To Be Free (7 page)

I slip into the kitchen, the
setting heavily modern compared to the rest of the lodge: gas
ranges, electric lights hanging from the ceiling, and large metal
doors leading to a walk-in freezer, fridge and cupboard.

I slip into the freezer,
swearing a little at the cold, and glance around while I hug my
arms - I forgot to take my cloak back when he got up.

There are boxes and buckets
stacked, each labelled with the item currently within its confines,
and I find exactly what I'm looking for when I walk a little more
into the freezing depths. All it takes afterwards is a quick trip
to the cupboard for a few more items and a few minutes to hunt down
a pot I place over one of the ranges so the water can boil, and
prepare the other ingredients while it boils.

Sebastian finds me after I pull
out a pan to cook the meat, grilling it in small chunks to be put
in the broth afterwards. The smell of spices is thick in the air
and making my stomach growl, reminding me that I haven't had a
decent meal in twenty-four hours at the very least - it feels
longer than that, though.

"Hey, quick question," I shoot
at him as he pulls himself up onto the stainless steel counter
behind me. He makes a sound that prompts me to continue, towelling
his hair dry with vigour. "Do you have a nickname of some sort?
Your name's a bit of a mouthful."

He pauses, blinking at me while
his brain makes the connection between my words and their meaning,
and in that time I finish sautéing the chicken and slip it into the
broth of noodles and spices. The familiar smell gives me a feeling
of homesickness, remembering when I'd be sick as a kid and my
mother made me this very meal so I could feel better - and later,
when Annie would get sick she'd show me how to make it.

"Seb," he says after a while,
letting the towel rest over his shoulders now. The soft glow of our
suits lights up the immaculate kitchen, hurting the eyes if we
accidentally catch the flare.

I find the shelves where they
keep the dishes and cutlery, pulling out two bowls and spoons so I
can shovel some of the concoction into the porcelain confines. Then
I hand him one, which he takes carefully as the steam rises.

"We're lucky they use gas
stoves," he muses quietly, taking a cursory sniff and smiling. He
sets it down briefly while I lean on the counter opposite him,
cradling the warm bowl in my hands and relishing in the warmth.
"Here, I brought you this."

Reaching to his side where a
bundle of cloth lies, iridescent and sort-of invisible to the eye,
he pulls my cloak from the pile and hands it to me with a sheepish
smile, face alight with his fever.

"Thanks," he says as I take it,
and notices the look of confusion that slips on my face so he
clarifies. "You put it on me while I was asleep; it kept me
warm."

"Oh." I slip it on after
putting the bowl down briefly, gladly welcoming the heat the cloth
provides. "It was nothing, really."

"No, it wasn't," he counters,
looking to the steaming bowl at his side. "We're strangers, Quinn,
brought together briefly while we Run, yet you're being awfully
nice to me. I haven't been a stellar travelling companion to begin
with, yet here you are." He's frowning now, biting his lower lip
thoughtfully. "No one's been kind with me for a long, long time -
so much so that I've forgotten what it's like, to be honest."

He scratches at the scars on
his left arm idly, looking up at me afterwards.

"You're even taking care of me
even though you don't know if I'd do the same for you," he
continues, smiling slightly. "You're a kind person, and it's a
shame you got stuck with me."

I know it's his fever talking,
making him say things he probably wouldn't ever say, but I still
rise to his defense.

True, I don't know anything
about him save for his name and the fact that he's tried ending his
life so much he's got visible scars to show for it - not to mention
the emotional and mental ones no one can see - but there's
something about him that makes me want to try to see the inside of
that glass box he's surrounded himself in to show people what he
wants them to see.

"I don't think it's a bad
thing," I tell him, holding his uncanny gaze. "Back at the facility
you could've left on your own and we both know it; hell, you
could've taken anyone else, but instead you took me. Plus, you've
saved my life already, which means a lot.

"Also, you put up with my
questions, which already says a lot," I laugh, completely aware of
how annoying my hundreds of questions can get. "Sure, we're
strangers; but we don't have to be."

Seb doesn't do anything for a
moment - he just watches me, cocking his head slightly to the side
and frowning. I pick up my bowl again and, after making sure it's
substantially cooler, I take a spoonful. The weight of the soup
settles comfortably in my stomach, warming my insides and filling
the ravenous gap that'd formed.

Without another word he follows
my lead, smiling to himself the whole way through seconds.

It takes him two days to break
that fever.

• Like Shadows
  Haunting your Every Step
  

SEBASTIAN

"...and
all
I'm
saying is
that we've wasted enough time as it is." I shoot Quinn a glance
over my shoulder as I zip up my backpack, a little heavier now
thanks to the extra supplies we're carrying. "We can't wait an
extra night; they've already sanctioned off a hundred mile radius
around the facility and we're going to have to be sneaky little
shits to slip by them. They can
find
us, and they will."

"I
know
that," he shoots
back with a clipped sigh. "It's just that you've only just broken
your fever and I don't want you to have a relapse,
alright?"

Pulling the straps over my
shoulders and pulling the cowl from beneath the rucksack, I turn to
face him.

"I appreciate the concern,
really," I appease, crouching in front of him. He looks up, in the
middle of zipping up his own, and blinks, slightly startled at how
close I am in comparison to a minute ago. "I think I'll manage,
though; I've scrounged up some extra medication from the other
first aid kits in the store and I'll take them for a few more days.
Alright?"

He frowns at me, clearly
displeased, but sighs in defeat regardless as he pulls the zipper
shut. The man stands, pulling the straps over his own shoulders and
pulling the cowl over his head to shadow his features.

"How far is it to the first
camp site?" he asks, watching me stand as well. I frown, thinking
that one through a minute.

"I'd say about eight hours," I
inform him, scratching my hair. It's been ages since I've been able
to shower daily, and looks like I'm going to have to live without
that luxury for a bit longer. "They're expecting us to go either
north or south, so we'll follow the north-eastern trail that'll
take us into the depths of the woods and continue north when we get
to the other outpost three days' walk from here."

"If it's eight, we could skip
the first and go to the second," he notes, and I'm shaking my head
before he even finishes, pulling my cowl over my own head.

"The second is about sixteen
hours away from the first," I tell him, and here he curses softly,
carding a hand through his dark fringe. His hazel eyes look almost
blue in the pre-dawn light filtering from behind the trees. "We'd
be walking until sunrise."

"Alright, we'll stick to the
original plan, then," he says, shrugging a shoulder. "I also trust
your sense of direction more than mine, so I'll leave you to guide
us, okay?"

"Not that it's very
complicated," I scoff, pulling the straps of my backpack higher
onto my shoulders, wincing slightly as they dig into my skin
painfully. "There's a path cutting clearly through the forest -
well, sort of, anyways."

He's frowning at me, pulling on
the edge of his cowl as if it could go any further over his face if
he just pulled enough.

"If it's so obvious, won't they
see us coming from a mile away?" Quinn questions, and I avoid the
urge to roll my eyes at him, reminding myself that it's not his
fault he was sheltered in his little fantasy for the last few
years.

To be honest... I really ought
to be a lot fairer to the man and give him some credit. He's taking
all of this pretty well, and he's been through hell and back the
same way I have.

At the very least, I could
maybe learn to trust him a lit-

No. Not even
that. I can't afford to let anyone else in like that again - just
the thought of it makes my heart beat once painfully in my chest.
Something lodges itself in my throat, and I'm pretty sure
that
something
is
the organ beating beneath my ribcage.

I just can't let another soul
see me so vulnerable. I can't give anyone else the power to break
me, although to be fair they wouldn't have much to break...

It's not like you can fix
something you can't see in the first place.

"Around the ten-mile mark we'll
be skirting through the woods instead," I remark, shrugging a
shoulder and glancing out the frosted glass to the drizzling land
beyond the safety of the walls. "If need be, there's a sort of
'underground' part of the hike, though it's not on the lodge's
itinerary."

Eleven looks at me blankly,
confused, and I clarify.

"They used it to smuggle
alcohol during the probation," I supply flatly, and he snorts into
his hand.

"
God bless
America
, right?"

Laughing lightly, I carefully
open the door as quietly as I can, slipping out into the darkened
evening air - having decided that it'd be somewhat safer if we
moved at night, when Recon One will more likely be exhausted and
lazy - and waiting for Quinn to make it out after me before I slip
it shut as quietly as I can. The rain hits the cowl thrown over my
head almost noisily, running down the lengths of the fabric
covering our bodies.

I have a slight headache
tickling the edge of my consciousness, barely perceptible, but it's
not exactly caused by anything that medication can cure. I only
wince whenever light hits my eyes a little too harshly, the edges
of the sky alight with a red glow of the setting sun - the only
indication of time passing, the rest of the sky a vast stretch of
furious clouds.

The trail begins after a quick
half-run along the side of the lodge, following a dirt path slick
with mud that threatens to make us fall to its crude embrace, and
stretching into the dark depths of the forest full of leaves
already promising the approach of fall. The leaves and pine needles
are turning different shades of orange and red, and they swallow us
whole as we trek through its trap.

Quinn and I don't speak much
through the first few miles we put between us and the lodge; both
of us lost in our own musings and the circumstances that brought us
both here in the first place, and ignoring the worsening weather as
best as we can along the way.

The path is relatively
straightforward, following a gradual incline and slope as we
carefully step along the slick earth promising us free skating
lessons sooner or later. There are a scattering of all sorts of
trees around us with their leafy arms stretching out towards us,
fingers trying to snare us. The rain lets up long after my ankles
have started throbbing and we pass the latest landmark: a natural
spring surrounded by the skeleton of a home, nothing worth writing
home about in weather like this.

Cloak sitting heavily on my
shoulders, weighed with the rainfall that visits us in bursts - I
gave up on tugging my cowl on and off, and it now simply slits
behind my neck - I propose a respite and find a decent enough perch
on one of the rocks within a ring of the boulders jutting from the
earth in a manner similar to teeth, and pull off my pack with a
sigh of relief.

Eleven sits nearby, leaving a
respectful distance between us as he, too, removes his burden and
sets it on the muddy ground to massage his calves, wincing.

"We've still got a ways to go,"
I inform him breathlessly, but he waves off the information and
stands, slipping slightly on the mud and heading into the bushes
with a crude remark thrown over his shoulder - to put it more
kindly than he, he's going to see a man about a horse.

I do likewise, heading in the
opposite direction for the sake of privacy, and return once I've
taken care of business to see him rifling through his pack,
returning victorious with a canteen and a pack of dried fruit. He
sits down just as I slip on a patch of mud, struggling for purchase
and finding none a split second before I fall unceremoniously to
the waiting earth below.

Quinn laughs as I land with a
bone-jarring thud on my ass, and I curse his mother's grave as I
pick myself back up, my vision tilting dangerously and a thick red
haze pulling at the objects around me. Staggering, I lean against
the nearest tree and close my eyes, breathing carefully and trying
to ignore the ringing in my ear and the hushed, excited whispers in
my ears - choosing instead to focus on Quinn's ramble, though
trying to find his curious voice in the cacophony of chaos in my
ears is near impossible.

Imagine standing in the middle
of the world's biggest marketplace, and everyone's talking at the
same time to the point where you can't hear your own thoughts. Now,
add that to the sight of seeing more than one place at once, and
you'll just about have me.

"Seb?" I hear, and I latch onto
that voice and tiredly motion with my hand for him to keep talking,
breathing shallowly through my mouth. He does so, carefully, and
starts talking about his wife - or ex-wife, now. "I met her through
a friend of mine..."