I clean myself in the river, washing out my wounds. The dog bite is bad, but not fatal, and the cold river water takes some of the pain away. What it can’t take away is the smell of the Finisher. When I step out of the water, his scent is still on me and the taste of his fur lingers in my mouth.
It was kill or be killed.
That’s what I tell myself, but it’s not the whole truth.
Something in me enjoyed hurting the Maelstrom dog. It felt like revenge, and it felt good.
Maybe he was right, and we’re both killers. I can’t be sure.
I smell Chance’s scent on the wind, and it pulls me back to the moment. I shiver in the cool dawn air, shaking off water from head to tail. Then I hurry back toward camp to check on the children.
Chance and Junebug have packed up in my absence, and they’re waiting with their backpacks by their sides.
Junebug is startled to see me, and she backs up a little when I come out of the woods.
Is she afraid of me?
I drop my head and whimper, reacting instinctively to the disapproval I feel.
Chance turns when he hears me, his face a mask of concern. “Are you hurt?”
I check the dog bite and realize it’s already stopped bleeding. My metabolism is revving high, speeding up the healing process.
“I’ll be fine,” I say. “What about you two?”
“We’re okay,” Junebug says, but I can feel the tension in the air, and I notice she stays back, maintaining some distance from me.
“We should get out of here,” Junebug says. “The soldiers will be coming for us.”
“We have a little time,” I say. “That dog worked alone as a hunter.”
“He was hunting you?” Chance says anxiously.
I nod. “Turns out there are soldiers and dogs after me.”
“Then we need to go,” Chance says.
I lick my lips and the taste of the Finisher makes my stomach churn.
I hear Dr. Pao’s voice in my head:
You’re not a pet, Wild. You’re a weaponized animal, bred for intelligence, bred for strength and violence.
I turn away from the kids. “I have to leave for a while.”
Chance steps back as if hit by an invisible blow.
“I need some time alone to think about our next move.”
“We know our next move. We’re going home,” Chance says.
It’s hard to hear him so upset, and I fight my desire to stay and soothe him. The truth is I don’t trust myself anymore, and I’m afraid of what might happen if I stay near him.
“The best strategy is to separate,” I say.
“Really?” Junebug stares at me, hands on her hips.
I look up to meet her eye. “If there are other Maelstrom dogs nearby, they’ll follow my trail and I’ll lead them away from you.”
“You mean there might be more of those things?” Chance asks, his arm shaking as he points back to the scene of the fight.
“It’s possible,” I say.
“And you want us to get home without you?” Junebug says. “How does that make sense?”
“You’ll follow the same path down the mountain, and I’ll catch up to you when I’m sure it’s safe.”
“When will that be?” Chance asks. He looks scared and small, standing there in the half-light.
I don’t have an answer for him, and it’s too painful to lie.
“The sun’s coming up. You’d better get going.”
Chance takes a step toward me, and Junebug puts an arm out to stop him. He pushes through her arm and rushes toward me, dropping to his knees, his face even with my own.
He leans in and looks me in the eye.
“Take care of yourself, Wild. When we get down, we’ll head for the group home. I’ll see you there, if not before.”
I turn away, unwilling to tell him the truth—that I don’t think we’ll ever see each other again.