Then I crawl on my belly underneath my bed, ignoring the pain in my legs as I move. I count floorboards as I go until I reach the loose one, the one I pried up years ago. I reach into the darkness, fumbling around, until my hand closes around a wad of bills held in place by a hair tie.
My life savings. Every dollar I’ve managed to get my hands on in my life has gone into this collection. It’s been tough to earn money, but I worked as a tutor when I was in high school and got a nominal wage from the administration. I also spent a year as a barista before my pregnancy. Georgianne and Rick made me leave that job after the abortion, presuming, I guess, that I had met guys at work. I haven’t been able to earn any money since. Still, I have a nice little nest egg here that will at least allow me to make a start.
I zip up the backpack and sling it over my shoulder. I wish I didn’t have to make my start on injured legs, but I know waiting to leave will do me more harm than good. I change into leggings to protect my wounds and pull jeans on over those. It’s as ready as I’m ever going to be.
Chapter Six
BRUNO
Having no one in charge is both freeing and confusing. Before, like it or not, we could always depend on Harlan issuing out instructions. We never really had to decide anything for ourselves since Harlan made the decisions. Even as I did my best to find loopholes and workarounds for his orders, I always knew he had the power to rein me in at any moment if he felt I was going wrong. And as little as I liked it, there was something liberating about not having to think for myself.
It’s Mike who chooses our motel for the night, pulling off the road and into the parking lot of a dilapidated looking place with a flickering neon sign. I follow, knowing I’m not going to argue with his choice but wondering whether Clay will. I can hear the rumble of my packmate’s bike behind me. He’s still following us, at least. I suppose there was nothing to stop him from just taking off down the road.
Packmate. Are we still packmates? Or is the pack dissolved now that we’ve left our leader? Are we just three individuals now? It’s a frightening thought. There’s strength in being part of a pack.
The lobby is a small building on the opposite side of the parking lot from the row of rooms. I walk in and approach the front desk, which looks more like a conveniences store counter. The woman sitting there eyes me. “Checking in?” she asks.
“If we could.”
“How many rooms?”
“Just the one.” It’s going to be tough cramming all four of us into a single room, but I don’t relish the idea of anyone being alone tonight. Besides, we need to try to save money where we can.
The woman takes in the girl beside me, her mussed clothes and vacant stare. “She all right?”
“She’s fine,” I say.
“You all right, hon?” the woman asks. “You want me to call somebody?”
Barely perceptibly, the girl shakes her head.
The woman narrows her eyes. I know she suspects something isn’t right about our situation. But after a moment she hands over a key on a wooden peg. “Room seven is open. Ice machine’s behind this building. Check out is at eleven.”
I nod. “Thanks very much.”
“You want some tea, hon, you just come on down and I’ll make you some,” she says to the girl.
Clay leads the way over to room seven, a red door that seems almost luminescent in the gray evening. I unlock it and steer the girl inside, maneuvering her to sit on the bed.
“Great,” Mike says. “One bed. I suppose we ought to let her have it.”
“It’s only for one night,” I tell him.
“Really?” he scoffs. “Where are we going tomorrow, an all-inclusive resort? You don’t have a plan.”
I don’t. My plan was to get away. Mike is completely right. I have no idea what we’re doing next. I can’t deal with his accusations right now, though, so I turn to the girl. “What’s your name?” I ask.
“Meggie.” Her voice is hoarse and raw.
“Meggie, do you want to take the first shower?”
Her eyes go wide and she scoots back on the bed, away from me.
“Just you,” I say. “We’ll stay out here. You can lock the door and take as long as you want.”
She’s still looking at me suspiciously, but after a minute she gets up and crosses to the bathroom. I hear the click of the door lock engaging. A minute later, the water begins to hiss.
I sigh and drop into the chair by the bed. “We’ll hit Quebec City tomorrow. I know of a women’s shelter there. We can drop her off.”
“Then what?” Mike asks. “Quebec City is the first place Harlan is going to look if he decides to come after us. It’s the obvious place we would go.”
“Right, I agree, which is why we can’t stay there,” I say.
“We could double back to Ottawa,” Clay suggests.
I shake my head. “That takes us right past Montreal. If they’re even paying attention, they might catch our scent.”
“What about the States?” Clay asks. “We’re pretty close to the border.”
“I don’t have a passport,” Mike says.
“Neither do I,” I say. “And I definitely don’t want to risk getting arrested. Then our location would be a matter of public record.”
“What is it you’re afraid of?” Clay asks. “What do you think is going to happen if Harlan knows where we are?”
“He’ll come after us,” Mike says. “Obviously.”
“And we’ll fight him,” Clay says.
“Okay,” I say. “You’ll fight him. And what’s going to happen when he orders you to stand down and come home quietly?”
Clay opens his mouth to retort and I see the moment the realization hits him. He wouldn’t be able to disobey. If Harlan ordered him to be a good soldier and come home, he would have to do it.
“Staying away is our only chance,” I say. “Once we’re in his presence, he controls us again. And now that he knows we’re a flight risk, it isn’t going to be like it was before. If we go back now, we’ll never have any freedom again. We’re committed to this. We can’t let Harlan find us. Not ever.”
Clay exhales heavily. “So, what do we do?”
“We head for the mountains,” I say.
“The Laurentians?” Clay cocks his head.
“You said that before,” Mike points out. “But you didn’t say what we would do when we got there. Are we just supposed to dig a hole and put sticks over it or something?”
“We’ll figure that out when we get there.” I’m starting to feel annoyed. Why do I have to have all the answers? I’m not the alpha of this new pack. We’re all on even footing. And yet the other two are looking at me as if I’m letting them down by not having a plan. I don’t see either of them coming up with a plan, for God’s sake.
WE CHECK OUT FIRST thing the next morning, hours before the required time. It’s only a short ride to Quebec City. Meggie seems glad to be rid of us when we drop her off at the women’s shelter. I can’t blame her. This is probably the safest place she’s ever been as an adult. I wish her well and offer her a handshake, but she shies back into the arms of the house matron, who gives me a distrustful look. I shrug and retreat to my bike. I got her there safely. I can feel good about that.
“Where to now?” Clay asks when I’ve returned to my bike.
“North,” I say, because it’s the best answer I can provide.
We ride north, the air growing colder around us as we go. I long for my fur coat. I wish we could run instead of ride, that my strongest self could burst forth and cover this stretch of ground. But I know it isn’t a good idea. We need to put as much distance as we can between ourselves and home before we rely on our animal sides. We’ll be much easier to scent, much easier to track, in that form. As long as we’re human, we’re masked.
Eventually the Laurentians rise up before us, a barrier that stretches into the sky and seems to mark an end to our journey. I pull my bike over. Clay pulls over beside me, and Mike bes
ide him. We all stand there, facing forward, taking in the environment we’ve chosen to leave home for.
“Here?” Clay asks.
I gesture to the woods, which are thick and deep. The trees are close together and the canopy prevents almost all light from trickling in. “In there, I think.”
“I’ve read about people like us doing this,” Mike says. “Leaving their packs. Living wild. All the websites say they’re crazy. Delusional.”
“The websites are written by the people who stay,” I point out. “The people who live wild, they don’t have internet access. They aren’t telling you what it’s really like out there. You’re only hearing from people who already don’t understand.”
Mike frowns. “That might be true,” he says. “But it might also be true that living like this really is crazy. What are we supposed to eat?”
“We’ll hunt for food,” I say. “We can cook it over a fire. And we can build a shelter. There’s plenty of wood here. We’ll be able to put something together.”
“It’s only temporary, anyway,” Clay says. “Eventually we’ll be able to get jobs, earn money, rent an actual place.”
“That’s right,” I agree. “This is just to keep us off the map for a few months. We need to make sure Harlan doesn’t track us.”
We pull the bikes off the road and several yards past the tree line, scuffing the dirt behind us as we go so the tire tracks will be obscured. We park the bikes and haul branches and leaves to throw over them, covering them as completely as possible. When we’re finished, we can still see the bikes, but if someone didn’t know they were here they probably wouldn’t be able to.
“Okay,” I say, stepping back. “We need a shelter.”
“Do you know how to make a shelter?” Clay raises an eyebrow.
“We should clear the ground first.” I start clearing away sticks and branches. I’m not nearly as confident in my actions as I’m trying to seem, but to my surprise, the others follow along.
“All right,” I say when the area is looking clear. “Clay, you and I should gather logs to make a lean-to. Mike, if you lay out foliage on the ground, that can be the base of the shelter.” Again, to my surprise, there are no questions or protests. Everyone follows along. Pretty soon we have a nice triangle structure erected and Clay is helping Mike pile leaves in the bottom. I find four large logs and roll them over to form the outer perimeter of our base.
“We should hang the food from trees,” Mike says.
“Are you worried bears might get it?” Clay laughs.
“They might!”
“I’ve got rope,” I say. “It’s in the toolkit on my bike.” I run back, fish it out, and bring it over, and Mike rigs up a pulley system so we can hoist our duffel bags off the ground.
Clay starts the fire, holding the lighter in his pocket to a tiny stack of kindling. Once it’s burning in earnest, we all hunt for stones and use them to build a ring around the area. We have a shelter and a fire pit. Our food is safe. For the moment, at least, it’s starting to feel like we’re going to be okay.
“So, this is it?” Clay asks. “This is what life is going to look like now?”
“For now,” I agree.
Clay cracks a smile. “I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of into it.”
“Yeah?” I’ve been worrying all day that I am letting them down. After all, I’m the one who talked them into running. If the situation is unlivable, naturally they’re going to blame me.
“There’s a part of me that wants to live wild, I guess,” Clay says with a shrug.
“A crazy part,” Mike mumbles.
“You sorry you came?” Clay asks.
Mike shakes his head. “No. I’m glad we saved that girl and all. I don’t really want anything to do with prostitution. And I think Harlan was dealing, too.”
“He was,” I confirm. “I saw him packing up coke in the kitchen.”
Mike shakes his head. “Yeah. I don’t want any part of it. So, I’m glad we left, I really am. I just...” he waves his hand as if indicating the end of his sentence.
“You just what?” I ask.
“I don’t know how to live like this,” he says helplessly. “None of us do.”
And I wish to God I could tell him he was wrong, but the truth is, he’s absolutely right.
Chapter Seven
LANE
I have no idea where I’m going.
I run as far as the highway and then slow to a walk, exhausted. I keep to the shoulder of the road, trying to hide myself in the shadows in case my family passes this way coming home from their dinner. If they saw me, would they pull over and stuff me into the car, drag me home, yell at me and hit me some more? Or would they be glad of the opportunity to be rid of me and let me go?
The sun is sinking low and before long it disappears below the horizon, leaving me in full darkness. Bits of loose asphalt crunch under my feet as I walk, and the noise seems ominous, even threatening. I wish I could have made my escape during the day. A gust of wind blows up around me, lifting my hair from my neck and chilling me to the bone. I’m not dressed warmly enough for this. If it was daytime, I would stop in a coffee shop for a hot drink. As it is, I’ll have to wait until morning.
Should I spend money on a motel tonight? Or should I try to keep moving, putting as much distance between myself and my family as possible? I wish I knew whether they were going to bother trying to bring me home. I’m not sure how desperate my escape attempt needs to be. Maybe I’m already safe.
Finally, too cold to continue, I leave the road and make my way over to the tree line. I clear some of the brush and use my lighter to start a small fire. Immediately, I feel better. Warmer. I’ll stay here for a bit and get some heat back in my extremities, and then I’ll put on an extra sweater and try to keep going. Maybe by dawn I’ll feel comfortable stopping someplace with actual walls and a roof. I lean back against a tree, daydreaming about mattresses and soft pillows.
At some point, I guess, I fall asleep. The next thing I’m aware of is a bright light shining in my eyes, and a shock of fear jolting me awake. Georgianne!
But the voice that speaks belongs to a man, and it’s too deep to be Rick. “She’s alive.”
“Check her,” another voice says.
A hand grabs me by the chin and forces my face up. I can’t see who it belongs to. I can’t even keep my eyes open. The light shining on me is too bright. More hands grab me by the arms and propel me to my feet, and now the light is traveling the length of my body, front and back. Examining.
“About twenty, I’d say. Twenty-five, tops,” the first voice says.
“Perfect. Prime age. Take her.”
I don’t understand what’s happening, but as a hand closes around my wrist and tugs me forward, my reflexes kick into gear. I swing out with my free hand, aiming a punch at my captor’s face, but he catches my arm easily and with a single move, twists me and pins my wrists behind my back. I struggle violently, not giving up, desperate to break free. “Let me go!”
A bag comes down over my eyes and tightens around my neck. The inside is rough, coarse against my skin, and all my senses are dulled. I fight to breathe. I don’t know if it’s this bag that’s robbing me of oxygen or if it’s just because I’m panicking. I can’t seem to slow my breathing down enough to be sure.
My feet leave the ground. I kick hard and feel one foot connect with something heavy and meaty, and I’m rewarded with a grunt of pain, but a moment later my ankles are roped together and pulled taut. All I can do is undulate my body, flopping like an uncoordinated fish. If only I could get angry, I know, I could break free. I could find that animal that lives deep within me and use it to escape them. But anger is miles away. All I can feel is fear.
“Please,” I say. “Let me go. No one’s going to pay to get me back. I don’t have a family. No one will miss me.”
One of the men chuckles, a low, throaty sound. “Oh, sweetheart, we’re counting on that.”
I feel cold. Ter
rified. What does that mean? What are they going to do to me? What does it say that it’s good for these men if no one will miss me, no one will come looking for me, when I disappear?
I am seated on a narrow perch and bracketed by two muscular arms. A moment later an engine rumbles to life beneath my seat and I realize I’m on a motorcycle. I can hear the sounds of the other bikes all around me, growling at each other in a mechanical call and answer. My heart rate skyrockets.
And then we’re moving.
I can feel the speed of it, the air getting out of the way for us as we charge forward. My body rocks back and forth between the arms of the man who has me on his bike. I am so afraid I’m going to fall. And yet, at the same time, there’s a part of me that wants to throw myself from this bike, to escape by any means necessary. Whatever these men have in mind for me, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it’s worse than a bloody end on the side of the road. I know what happens when men kidnap young women. I’m not naive.
In the end, though, I can’t take the plunge. As frightened as I am, as much as I don’t want to be in this situation at all, I’m attached to being alive. I can’t throw my life away, not while there’s a chance I could still win my freedom somewhere down the line.
WHEN THE BAG IS RIPPED from my head, the lights are so bright that I can’t understand what I’m seeing for a few minutes. Slowly, the scene resolves into something I can understand. It looks like the inside of a barn, complete with stalls where horses may have once lived. A hand at the small of my back shoves me into a stall and slams the door behind me. I stumble against the wall and fall to my knees, scraping them on the concrete floor.
The stall is made of wood and looks just large enough to contain a single horse, standing up. There is a hole in the door slightly above my head, at about the height of a horse’s head, but it’s too small to fit my body through. The walls reach almost all the way to the ceiling. There are small gaps, about two inches in height, between the floor and the door and walls.
The Hidden Omega Page 4