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REN
* * * * * *
2005
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IT TOOK THREE weeks of hiding in rickety sheds, occasional kid tree-houses, and a basement or two before life threw us another curve ball.
I’d searched for something permanent, but this town kept itself too well tended.
The streets were salted and swept of snow every day, the houses painted and cared for. Even on the perimeter of the town, no dilapidated buildings waited to house two homeless kids, and no farm promised space away from people but close enough to ride out the winter by stealing from their supermarkets and larders.
On the third week of searching, I came down with the flu. It was my turn to be shivery and achy, struggling through my daily chores of petty theft and cooking to ensure Della had a full belly to stay warm.
The first couple of days in town, I’d been able to steal her a couple of warmer outfits complete with ski jacket and trousers from a rich family who’d left their kids snowboarding gear on the front porch overnight.
I made do with jeans that got constantly wet and boots that pinched my toes from being too small. I forgot what it was like to be warm and did my best to hide my rapidly fading strength from Della.
She couldn’t suspect I needed a rest. She didn’t need to worry because I carried the worry for both of us. Only thing was, the stuffiness in my nose and cotton wool in my head made my reactions sluggish and instincts falter.
And that was how we got caught.
We’d steadily crept our way toward the boundary of the town and found a farm too far to see the twinkling city lights of its far away neighbours.
It wasn’t abandoned.
Smoke curled from the chimney, recent footsteps melted the snow in the driveway, and the sounds of family laughter trickled through the starless night.
But it was late, and I was done—utterly unable to travel another step with the heavy backpack.
Keeping Della close, I guided her around the back of the cheery looking homestead toward the barn lurking in the darkness. Cracking open the double doors, I coughed heavily and stumbled toward one of the stalls.
Unlike our previous borrowed farm, this one was immaculate with polished brass fixtures, cobweb-free beams, swept cobblestone floor, and freshly-stuffed hay nets currently being munched on by two happy horses, warm and cosy in bright red rugs.
Della’s eyes widened as the creatures snorted at us, ears pricked and swivelling in curiosity. “Can I go pet them?” She drifted toward their stables.
I pinched her shoulder, keeping her by my side. “Maybe later.”
My eyes danced around the space. The tack room smelled of leather and oats, the racks of folded towels and bottles of vitamins and grooming gear sat dust-free and tidy. All this care and neatness meant whoever lived here took pride and time in their home. Our presence wouldn’t go unnoticed, and usually, I’d run.
I wouldn’t take the chance.
But right now, I would most likely tumble into a snowdrift and suffocate before we found anything else. It was this or nothing. And I desperately needed to sleep. I needed a new nose, new brain, new throat, new bones.
I needed to be taken care of, but there was no one to do that, so I sucked up my aches and fevers and smiled at Della who stood in rapture as the horses nickered then continued to devour their hay.
I daren’t crash here where we would be found if the farmer came to check on his beasts. Instead, I looked up to where a loft held sweet-smelling hay and sacks of feed for livestock.
It was as good as it was going to get.
“Come on, climb up,” I barked around a cough, desperate to shed my snow-wet jeans, peel off my icy-damp socks, and crawl beneath our sleeping bag. I was too tired to eat. Too tired to attempt to feed Della.
Guilt drowned my heart along with sickness, but I had nothing left.
I just needed to rest.
Della looked at me worriedly before scooting up the well-made ladder to the loft above. I started to climb after her, but the weight of the rucksack was too much.
I fell back down, tripping over a cobblestone and landing on my ass. I groaned in pain as my ankle rolled and my head snapped forward from the bulk behind me.
Della peered down from above, panic whitening her face. “Ren!”
“Quiet!” I whisper-hissed, very aware that this was a temporary situation with owners extremely close by. “I’m fine.” I needed us to go unnoticed, so I had a few hours to catch up on some sleep before pushing on before dawn. “We have to be quiet, so we don’t get caught.”
She bit her lip, nodding once, even though the desire to climb back down and help shouted all over her tiny face.
With another wet cough and no strength, I shrugged out of the backpack and left it at the bottom of the ladder. Ripping open the zipper, I coughed again and again, cursing the rattle and noise as I yanked out the sleeping bag then hoisted my flu-riddled body up the vertical ladder.
A rush of light-headedness made me trip at the top, and Della squealed as I landed on all fours with the sleeping bag trailing in hay dust.
“Ren.” Her little hands did their best to pull me upright, and I thanked her with a weak smile.
My body was shutting down, forsaking me, leaving me weak and wobbly and useless.
“I can manage, Della Ribbon.” With the promise of sleep within reaching distance, with the knowledge of a roof above our heads, and shared body heat from animals below, my endurance reached its end and threw me head first into exhaustion.
I somehow crawled toward the stacked and inviting looking bales and barely managed to shed my jeans and boots before a deep, flu-congested sleep slammed into me.
* * * * *
“Ren, wake up.” Something shook me. “Ren...please wake up.”
I groaned and swatted at the annoyance.
My teeth rattled as I shivered with a bone-deep chill. I wanted to stay asleep, so I didn’t ache so much, so I didn’t struggle to breathe, so I didn’t know what it was like to freeze to death slowly.
“Ren!” The shout was barely louder than a whisper, but it was delivered straight into my ear, along with the tone of terror and crippling urgency.
My eyes flew open even as my vision remained foggy and gritty. “Wha—” I coughed, loud and wet. Clamping a hand over my mouth, so Della wouldn’t catch this awful bug, I waited for the tickle to pass, but it never did.
The ache in my lungs kept going and going, wrenching out air I needed, tightening around ribs I’d already bruised.
“Ren!” Della curled into me, diving her head over my shoulder in a terrified embrace.
I tried to shove her away. She shouldn’t be close with me this sick, but she glued herself against me, trembling in fear.
I opened my mouth to assure her I was okay, to say the coughs sounded worse than they were, but then I heard what’d spooked her.
What I should’ve heard minutes ago.
What I should’ve never heard because I should’ve been smarter never to stay in a place so well loved by owners that only lived a few steps away.
Footsteps on the cobbles.
A voice murmuring to horses.
Daylight trickled weakly into the space from skylights above.
No!
I shot upright, planting both hands tight over my mouth, willing the wheeze and urge to cough again to vanish.
Someone was below us.
Someone was about to find us.
Della shook harder as I froze in place. My jeans were across the loft where Della must’ve hung them over the ladder rail to dry. My boots were neatly placed out of reaching distance. My socks spread out and smelly on a sack of molasses-infused animal meal.
My bottom half was practically naked, and my top half could barely breathe.
A cough exploded through my fingers, uncaring that it had just condemned both of us to discovery.
“Who’s there?” a female voice snapped.
A horse whinnied, followed by the sound of running footsteps then the creak of the ladder as weight shimmied up it.
“Ren.” Della squirmed closer, seeking comfort and safety that in my stupidity and sickness I couldn’t provide. I’d chosen this place. I’d been the one unable to wake at dawn. I’d been the one who didn’t leave before we were noticed.
I was the one to blame for all of this.
Another cough spilled from my lips as my fever crested, and I blinked back teeth-aching chills.
All I could do was hold Della close and hope to hell I could talk my way out of whatever was about to happen.
A head appeared.
A head with long brown hair the colour of the bay horse below, green eyes, red lips—wariness and anger the perfect makeup on a very pretty face. About my age or slightly older, the girl’s petite hands gripped the ladder as she locked eyes on me.
Three things happened.
One, my flu-riddled body threatened to pass out from added stress.
Two, my boxers tightened as my body reacted to stimuli it’d been denied for months.
And three, the strangest sensation of guilt and unease filled me, because even though she was my enemy, I wanted to know her.
The moment ended as suddenly as it’d begun.
She raised her chin, cocked her head, and snarled, “And just who the hell are you?”
