by L. S. O'Dea
This was a disaster. Instead of doing his job and finding the Producer, he’d spent half the time covering his, Casper and Carla’s scent that was scattered throughout the woods. Now, he had to report what he’d found, which was nothing. Just like last time, there’d been a clear trail and then it’d vanished, although this time there wasn’t the odor of pine and herb, just musky soil. Then the Producer’s scent would appear again miles away. She was traveling with someone. She had to be.
He nodded at Casper who stood before the opening to a Lead Producer’s hut where Benedictine waited for news. The Guard had been left behind to protect their master. At least, that was the story that he’d told the old Guard. The truth was that Casper had caught a cold the last time they were in the forest and would have slowed him and Carla down.
“Any luck?” Casper asked eagerly.
“No.” He tipped his head in a slight nod to let Casper know that their trail was covered as he entered the hut. It was time to inform Benedictine of his failure.
Benedictine Remore sat on a wooden stool at the back of the room. The red and black ceremonial cape of the Almighty was draped over his shoulders almost touching the dirt floor. His brown hair was cut mercilessly short and his white skin gleamed like it had never seen the sun. He stopped chatting with the Lead Producers who surrounded him.
“Jackson, tell me you’ve found the poor thing safe and sound,” said Benedictine, a look of false concern on his face.
The Lead Producers, all adult males, nodded and bobbed their heads like giant pigeons.
He took a deep breath. His punishment would come later when there were no witnesses. “No, sir. We lost her scent.”
“How can that be?” Benedictine’s eyes narrowed.
The Lead Producers murmured their concern.
“I’m not sure, sir. We were hot on her trail and then, nothing. Her scent vanished.”
Benedictine rose.
“I’ve sent out another pack of Guards.” He mentally braced himself. The Almighty might not care if the Lead Producers witnessed his wrath.
“But meanwhile, we have an escaped Producer who is our only witness to the senseless slaughter of five Producers.” Benedictine quickly softened his tone. “We need to find her. Send out additional Guards. Hire or borrow some, but find that Producer immediately.”
“Of course. I’ll go back out with another team.” Relief flooded his body. Benedictine was going to keep up his friendly façade.
“No. You are to escort the parents to my facility where they can wait for news in comfort, away from all this nastiness.”
He bowed and stepped outside, nodding at Casper. Even old, the Guard would have heard the conversation inside the hut so there was no reason to repeat it.
“Carla, come with me,” he said, as he passed a group of Guards.
A middle-aged female with the long legs typical of the hunting Guards trotted over to him. They headed toward a small shack on the outskirts of the encampment.
“How did it go?” asked Carla.
“His wrath has been diverted for the moment. I don’t expect the reprieve to last long once we leave the camp.”
“Oh,” she said, solemnly.
“It’ll be okay.” He patted her on the shoulder.
“We’ll be okay, but what about you?”
He’d survive. He always did. “What did they discover here?”
“The escapee’s scent and tracks were at every killing but no one believes she was involved. No one thinks her capable. She was very small.” She hesitated. “Troy was also at every location.”
He glanced at her. She shrugged.
“Another Lead Producer, Bell, the sire of the young female who was killed, appears to have been drugged. A medic is checking him over. Bell suspects Troy was behind everything.”
Oddly, he wasn’t surprised. The only question left was who or what killed Troy? “What kind of drug was he given?”
“Sleeping. It was his area where Troy and the female escaped.”
“And Bell’s still alive?”
“Apparently, he’s one of Benedictine’s favorites, although it was a close call. Benedictine was furious about the deaths,” she said.
It must be nice. He’d never been spared by the Almighty and he wouldn’t be this time either. The likelihood of them finding the female was slim. Well, they would find her, but probably not before Benedictine punished him for his failure. He should have run away a long time ago, before the tracking device was implanted, before he had responsibilities to the other Guards, before Kim. Who was he kidding? There really never was a before Kim. From the moment he’d met her he’d been lost.
“We’re to escort the parents to Benedictine’s facility,” he muttered as they stepped up to the hut. “I don’t expect any trouble but be prepared just in case.
A small crowd of Producers had trailed behind them and were now gathered several yards away.
“Benedictine’s Guards here to speak with...Trinity’s parents.” He called out, his voice firm, commanding.
A giant of a Producer opened the door. All Producers were large, but this one stood well over nine feet tall and was at least three times his width. It was all muscle too, not an ounce of flab. He glanced at Carla. Her eyes were wide. Producers were generally obedient and docile, but they could do damage if provoked. It was best to forge ahead with authority and not hesitate.
“I need you and your mate to come with us.”
The Producer stared over his head. The whispers of the crowd behind them carried to his ears. So far, the murmurs were concerned and gossipy, not angry. A small female Producer squeezed into the doorway, the male moving aside to give her room.
“Where do you want to take us?” she asked.
This female was not frightened. He sniffed. Well, perhaps a little. “Benedictine has ordered that you wait for the recovery of your offspring at one of his facilities”—he nodded at the crowd—“away from the prying eyes of your neighbors.”
“My caring neighbors are my greatest source of comfort.” She clasped the large male’s hand.
“This isn’t up for discussion,” he said. She was not going to make this easy. Nothing was ever easy anymore.
She glared at him. He almost stepped back from the hatred in her eyes. She’d helped her offspring escape. It was stamped on her features as clear as the trees behind her hut.
“Millie, we should go,” said the male, glancing over Jackson’s head again.
He didn’t turn. He didn’t need to. The crowd’s whispers were harsher now, more hurried. Some of the other Guards were approaching.
“Remy, we need to stay here.” Millie softened her tone. “What if Trinity manages to escape her captor and finds her way back home?”
They were sticking with the offspring-was-forced-to-leave story, but it wasn’t going to work. There were no other scents leaving the camp besides Trinity and Troy’s and only her scent going into the forest.
“She does have a point,” said Remy nervously.
He was already in trouble with Benedictine; he didn’t need any more issues. He stepped closer and whispered, “Before you continue to resist, think about this. I’m the Guard in charge of finding your offspring and we will find her. There is a slight chance that she’ll be alive when we capture her, a young female alone in the woods with no one around but a group of Guards. Male Guards.”
Remy covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes widening. Millie’s small frame trembled with anger.
“If you cooperate, I can assure you that no harm will come to her by me or any of my Guards.”
Millie pushed past him and Carla, walking toward the Lead Producer’s hut, shoulders squared and head high. Remy quickly followed.
“Nice move,” said Carla. “No wonder you win when we play poker.”
He frowned. It’d worked but even the threat of such an act turned his stomach. He was becoming more like his master every day.
CHAPTER 5
AFTER LUNCH,
HUGH ESCORTED his mother into the library. He waited for her to sit and then sat on the chair next to hers.
“You must need a favor,” she said crisply.
“Why do you say that?” It was amazing. She always knew when he wanted something.
“You’re just like your father.”
That hurt. “Whatever do you mean, Mother?”
“Now, don’t be angry. Everything about your father wasn’t bad.”
Untrue. His father had been a colossal ass.
“All I meant was that when you want to lecture me, you sit behind your desk. When you need a favor, you sit near me. Your father used to do the same thing.” She leaned forward and continued in a hushed tone, a twinkle in her eyes. “You may want to shake that routine up a bit to keep Viola on her toes.”
Gruntshit. He did do that. “Fine. I do need a favor.” He couldn’t believe that he was left with this as his only option.
She patted his hand. “What do you want?”
“Can you still contact Birdie?” Growing up, his house had always had some poor creature who needed assistance. His mother had a gift for making everyone feel loved but he couldn’t stand the Avian. The last time that he’d encountered Birdie, the damned creature about snapped his finger off for some unintentional insult.
“Why?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Don’t give me that look. I need his assistance finding the escaped Producer—“
“Trinity,” she corrected.
He wanted to roll his eyes, but that would end this conversation. “Trinity,” he conceded. “Before Benedictine does.”
“And how do you plan on using—”
“Mother, why is it always using when I want assistance from some creature but not when you do?”
“I don’t know. You tell me?” Her tone was icy.
She was angry, and something else. He studied her. Disappointed. In him? He was used to that from his father, but never her.
“The question was rhetorical. I need to contact the Handler and I don’t want to wait until Gaar comes into town for his medication.” He’d received word that the Handler had picked up the serum a few days ago. It would be weeks, maybe even a month before Gaar returned. He was only supposed to use the Tracker and Handler for jobs sanctioned by the Council or the Supreme Almighty himself, but if he took the time to go through the proper channels Benedictine would have already captured and killed the escaped Producer. Besides, no one would find out about this task. Gaar didn’t speak with any of the other Almightys. The Handler had no interest in anyone but Mirra, except to hunt and eat them.
“He and that Tracker are dangerous creatures,” she said.
“I need their help. Will you contact Birdie or not?”
“If I do, you owe me.”
That stung. She’d never resort to those tactics with Tim. “Quid pro quo, Mother? I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“How do you think I survived being married to your father for thirty years?”
He ran his hand through his hair. She deserved an award for that. “What do you want? Before you answer, remember that I’m doing this for Trinity’s benefit. If Benedictine finds her before I do...” He shrugged.
“Promise me that you’ll take care of Timothy, Millie and Trinity,” she said.
“Sure.” That was easy.
She grabbed his hand. “No. I mean it. They have no one besides me who they can trust. I need you to swear that when I’m gone you will make sure that they are kept safe.”
Her hand was cold and frail in his grasp, the bones small and brittle. It struck him like a blow to the chest; she really was dying. He would give her anything in his power but he wouldn’t lie to her. “I can’t promise that. If Trinity really is their daughter then this is big. Bigger than me. I don’t know what will happen.”
“I’ve been telling you all your life that they are not so different from us. You never listened. You’d cite your studies and scoff at me.” She squeezed his hand, to soften her words.
“They are different. Just because two different species can mate doesn’t make them like us.” She’d never understand.
“We are not unique. Why won’t you accept that?”
“Mother, everything we know—”
“Son, I’m dying and it’s not going to be long. I need you to promise me two things. First, make sure that Tim and his family are safe. Second, dig deeper into your studies, but this time do it with an open mind. Remember, someone wrote the facts that your science is based upon. Start from the beginning. Perform your own experiments. The way we live cannot continue.”
“I’ll do my best. It’s all I can promise.” She wouldn’t want his lies. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
She patted his hand, tears welling in her eyes. “I’ll contact Birdie.” She stood and walked to the door, stopping with her hand on the door knob. She faced him. “When I’m gone, remember that I have always loved you. My son.” She touched her heart and turned whispering as she left, “Forgive me.”
He stared after her for a long time. What did she mean by that?
CHAPTER 6
TRINITY SAT ACROSS the fire from Gaar, the late afternoon sun warming her back. This was the first break that they’d taken since leaving the encampment that morning. Her muscles ached and her head pounded. They hadn’t even stopped to refill their water. She stretched, dreading the end of dinner for that would mean it was time to travel again and all she wanted was to curl up and sleep.
Gaar handed her a chunk of bread. Other than a little strain around his eyes, he looked fine. It wasn’t fair. She was beyond exhausted and unlike him, she’d been able to rest a bit when he’d carried her so that her scent trail would disappear. She broke off a small corner of the thick, hard, brown, lump of bread. Less than twenty-four hours ago she’d been eating her mom’s, moist, delicious apple-nut bread. She’d never have that again. Tears built up but she blinked them away. It did no good to think about her mother.
“After we eat, we’ll rest for a while.”
She sighed in relief. She was going to get to sleep.
“I’ll show you how to stay as safe as possible on the ground.” He picked up a stick and began whittling.
Off and on all day, he’d been pointing out forest facts and safety to her like he usually did but today, she’d been eager for the information. Before, she’d only half listened since she’d been planning on returning to camp. Now, the forest was her home and her survival depended on the knowledge she could absorb.
“If possible, you should sleep off the ground. It is always safer up high—”
“True, true, very true,” said a voice from above.
Gaar jumped up, moving in front of her and protecting her with his bulk. She crouched behind him, looking up into the tree. A small winged creature sat on a branch a few feet above them. It had large, black eyes and a bald head. Instead of a nose and mouth it had a beak in the middle of its face. Its body was the size of a loaf of bread and covered in brownish-gray feathers. The bird-man opened his beak in a grotesque imitation of a smile, his tongue wiggling inside.
“Shoo, shoo.” Gaar waved his arms at the creature.
“What is it?” She’d never seen a bird who could speak.
“An Avian,” answered Gaar.
“Oh.” That didn’t tell her anything.
“They usually don’t travel this far into the forest. It must want something.” Gaar sat down by the fire and twisted the knife in his hand, causing the sun to bounce off the shiny steel.
“Not want. I come to deliver a message.” The Avian studied her. “My name is Birchwood, but my friends call me Birdie. What’s your name?”
The Avian had an eager, friendly face and since Gaar was sitting he wasn’t worried so the creature must be harmless. “Hi. My friends call—”
“Avians are notorious gossips.” Gaar glared at her.
She bit back her words. She wasn’t an idiot. She wasn’t going to tell Birdie her real name.
“Not true. Not true,” said Birdie. “I know how to keep my beak shut. Not all of us do, of course, but that is like saying that all Handlers...wait, there are no other Handlers are there?”
Without looking, Gaar flung the knife at the Avion. She screamed at the same time that Birdie squawked, jumping out of the way. The knife landed with a thud in the tree trunk next to the little Avian’s head. A few feathers fluttered to the ground as Birdie readjusted his position on the branch.
“Not quite fast enough,” said Birdie.
“I didn’t really try,” muttered Gaar.
“Of course you didn’t,” said Birdie. “Now, do you want my message or not?”
“Not,” said Gaar.
She looked from one to the other. Birdie seemed friendly enough but Gaar obviously didn’t care for the creature.
“Too bad. Miss Sarah asked this favor of me so I am going to do it,” said Birdie.
Gaar grabbed another hunk of bread and took a bite as he stared into the fire.
“It would be polite to offer me something to eat.” Birdie unfurled and then flapped his wings. His eyes were bright with anticipation and his little tongue waggled out of his beak.
He looked really hungry. When Gaar didn’t move she held out a small piece of bread. Birdie launched himself from the branch and fluttered in front of her hand until he was able to grab the food with his beak. He then flew back to the tree. He placed the bread under one foot and tore off tiny pieces with his mouth.
“Thanks,” he said when he was done. “You are very kind.”
“Just deliver your message and leave,” said Gaar.
Birdie fluffed up his feathers. “Well, as I said, Miss Sarah asked that I do her son a favor. I dislike Hugh, but I owe Miss Sarah. So, I was obligated to help. She saved me once, you know. A kind, kind—”
“Get on with it,” said Gaar.
She couldn’t help but smile at the chipper little creature. Plus, it was fun to see Gaar aggravated by someone other than herself.
