by L. S. O'Dea
It was not a question. Mirra was not going to like the change in plans.
Gaar nodded. “Yes, but first—”
“No, first,” said Mirra. “Trackers sick. Guards hurt them. Trackers weaker now.”
“Have you been back to the camp?” Gaar’s voice rose and his body seemed to enlarge with his anger. “I told you not to go there. It’s not safe.”
Trinity held the backpack like a shield in front of her, glancing from Tracker to Handler.
“Bah, it fine. Guard no catch Mirra. Guard leave. Walk right under tree. He no see Mirra. He no smell Mirra. He stupid.”
“They are not all stupid.” He stomped over to the Tracker until only a few inches separated them. “Do not go there again. Do you understand me?”
“We free Trackers. Now!” Mirra’s lips twitched, displaying her fangs.
“No.” His nostrils flared, as he held Mirra’s gaze.
They stood like this for several moments. Their breath came in pants and the hair on Mirra’s back bristled.
Trinity couldn’t let them fight. They didn’t really want to hurt one another. Mirra just needed her serum. “Gaar has to do one more thing. Then—”
The Tracker turned on her, teeth bared. She stumbled backward. Her heart didn’t just skip a beat this time but tried to escape through her mouth.
“Mirra go now!”
“I said later,” roared Gaar.
Mirra turned back to him, eyes gleaming. They stared at each other for a long time, circling as if sizing up their opponent. Then, Mirra blinked and glanced down.
Gaar’s shoulders sagged a little. “We’ll go soon. I promise. We have to keep Little One safe. You want that don’t you?” Gaar’s voice was still firm but the ferocity had left.
She eyed the Tracker. She wasn’t so sure that Mirra cared if she were safe any longer. A few minutes ago the Tracker looked ready to kill her.
“Keep Little One safe. Then free Nirankan and others.”
He nodded and slowly reached out, running his hand along the Tracker’s back in a caress. “Yes. I have to go into town again. You take Little One to the Finishing Camp and protect her. I’ll be back in a few days, depending on how many Guards I have to avoid.”
Mirra’s lip twitched, but she nodded.
“As soon as I get back, we’ll go to the Tracker Camp. I promise.”
Mirra turned around. Trinity fought the urge to move closer to Gaar as she slipped her backpack over her shoulders. She took a deep breath and climbed onto the Tracker’s back, her hands sliding into the soft, warm fur.
Mirra trotted into the trees, grumbling under her breath. “You no keep you promise before. Why Mirra believe you now?”
She turned to tell Gaar but he’d already disappeared into the brush. He’d better hurry back. She wasn’t sure how long she could keep Mirra away from the Tracker Camp.
CHAPTER 11
BENEDICTINE STARED OUT THE window of the carriage as he and Jethro traveled to Professor Conguise’s laboratory. He’d told his wife, Martha, and his son the good news last night at dinner. Today, Jethro fairly bounced with excitement, chattering about all the things he was going to do once he could walk. He turned and smiled at the boy, hiding his concern. Surgery was risky. He wanted his son whole but he’d rather the boy remain in the wheelchair than lose him completely.
Jethro was an attractive lad, taking after his mother with his black hair and blue eyes. He suspected that his son’s normal, upbeat demeanor was a front. The boy had few friends and no female friends. That couldn’t be easy for an eighteen-year-old, but all that would change, unless Jethro wasn’t a good candidate. The boy would be devastated if he couldn’t have the surgery. He should have kept it a secret until they knew for sure, but it was too late for that.
They pulled onto the long driveway which was heralded by trees with leaves of autumn colors.
“It’s beautiful,” said Jethro, looking around.
This was affluence. The lawn manicured to perfection, the house, a stately two story brick, sitting at the end of the driveway. If only there hadn’t been the escape years ago, he could have done so much better for his family. He was smart and determined. He’d been so excited when they’d given him the opportunity to manage the Handler and Tracker camps, but that wasn’t working out as planned. The Trackers and Handlers would not stop killing each other. The camps would probably be closed shortly, but right now, that was the least of his problems. There was still no sign of the Producer. If he didn’t catch her and word got out, he may lose the Producer Camps too.
“What’s wrong, Dad?”
“Nothing. Just work.” He smiled slightly.
“You work too hard. After college, I’ll take care of you and Mom. Then you can retire.”
He laughed to hide his disappointment. The boy didn’t realize that without assistance from someone in power, college didn’t matter. Jethro would be nothing more than the manager of Producer Camps.
The carriage stopped and he jumped down. He pulled out Jethro’s chair and set it up. Then he lifted his son and placed him in the chair.
“This is a really nice carriage,” said Jethro. “Can I have your old one?”
It was a nice carriage. It was suspicious that one of Hugh’s Guards ruined his carriage around the same time that Hugh needed the mother Producer. He’d have to send Jackson to investigate the accident. Perhaps, he could persuade Hugh to grant Jethro an internship after all. As long as he kept the escape a secret, Jethro could have his legs and a future. “No. It’s gone. One of Hugh Truent’s Guards drove into it. He gave this one to me as a replacement.”
“Where’s the old one? Maybe, I can fix it?”
“That’s a good question.” He ruffled his boy’s hair. “I’ll see if Jackson can find out. Hugh said it was ruined beyond repair.”
Jethro’s face fell a bit. He’d get the boy another carriage and a career. No matter what, nothing should darken his son’s life again.
They entered the laboratory. There was a sense of sterility and precision in the spotless white floors and bright lights. Some of the tension slipped away. This was a professional environment. Everything here would be meticulously planned and executed.
The receptionist, an attractive, red-haired Almighty of about thirty years, escorted them into the clinic. He’d never cheated on Martha, had never even considered it, but he couldn’t help watching this woman walk. She had a fine backside. He glanced to his right. His son was appreciating the view also. He bit back a smile. Oh, to be young again.
The trip was too short and soon the receptionist handed them over to a nurse, Ms. Parker. She was older and not attractive, but she was organized and had an air of proficiency about her that set his mind at ease.
Ms. Parker took them into the laboratory. She and others began running numerous tests on his son. They withdrew several vials of blood, took X-rays and performed an MRI. They checked Jethro’s range of movement and sensitivity to touch and pain. Jethro had been through these tests several times over the years, but hopefully, the end result would be different today.
It was several hours later before they were escorted into Professor Conguise’s office. The professor sat behind his desk, studying a lab report and stood when they entered.
“Mr. Remore,” said Conguise.
“Please, call me Benedictine.” He shook the professor’s hand.
“Nice to meet you. You too, Jethro.” The professor shook hands with the boy. “I’d like to speak with your father in private. Ms. Parker is outside waiting for you. She’ll take you to the lunch room for a snack.”
Benedictine nodded and Jethro left the room. The professor sat down.
“Please sit,” said Conguise, motioning to the chair in front of the desk. “I have the results of the tests.”
“Already?” Usually, they had to wait weeks.
“Perks of running your own lab.” The professor smiled kindly.
He should smile, but he couldn’t. He’d never be
en good at the pleasantries others expected. He was more comfortable with directness and action. “And?”
Conguise’s eyes flashed for a moment and then he smiled again. “Everything looks good. Your son is a fine candidate for this surgery.”
He exhaled, relief washing through him. “I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath.” He laughed. “Jethro will be thrilled. This is great news. I can’t wait to tell—”
“There is still the fee,” interrupted the professor.
“What? Oh, the fee. Of course.” Hugh hadn’t said anything about a fee, but he should’ve guessed. There were expenses for the anesthesia and other surgical supplies.
The professor slid a paper across the desk to him.
He looked at it. This couldn’t be right. He didn’t have that kind of money. “I thought…didn’t Hugh Truent speak with you?”
“Yes. I know about the deal you made. However, I was not advised about this until afterward.”
That bastard. He shouldn’t have trusted him. “I can pay monthly.”
“I’m afraid payment is due upfront.”
He fought the bile rising in his throat as he stared at the paper. Jethro would be devastated. How could he tell his son that he’d never be able to walk because his father didn’t make enough money? He’d beg but Conguise didn’t seem to be the type to be swayed by emotion.
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t perform the surgery,” said the professor.
He glanced up. What game was the professor playing?
The professor leaned forward. “I need the offspring.”
By the look on Conguise’s face, he should know what the professor was talking about but his mind was a blank. It was similar to when he had too much to drink, but today he hadn’t had a drop.
“The one you allowed to escape,” said the professor.
“Oh, the Producer.” He nodded and then stopped. “Why?”
“My business. You want the surgery for your son; I want the escaped Producer.”
“I will gladly hand her over when I find her. Do you prefer her dead or alive?” He’d have to discover what was so special about these two Producers, but for now, the important thing was Jethro.
“Either is acceptable.” The professor stood. “Then we are agreed. I will perform the surgery when I have the young Producer.”
He remained seated. This scenario was all too familiar. “No. This time I want my part of the deal completed first.”
“That is not going to happen. If you are unhappy with the arrangement you made with Hugh, it is your problem.” Conguise stared down at him.
“It seems that it’s also yours.” He wasn’t a novice in negotiations. Hugh had tricked him, found his weakness and exploited it when he’d been drinking.
The professor cocked his head like he was studying a quaint but annoying insect. “I don’t see it that way. Please explain.” He sat back down.
“You will not get the Producer until my son has had the surgery.” He was not backing down on this. He’d already lost one bargaining chip.
“There is no hurry for me. Can you say the same?”
“Really?” He leaned in close. “Do you think I’m stupid? The longer it takes for the surgery, the more time I’ll have to discover what is so important about this Producer and her mother.”
“You could look into that even after I have them,” replied the professor calmly.
“But I would have no proof. When, and I do mean when, I discover the importance of these Producers, do you really think that if I still have one I will turn it over for the same deal?” He leaned back and grinned. “The price will be much higher then.”
“We’ll have to wait and see. Things won’t go well for you if this escape becomes public knowledge.” Conguise tapped his finger against the desk. “However, I think I have a solution that will work for both of us. There is a creature, well, two actually, who can find the Producer. They can find anything.” The professor looked directly at him. “A Tracker and Handler.”
Conguise couldn’t be referring to the ones in his camps. They weren’t functional. “The wild ones were exterminated years ago.”
“Not entirely. We left two free. One of each,” said the professor.
“No one told me that.”
“Why would we?” asked the professor, raising a brow.
He slammed his hand on the table. “I run the facility where the new ones are kept. I should know if there is a bonded pair. They are a functional pair, correct?”
“Most assuredly.”
“Gruntshit! All this time, I’ve been working with separate creatures, trying to get them to bond and there is a pair just waiting for me to study. Why wasn’t I informed?”
The professor shrugged. “It’s your job to figure out how to pair them up. Not ours.”
“I should have been told.” It was just like those in power to withhold pertinent information. How did they expect anyone to succeed?
“Perhaps, but let’s continue. Shall we?” asked the professor.
He took a deep breath and nodded. The important thing was Jethro. The Trackers and Handlers could wait.
“We made a deal with Gaar, the Handler. Their lives were spared but they assist us sometimes.”
“Why don’t you contact them yourself?”
“We had a falling out of sorts. They will not work for me.”
“Then kill them,” he said.
“I would love to, but unfortunately, I don’t always get to make those decisions.”
“Ahh. Someone more powerful than you wants them alive.” Conguise was a bit too smug for his taste. He couldn’t resist sticking the knife in a little.
“For now,” the professor said, frowning.
Did that mean the Handler and Tracker were needed alive for now, or that someone else had more power than the professor? He’d ask but he doubted that he’d receive an honest answer. “How do I contact them?”
“First, you don’t contact them. You will never, or should never, communicate with the Tracker. She is”—the professor sighed wistfully–“a magnificent, savage creature.”
“I thought you said that they work for you?”
“I said we made the deal with the Handler not with the Tracker. She does not have the capability to comprehend agreements. You’ll need to go to the Lake of Sins Village and leave a message with the shopkeeper at the general store. It isn’t too far from your home, correct?”
“Yes. Does the Handler live there?” He’d been in the village many times and had never seen a Handler.
“No. He comes into town on occasion for supplies,” said the professor.
“When is he due back?”
“He knows when there is a message for him. I have yet to figure out how. For now, you will have to work with the shopkeeper and pay the Handler.” He opened a desk drawer and pulled out two envelopes. He slid them across the desk. “Give him these as payment, one before he traps the Producer and one after.”
Benedictine looked in the envelopes. There was a small part of a map in each one. “What’s this?” He held up one of the slips of paper.
“It doesn’t concern you.”
“I will not go into this meeting blind.” He was not a fool.
“As you wish. The Handler was told that once he receives all the pieces to the map he is free. He no longer owes us anything. He can then use the map to lead him to a…let’s call it a promised land.”
“No such place exists, does it?” Benedictine slid the piece of paper back into the envelope and sealed it.
Conguise smiled slightly but otherwise ignored his question. “Once the Handler picks up the message, it should only be a few days at most before he delivers the Producer.” The professor stood and held out his hand.
This seemed very mysterious, but he didn’t care. As long as Jethro could walk, nothing else mattered. He stood and shook the professor’s hand.
“I expect to hear from you shortly regarding the Producer. Tell your family that the
preliminary tests came back fine but we’re waiting on one more before the surgery.”
He left the office and gathered Jethro from the lunch room. When they arrived home, he left the boy to update Martha on their day while he sent Jackson to deliver a note to the shopkeeper at the Lake of Sins Village. He poured himself a drink and stared out the window toward the forest. Soon, his boy would be able to walk and all that was truly important would be right in his world.
CHAPTER 12
IT WAS DARK WHEN Trinity arrived at the Finishing Camp. Mirra didn’t bother entering through the gate but instead climbed the tree that Trinity had once thought to use to sneak into the encampment.
“Mirra hungry. Mirra hunt now.” She pulled Trinity off her back.
That was not a good idea. For most of the trip Mirra had been complaining about how long it was taking to free the Trackers. She grasped Mirra’s paw. “The Guards left meat here.”
“No. Mirra want fresh.”
She looked down. “Please, Mirra. I’m still…after what happened with Troy…” She glanced up through her lashes at the Tracker. It wasn’t really a lie. She didn’t look forward to telling Travis and the others that she’d failed in saving anyone from camp.
Mirra patted Trinity’s head. “Mirra stay with Little One.”
She sighed in relief. Mirra would be safe tonight. One day down and who knew how many to go before Gaar returned. They dropped from the tree into the yard and headed toward the back of the Guards’ house where the supplies were kept. She wanted Mirra’s belly full before they encountered any of the Producers.
After they ate, she curled up next to Mirra on some blankets in the supply room. She was a coward. She should face the others and tell them what happened but she wasn’t ready.
They awoke early the next morning. She quickly fed Mirra again. If she kept the Tracker full, Mirra might not feel the need to wander.
They went down by the river to get a drink and wash up. She’d just finished dunking her head to wash her hair when Travis approached, carrying two buckets. He looked good, better than before. His gait was strong and steady and his skin was losing its pallor.
