken her a few hours later with stringy overcooked meat.

  Her golden curls had turned brassy with grease. Her pudgy pink cheeks white and sallow.

  I wasn’t used to seeing health slip so quickly from someone I saw every day. The kids in the barn all looked like filthy skeletons with wiry muscles and bleakness in their gaze.

  No one changed inside that place once they’d given up hope and accepted their new fate. Della, on the other hand, switched from inquisitive infant to cranky monster, and my hate billowed bigger every day, swarming in size until I rubbed at my ribs, trying to dislodge the suffocating pressure whenever I looked at her.

  If she cried, my hands curled to shut her up permanently. If she shat my t-shirt, my gag reflex begged to vomit all over her. If she crawled from the backpack while I was sleeping and burrowed into my side, my desire to shove her away was so strong I had to leap to my feet and back away to avoid hurting her the way I wanted.

  I didn’t want this.

  I didn’t want her.

  I w
anted my freedom, and she was just another form of imprisonment.

  Sighing heavily, I once again rubbed at the ball of loathing wrapped around my throat and forced myself to relax. I was hungry enough without burning through more precious energy.

  Ten days.

  I’d made it ten days.

  I could make it ten more—even with a no longer fat baby and an ever-increasing need to rest, eat something decent, and change into cleaner clothes.

  Sitting in the shade of a massive oak tree, I scanned the horizon as I always did and split my attention three ways.

  One, on Della as she lay on her back, twirling her dirty blue ribbon while wriggling in fallen acorns; two, on our surroundings and any sudden motions or noises, and three, on the measly tools in front of me.

  I’d hoped by spreading out my worldly possessions, I would see an alternative for their use or have an epiphany on how to make life better. How to actually survive rather than continue what we were doing and slowly dying day by day.

  My fingers stroked the nicked and tarnished blade that I’d stolen from the sheering shed last season. Mclary had whipped all of us for its disappearance, but no one knew I’d taken it, and I’d buried my guilt deep enough to justify everyone being punished on my behalf.

  Along with a knife, I had a ball of baling twine, an oversize sewing needle meant for repairing sacking and tarp, a hay net that had come in handy making small animal snares, and a tin cup that had been assigned to me to drink from the well on the farm.

  My one set of cargo pants, faded green t-shirt, and holey sneakers were days away from falling apart and covered in filth from living in the wilderness. And Della’s pink onesie was now a disgusting shade of putrid brown from diaper mishaps, mud, and pathetic attempts to rinse in the river.

  Like I said, utterly measly and totally lacking.

  I should’ve grabbed a tarp at least for shelter, a blanket from my bed, cutlery, painkillers—not that I had access to those—and so many other handy things I missed.

  The only thing we had on our side was the weather.

  The temperature had stayed muggy and warm since leaving Mclary’s and a small layering of leaves at night was enough to stay comfortable. With the river as our guide, we might be hungry, but we were never dehydrated, which I suppose was something to be thankful for.

  * * * * *

  I’d lost count of the days and nights.

  I’d forgotten how long I’d lugged a baby through forest and farmland, putting as much distance between me and the Mclary’s farm as I could.

  All I knew was I needed something other than fish and rabbit to curb my ravenous appetite. I needed a brush to clean the fur from my teeth. I needed clothes that didn’t reek. I needed a break from the girl making my life a living hell.

  When I’d first run from Mclary, I shouldn’t have entered the forest for fear of getting lost or dying, but thanks to my will to survive and basic education, I’d excelled better than I hoped. I didn’t know what direction I travelled in most of the time, and I didn’t know where I was going, but each day was a success if we ate, drank, and slept in safety.

  Now, I was about to leave the sanctuary of the wilderness and do something else I probably shouldn’t do. In fact, something I most definitely shouldn’t do in my current stinky state with a listless baby who slept more often than cried these days.

  If I’d survived better, I wouldn’t need to do this.

  If I didn’t have an unwanted passenger, I wouldn’t have to do this.

  Cursing Della all over again, I gritted my teeth and took the first step from twigs and branches, trading it for paint and concrete.

  Nothing happened. No one noticed. No bullet lodged in my skull.

  I waited, twitching like a deer, sniffing the air, testing the waters.

  When the night sky stayed silent and nothing suspicious moved, I gathered my bravery and slunk farther from the treeline.

  Using the cover of darkness, I sneaked closer toward the small township in the distance.

  Just like I didn’t know where I was, I didn’t know the exact time, but most houses were dark, no cars on the road, no people or noise or life.

  The perfect time to steal the supplies I needed and then split.

  Hoisting the backpack further up my shoulders, I stiffened, waiting for Della to make a sound. She’d been quiet all afternoon in her dirty carrier, and it was past time to eat.

  Normally, by now, she’d grizzle and squirm enough to make me give up travel for the day and find somewhere to sleep.

  Tonight, she didn’t make a peep.

  That ought to have relaxed tight muscles instead of digging my worry deeper.

  I still hadn’t forgiven her for making my escape so hard, but I’d lasted this long, and I’d fought too hard to ensure she lasted, too.

  She owed me.

  I didn’t talk to her often, but when I did, I always earned a sunshine smile or serious stare. I supposed this would be a good moment to speak kindly, to reassure both her and myself that we wouldn’t get caught and would be better equipped once this visit was over.

  “Don’t worry, Della Mclary. I’ll get you something yummy to eat tonight.” I patted where her butt would be and strode onward.

  I didn’t focus on how much lighter she was these days or how hard running had been on both our bodies.

  Sticking to the shadows, I stalked through suburbia. Pretty, well-kept houses with tidy lawns and painted garden furniture—so unlike the paint-peeling unkemptness of the farmhouse—welcomed me in silver moonlight.

  I kept going, heading deeper into family territory and totally unfamiliar concepts of slides and swings and paddling pools left unguarded on front lawns.

  I didn’t stop. I didn’t dally.

  I was hunting for a supermarket. Something I could smash my way into, stuff my backpack full of things, then vanish back into the forest unseen.

  But the deeper I travelled through manicured verges and swept streets, the more my hope deflated. I wasn’t in the heart of the town where such things as stores and restaurants existed.

  I was in sleepyville where children from the TV show slept soundly in safe beds with kind-hearted parents to watch over them.

  I continued down the road, no longer finding the houses pretty but mocking. Mocking me with everything I’d been denied and everything I ever wanted.

  One particular house hurt my stupid ten-year-old heart as I stopped on its pavement and stared. Its blue and white paint, warm wood veranda, and large bay windows whispered of peace and somewhere to rest.

  The large doorknob begged me to turn it and stroll right in, to claim a bed as my own, and forget all my worries forever.

  Della’s knee dug into my spine as she wriggled.

  “Quit it.” I growled over my shoulder.

  A tabby cat shot from a pruned rose bush, darting past my feet and sending my pulse jumping. With the adrenaline shot came hunger so vicious and slicing, I stumbled and clutched my empty middle.

  A small cry came from within the backpack. A cry that mimicked my craving. A cry she knew she shouldn’t utter but couldn’t help escaping.

  I didn’t even have the energy to elbow her into quietness again.

  Who was I kidding?

  There wasn’t a supermarket or dumpster or any hope of a large area of food ready to be stolen. The only choice I had before I buckled on the sidewalk was to pick one of the dozing households surrounding me, and I’d already made my selection.

  The house in front of me.

  The one that welcomed me to take what was inside as if it’d been waiting for this very moment.

  Once the idea popped into my head, I didn’t think twice.

  “Be quiet.” I jiggled the straps on my shoulders. “You hear me?”

  Silence was my answer.

  “Good.”

  Looking left and right, I bypassed the blue fence and pebble pathway guiding to the entrance and slithered through the shadows toward the back door. Even
the service side of the house was well tended with clean rubbish bins.

  Slipping into the backyard, I saw a basket of toys neatly placed, and a large umbrella wrapped tight, guarding its family, the table and chairs.

  Della hung heavily on my back as I stooped as low as I could to avoid the sensor light and made my way as carefully as I could to the back door.

  I had my knife.

  I could smash a window or jimmy a lock.

  But as I climbed the deck to investigate, my eyes fell on an oversize cat flap. Ducking, I tested it with my hand, punching it quickly.

  The plastic flopped open, letting me stick my head into the warm scents of cooking, clean linen, and happiness.

  I practically drooled on their welcome mat.

  For once, I was thankful for my small size and skinny frame. It would be a tight fit, but I could contort myself to gain entrance. Hell, I could do anything if it meant earning a full belly tonight.

  Shrugging the backpack off my shoulders, I shoved it against the side of the house out of the way. Unzipping it a little, I placed my hand on Della’s dirty blonde curls as she popped up like a jack-in-the-box. “No. You’re staying here.”

  Her blue eyes searched mine, achingly hungry and begging for any scrap of attention, food, or whatever else kids like her were used to getting.

  Her helplessness did not work on me, and my heart grew ever harder. “I’m going inside to fetch supplies. Do. Not. Move.” Her head ducked beneath my hand as she slouched sadly back into the bag.

  I didn’t know if she understood what I was saying, but I didn’t take my hand away. I squeezed her tiny skull with my fingers. “I’m warning you. If you run off, I won’t search for you. You’ll die and get eaten by a dog. Do you want to be eaten by a dog, Della Mclary?”

  Her nose wrinkled and tears welled, making her eyes glow blue.

  “No crying. I don’t like cry-babies.” Grabbing the zippers, I pushed my face almost to hers. “If you’re good and sit here quietly, I’ll bring you fruit and chocolate and even new clothes, okay?”

  The tears teetered on her bottom lashes but didn’t fall. Twirling that confounded ribbon around her tiny fist, she plonked down and ducked her head.