To Be Free Read online

  I sing softly, closing my eyes and carding my hands idly through his hair, fine strands parting through my fingers. They're soft, surprisingly so, despite the lack of attention in the last few years. Maybe because of the rain.

  When I reach the end of the lullaby, I open my eyes and look down, to see his uncanny eyes looking back at me and an eyebrow arched. There's no sarcasm in the gesture, though; only honest curiosity.

  "I didn't know you could sing," he muses quietly, the breath of a whisper; and like a breath, it's as if that's all that's keeping him alive. Smiling down at him, my fingers resume their trek.

  "There's a lot you don't know about me," I offer easily, and he nods a little, offering me that. "My little sister would have me sing her to sleep when she had nightmares; she'd lie in my bed with me and I'd sing to her. It's her favourite lullaby."

  "It's nice," he admits, returning the smile sleepily. "Was I... having a nightmare?" I nod at his question, and he sighs, breaking my gaze and looking towards the blinds hinting at daylight. "I'm sorry, Quinn, but... thank you. I don't quite remember what I was dreaming about, which is a first and is honestly welcome."

  Reaching for the damp towel at the foot of the bed, I press it to his forehead. He visibly relaxes as he sighs, closing his eyes.

  "You have a fever," I note, and he nods as if he expected as much. "I found some medication you can take, and you should probably shower, too."

  "In a minute," he replies sleepily. "I haven't felt this as ease since... since I was three."

  My eyes widen remarkably, and he's talking again before I can get over my shock.

  "It's because of the women my father dated after my mother died when I was three," he states quietly, and I carefully run the damp towel along his face and the visible part of his neck before it hides behind the collar of the suit. He's smiling, looking as peaceful as when he was asleep - then again, he's half delirious with a fever. "They didn't like me and belittled me when he wasn't around. Some beat me and others locked me in my room for hours, and some just ignored me. He found one he settled with and married when I was eleven, and she was okay. I was... not happy, but not uncomfortable with her, either.

  "Then I met her when I was thirteen, and things went to hell."

  He stops there, going no further, and I don't prompt any more information. I just wipe the sweat from his face and let him relax; something I'm sure he hasn't done in a long, long time.

  "We should probably get moving," he remarks after some time, the words slurred slightly. I realize then that he was on the verge of falling asleep, and for some reason the thought makes me smile. "We need to get further from the facility before they sanction off the nearest hundred miles."

  "We can't go anywhere while you're like this," I counter, and he looks up at me, ready to protest; but I manage to meet his gaze and not flinch, for once. "You have a fever and I'm sure you're well aware that it's a bad idea to leave a safe place until you at least break that."

  "That could take weeks!" he protests, and I press the towel over his eyes, scowling.

  "Not if you take the medication I can scrounge up and you rest. This isn't the optimal location to treat any sickness of any sort, but it'll have to do." The man sighs in defeat, relaxing against me and frowning. I laugh at his childish demeanour. "Get your ass in the shower and I'll get us something to eat, alright?"

  Nodding, he carefully pulls himself up to his feet, swaying slightly before shaking his head to clear it. Without a word the man slips into the bathroom and shuts the door quietly, and for a moment I watch the wooden door without really doing anything. Not thinking or anything; just looking.

  With a sigh I stand as well, leaving the room behind and exploring beyond the reaches we've been through already. As this is a lodge (however small) there should be a kitchen or a dining hall, and after skirting past a staircase that leads up to a second floor of bedrooms I find what I'm looking for: the entrance to a cafe-like dining hall that still somehow has that distinct woodland feel to it. The circular tables and chairs are made of wood and gas lamps hang from the ceiling the way they've been doing in every room thus far - keeping with the theme, no doubt - and three empty buffet tables sit close to a little bar and the door leading to the kitchen.

  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 d
ried 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..."

  His monologue continues on beyond that, but I don't focus on the words so much as the sound of his voice - rising and falling, deep tones that catch the interest of an ear as it brings you along a soothing ride. It's a voice anyone could fall asleep to - and try to fight the nausea. When I open my eyes I can still see the ghosts of hikers past, and even beyond that before this became a tourist hotspot. When he continues on, talking about when she came to tell him she was pregnant, the ghosts fade back to the past and the constricting vise around my lungs loosens, allowing me to breathe deeply again.

  The rush of oxygen almost forces me to my knees, but instead I press my hands to my forehead and push my fringe back, looking into concerned hazel eyes that have gone so many different shades of brown and green since I've met him.

  His voice fades away as he realizes I'm back up to speed, and he leans forward in his seat again, the concern never leaving him.