The Loyal Ones

Chapter 13: Escape

Lyle was not happy about the burn. Him and Gita tore into each other for days, until they went through everything from money to Gita's dead family.

Dally couldn't care. The fight was hard to sit through, ringing in his ears along with the permanent fever-ache. But, fighting didn't fix it. In a week the burn turned purple, then black, wet and soft. It hurt. Of course he knew it would, but it was somehow always still surpising how much it hurt. He tried to only cry at night, when the others were asleep. And, since he was already awake, he had plenty of time to make plans.

First things first, though: each night after falling in his bunk, Dally had struggle through a feverish fantasy about going stray. The forest was dark and wild, and soon Jona would send him into it again, chasing after deer. All Dally had to do was... keep running. He would eat boar and fish and wild fruit, and sing on his own, and never change back to his pathetic home form for the rest of his life. He could lie down in the snow, and let it suck the fever heat right out of him.

It was just a dumb dream. Maybe some other thrall could do that; live in the woods, hunting the beautiful deers until spring. Then the woods would thaw, and the Department of Logistics and Assets would catch up with them. That other thrall could end up in a camp, or get sold back to one of the corporations in a reclamation lot. At least somewhere not-here.

That wasn't what would happen to Dally, though. When the Deps caught Dally he would end up back here, because he was loved. And when Lyle got him back, Dally would never get another chance to run. His first try had to work. No more mistakes.

What else was there, though? He could bribe Hannock, maybe. With cigarettes he didn't have. To do a job-ending, illegal favour. Okay. He could... steal a car...?

When Dally's burn was finally turning to pink scars, twelve of the thralls were told to carry their blankets and spare uniforms to a barn across a field from the house. Dally went with them, and Red. Frost crunched under their boots as they walked, in silence. She still wasn't talking to him, and he kept choking on the apology he owed her.

Lane wasn't in the small group, which felt weird, somehow. Then Dally thought a little more, and looked around at the near-human faces of the others. All of them were pretty, and young. If there were any extra parts cut off it wasn't obvious. Walking across a muddy field to a barn for unknown reasons didn't even bother them; they knew they were valuable.

The Requisition was coming, Dally realised, suddenly. That was it. This group here was the keepers. He rubbed hard at his chest through his shirt, feeling a fresh ache in the burn. After everything, Lane wasn't even good enough to keep?

"We should have said goodbye," he said.

Red glanced at him, sidelong. "We did? I said 'see you later, jerks."

"I mean for real."

For a second it looked like she'd ask, then she glared and kicked at a clod of frozen dirt.

The barn was a crumbling cave of rotten oak, with stalls that were probably meant for horses. With the doors closed the only light came from holes in the roof, and fell in bright shafts full of dust. In the dark the others poked around, finding a mummified cat and a bucket they could melt snow in, and throwing clumps of dirty hay at each other. The whole time they giggled, swapping bits of joke songs. They didn't know why they were here, but this was the most interesting thing that had happened in months. It still surprised Dally how sheltered these manor house thralls were; where Dally grew up no one could be relaxed about getting sent away to a barn. He himself was quiet, not willing to ruin it for them. There was a vague idea prickling at the back of his skull.