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“Look. The last thing on Earth I want to do is hurt you. Maybe I could braid some kudzu vines together. You know, make a homemade rope? You could… tie me to the bed so you could feel safe.”
Her face instantly brightens, and I realize it has nothing to do with feeling safe. She thinks I’m going to give her a chance to escape.
“I may have spent most of my life locked in one facility or another, but I’ve watched TV, Cally. I know you need a key to drive your car. You’ll have to hand over your lanyard.”
We negotiate for long minutes, but I’m happy to find she’s not entirely unreasonable. We agree that I’ll walk her and Tater to the hole in the fence, where I’ll keep hold of the dog and the keys. She’ll collect her camera, which she claims is important to her, a rope she keeps for emergencies in her car, her clothes, and a bag of dog food for Tater.
She smells evasive, but even if she has an extra key hidden in her vehicle, Tater is too important for her to make a run for it and leave him behind.
While walking through the fallen leaves, I spot her car with a small metal pull-behind trailer hitched to the back. My voice serious, I warn, “The minute you run, Cally, I’ll run, too. I can get to the reject barracks in two minutes at a fast run and then all the might of the United States Army will come down on you. Please don’t do it. They will catch you, and then I have no doubt you’ll be thrown into a cell for the duration of your stay.”
Her guilty gaze flashes to the ground, telling me all I need to know about her intention to run.
“Do you have a gun, Cally? If you try to shoot, you might be fast enough to hit me, but splicers with acute hearing will hear it and the consequences will be even more dire. From them or the military.”
“No gun, Sylas. I have bear spray, but I promise I won’t touch it.”
When we arrive at the hole in the fence, we get to the moment I’ve been dreading most. I’m going to have to hold onto Tater, and he’s going to go wild when separated from his mistress.
Although I don’t want to squeeze him too hard, I’m not sure I can keep hold of him any other way. I have to assume she has an extra key in her trailer. If Tater scurries under the fence, it will be too tempting for her to leave. Then all hell will break loose.
She squats next to him and motions me over.
“Tater. Sit.”
She uses a precise hand motion to indicate her wishes. Between her verbal and physical commands, he politely sits on his haunches. Then she places her palm close to his snout, very sharply tells him to, “Stay,” and then stands up.
He looks from her to me and back again, giving an agitated whine as his haunches leave the ground a few inches, then sit back down, then rise and fall again. His ears lay back, his tail slams rhythmically against the ground in agitation, and he gives me a look I don’t need canine DNA to read. The animal hates me.
“Stay!” she says again, with the same hand motion
She approaches the hole at the bottom of the fence, lays as low to the ground as she can without slithering on her belly, and crawls under the fence to the accompaniment of Tater’s plaintive whines.
I follow her movements, shadowing her from this side of the fence while she walks on the dirt road. As she approaches her vehicle, I click the button she told me to push, and the car doors unlock.
Efficiently, she paws through the front seat, holds the camera up for me to see, then exits the car and rounds to the back to grab the rope and a huge, bright yellow bag of dog food. When she’s piled that near the hole in the fence, she backtracks to disappear into the trailer. Two minutes later, she has a backpack filled with clothes as she returns to the fence.
“Tater Tot’s a good boy.” Her voice is a sing-song so sweet that I must admit, I’d be happy if it were directed at me. “Yes. You’re mommy’s goodest boy. We’re going to get through this.”
I click the fob again, and the car chirps, confirming that it’s locked.
This whole time, I’ve been marveling at how well Calliope Quinn was doing during what must be the worst few hours of her life.
She’s been hit with a lot—not just my existence. Although I’m not much to look at, at least I don’t have two-inch fangs like some of my splicer brothers. But she was also informed that for the next twenty months of her life, she’ll be under house arrest at best and incarcerated at worst. Even through all that, she’s handled it like a champ.
Except she’s not.
She’s teary-eyed as she pushes her possessions through the hole in the ground. By the time she wiggles under the fence and stands up, she’s full-on crying. As I search my mind, I realize I’ve never felt this guilty.
I swallow and bite my lip as I vow to make this as easy on the woman and her dog as I possibly can.
Chapter Nine
Cally
Though I’m not exactly an Oscar-worthy actress, I’m doing an admirable job of crying. It’s not too big of a stretch. I mean, just about anyone else on Earth would be crying right now. I certainly have good reason.
It’s just that this has nothing to do with my sadness, and everything to do with a bid for sympathy. And distraction. I’ll play the poor pitiful me card and keep Sylas from noticing that I slipped my cell phone into my backpack while I rummaged in the car for my camera.
