Jess Haines - Enslaved By the Others

A few cars passed by now and again, including a cop car or two, but I didn’t dare flag any of them down. There were also occasional driveways and dirt paths swept free of snow. I didn’t know where those paths led, or who lived in the houses out here in the middle of nowhere. Even though I was tired and hungry and the blisters on my feet from ill-fitting shoes were making this trek even more miserable than it was already, I didn’t trust a damned thing about this neighborhood. If they were Max’s neighbors, even if they didn’t know him directly, they would be too likely to call the cops or other unwanted attention down on me.

It might have been paranoid of me, but knowing what I did about how Royce ran his city, I would not be surprised if Max had his fingers in all the local community service pies. Police. Fire department. Hospitals. Who knew? By now, the word was likely out that he wanted me. I had no phone, no local contacts, ill-fitting clothes and shoes—but I did have one thing.

I had free will.

Funny, free will doesn’t make your hurts any less painful, or your teeth stop chattering from cold, but it sure makes it easier to carry the burden and appreciate the smell of fresh air. And to mentally tell that creeping intruder, who was still insisting now and then that I return, to take a hike straight to the corners of Fuck and Off. I would be following my own path, not the one he wanted for me.

He probably figured out before too long that I had built up some resistance to his mind tricks, or that more pain wasn’t going to be the goad that drove me back to him. The pressure of his mental intrusion didn’t stay with me; it only came up intermittently. The savagery of it told me he was growing impatient, and might also mean their tracker probably wasn’t working. I took it as a good, if uncomfortable, sign.

When I reached a crossroads, I stopped, uncertain. My sense of direction wasn’t that great without the sun or any stars visible to guide me, but there were lights in the distance. Not just streetlights or house lights. A gas station or small store, I thought, though I couldn’t be sure at this distance.

On the one hand, it was a well-lit, relatively public space, and they probably had a phone. On the other, Max might have sent someone ahead to keep an eye out for me, or told someone there to contact him if I showed my face. The tracker might even tell him where to send people to pick me up if I went to a local landmark.

It was a dilemma, but I preferred taking the risk of needing to run over dying slowly of exposure.

After making a note of the street names, limping a little faster, I focused on that light like it was the last glass of water in the desert. All that mattered was reaching my salvation—and Sara’s. Even if they caught me and dragged me back, if I could get on the phone just long enough to tell Royce where we were, he’d send someone to save us.

It felt like an age crawled by before I made it to the edge of the parking lot of what turned out to be a twenty-four-hour gas station and mini-mart. Pulling out the wallet of ... hmm ... John Smith, if his license was to be believed (not in this lifetime), I checked for cash. Luckily, in addition to a few receipts, there were some bills in there. A couple hundreds, which just made everything easier, as well as a few twenties. I could make my call to Royce, get a cab, and maybe a night in a decent hotel.

It probably wasn’t going to help much, considering what I was wearing, but I took a little time to finger-brush my hair and pluck the worst of the burrs and dead leaves off of myself. I’m sure I still looked like a slice of hell warmed over. I know I felt like it, anyway.

Pulling out a twenty, then stuffing the wallet in an inside pocket, I hobbled my way across the pavement and just inside the doorway, squinting against the bright lights as I got my bearings. The teenaged clerk behind the counter stared at me, his gum falling out of his mouth to land with a wet “plop” on the magazine he’d been reading.

“Um, hi,” I said, then cleared my throat to sound less like an asthmatic smoker. “Got a pay phone?”

He shook his head, eyes never leaving my face, still giving me a mute stare. I scrubbed a hand over my cheek self-consciously, breaking eye contact to see if there was anything in the store I could use. Ooh, potato chips. That sounded awesome right about now.

Limping across the linoleum, I got myself a bottle of some red sports drink, a bottle of water, some chips, and a handful of protein bars. The coffee was tempting, but I didn’t think it would be a good idea with how wind-burned my chapped lips felt. I dropped the stuff on the counter, plucked a container of lip balm out of a display bin next to the register, and put the twenty down.

“Look,” I said, as the guy rotely began ringing up my items, finally remembering his manners as he focused on the pile I set before him. “I’m lost and I don’t have a car or a cell phone. Do you have a phone I can borrow to make a couple calls? Please? I’ll pay you.”

He gave a nervous laugh. “Sure. Jeez, lady. Are you okay? Do you want me to call an ambulance or something? You don’t look so good.”

I shook my head, probably harder than necessary. “No. Thank you, but no. Just a phone. Maybe a number to call a cab?”

He pulled an ancient phone book out from under the counter and a very modern cell phone from his pocket. I took them and the sports drink with me and moved a few feet away to get a semblance of privacy. The kid watched me like I was his favorite reality TV show. Probably looked more interesting than whatever was in that magazine he was reading.

I dialed Royce first, sipping at the drink. I almost choked on it when he picked up. He was better at answering his phone to unknown numbers than I was, that was for sure.

“If this is a new number, Euphron, I’m having it blocked. You put the agreement in writing and send it via Athena, or no deal.”

“I’m ... uh ... it’s not Max.”

Royce didn’t respond right away. When he did, his voice was hushed, strained, like he didn’t quite believe it was me. “Shiarra?”

“Surprise,” I said, sounding lame even to my own ears.

“I—gods above and below, I thought—”

I wanted to tell him how much I missed him. How much I needed him, and how scared I was—but I didn’t have time for it. If the words passed my lips, I was going to start crying and never stop. I didn’t want to end up falling into hysterics and scaring the poor kid who was watching me so avidly. There would be time for that later, once I was alone.

“I’m on a borrowed phone,” I said, voice thick around the lump in my throat. “I just—Royce, I need—I just got away from Max. Sara’s still there. Still with him. She needs help. Please.”

“Gods be damned. Why didn’t Francisco say—your pain—the fear and the ... I thought I’d lost you. What in the name of the gods happ—no. No, there will be time for that later,” he said, sounding more rushed and flustered than I’d ever heard him before. I was a little too shell-shocked to be startled that he knew I was hurt, but a part of me was glad that our connection was strong enough that he understood just how bad off I was without me having to explain. He took a shuddering breath, audible even over the cell phone connection. “Where are you? Give me the address.”

I turned to the clerk, who scribbled it down on a piece of paper for me when I asked. We were in a suburb of Illinois I’d never heard of. Of course. Max’s home stomping grounds were in Chicago, so why was I even surprised? After cursing my luck, I then repeated the information back to Royce. The vampire didn’t ask twice, which was good, because I wasn’t sure I had enough strength or nerve left to focus on that chicken-scratch writing to repeat it again.