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Authors: Michaela Wright, Alana Hart
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us.”
“How? How do they punish you?”
Theron lunged down to his knees in front of her, taking her hands in his. She stiffened, but fought not to let the touch draw a sound again.
Good grief, why did he affect her this way?
“They take food away. Sometimes, they give us less gas for the generators. Sometimes, none at all. If we do something they don’t like, they make sure we don’t do it again.”
Theron stared at her face, and she let him this time.
Finally, when she spoke, her voice wavered. “They know our movements. Please, don’t try anything. They’ll hurt you, and then they’ll punish the rest of us, too.”
He squeezed her hand, then stood up, marching toward the door. “I don’t have a tracker.”
Sinead’s brow furrowed. “You don’t?”
Theron was at the door now. She rose from her seat, wanting to stop him half to keep them all safe, and half to simply keep his company.
How had such an abrasive, intolerable man become so gentle so quickly?
Well, somebody did try to kill him, she thought.
“What are you going to do?”
Theron stood at the door a long moment. “I don’t know. But I can’t -” He stopped, touching his hand to the wall of the school house. “I have to do something.”
With that, he stepped out into the open air. The school house grew cold in his absence – in more ways than one.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THERON
He turned for the door. “I don’t know, but I can’t – I have to do something.”
He stopped, turning back to inspect her pale face. Her cheeks were growing pink from the cold that filtered into the schoolhouse.
He imagined her curled up by some warm fire, wrapped in a handmade quilt with a cup of hot cocoa in her hands.
He’d listened to her story, imagined the kind of courage it must’ve taken a woman from the south to choose internment over freedom, all because she’d grown loyal to the children in her class. It had softened him to everything about her.
Despite his best efforts. Despite recalling her letting him be dragged toward the electric fence and certain death – he’d softened.
He’d more than softened, but he didn’t dare admit that, even to himself.
He thought of her scratching math equations with pebbles on a worn down old chalkboard, a tracking device lodged under the skin of her forearm.
I’ll come back to see you? He thought.
It was a question, but he didn’t say it out loud.
The wind was kicking up something fierce by the time Theron reached the water. He was going to do a perimeter check – inspect the fence for holes, weaknesses, anything that might give him a clue of escape.
He soon realized what a difficult job that was.
The fence was easily fifteen feet high in some parts, the metal wires running parallel to the ground, each about a foot and a half distance from the one below it. Theron walked down to where the grass gave way to the first few stones of the shoreline, aching to just take a few more steps and feel the frigid touch of the water.
Theron walked over to one of the tall fence posts – a metal rod drilled into the earth, anchoring the wires every ten or so yards. Theron got as close as he safely could. There was no sign of rust or frayed wires. As he reluctantly had to admit to himself, this fence had been built to last.
And to top it all off, every third fence post had a camera atop it.
Theron turned northward, listening to the constant hum of the wires, like some foreboding war cry that taunted anyone who might come near. Theron walked for a long while, listening to the sound of waves, the rising wind, and the hum of electricity meld into one strange, hypnotic song.
He wasn’t thinking of mom or of the awful things he’d said before he left Blackrock. He wasn’t thinking of home and how the rez was fairing with the rise of police detail. He wasn’t thinking of his friend John and his wife, or his sister Maggie – he was thinking of Sinead and of the winter that was
“How? How do they punish you?”
Theron lunged down to his knees in front of her, taking her hands in his. She stiffened, but fought not to let the touch draw a sound again.
Good grief, why did he affect her this way?
“They take food away. Sometimes, they give us less gas for the generators. Sometimes, none at all. If we do something they don’t like, they make sure we don’t do it again.”
Theron stared at her face, and she let him this time.
Finally, when she spoke, her voice wavered. “They know our movements. Please, don’t try anything. They’ll hurt you, and then they’ll punish the rest of us, too.”
He squeezed her hand, then stood up, marching toward the door. “I don’t have a tracker.”
Sinead’s brow furrowed. “You don’t?”
Theron was at the door now. She rose from her seat, wanting to stop him half to keep them all safe, and half to simply keep his company.
How had such an abrasive, intolerable man become so gentle so quickly?
Well, somebody did try to kill him, she thought.
“What are you going to do?”
Theron stood at the door a long moment. “I don’t know. But I can’t -” He stopped, touching his hand to the wall of the school house. “I have to do something.”
With that, he stepped out into the open air. The school house grew cold in his absence – in more ways than one.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THERON
He turned for the door. “I don’t know, but I can’t – I have to do something.”
He stopped, turning back to inspect her pale face. Her cheeks were growing pink from the cold that filtered into the schoolhouse.
He imagined her curled up by some warm fire, wrapped in a handmade quilt with a cup of hot cocoa in her hands.
He’d listened to her story, imagined the kind of courage it must’ve taken a woman from the south to choose internment over freedom, all because she’d grown loyal to the children in her class. It had softened him to everything about her.
Despite his best efforts. Despite recalling her letting him be dragged toward the electric fence and certain death – he’d softened.
He’d more than softened, but he didn’t dare admit that, even to himself.
He thought of her scratching math equations with pebbles on a worn down old chalkboard, a tracking device lodged under the skin of her forearm.
I’ll come back to see you? He thought.
It was a question, but he didn’t say it out loud.
The wind was kicking up something fierce by the time Theron reached the water. He was going to do a perimeter check – inspect the fence for holes, weaknesses, anything that might give him a clue of escape.
He soon realized what a difficult job that was.
The fence was easily fifteen feet high in some parts, the metal wires running parallel to the ground, each about a foot and a half distance from the one below it. Theron walked down to where the grass gave way to the first few stones of the shoreline, aching to just take a few more steps and feel the frigid touch of the water.
Theron walked over to one of the tall fence posts – a metal rod drilled into the earth, anchoring the wires every ten or so yards. Theron got as close as he safely could. There was no sign of rust or frayed wires. As he reluctantly had to admit to himself, this fence had been built to last.
And to top it all off, every third fence post had a camera atop it.
Theron turned northward, listening to the constant hum of the wires, like some foreboding war cry that taunted anyone who might come near. Theron walked for a long while, listening to the sound of waves, the rising wind, and the hum of electricity meld into one strange, hypnotic song.
He wasn’t thinking of mom or of the awful things he’d said before he left Blackrock. He wasn’t thinking of home and how the rez was fairing with the rise of police detail. He wasn’t thinking of his friend John and his wife, or his sister Maggie – he was thinking of Sinead and of the winter that was
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