you.” Twitch paused for a long moment, then asked,“Why are they gunning for you, Hunter? They want you more than anyone else. They don’t give a shit about me, or that I’m down here, escaped. They don’t want you dead, Hunter. They want you alive. They want you to go back. Why?”
Hunter’s heart stopped beating. A memory flooded through her mind. Then with a hard pound, her heart started racing uncontrollably in her chest. Flashes of the farmhouse swirled through her head, images of the barn spinning in and out of her mind. She could still hear the cries, see the blood. Her stomach lurched, churning with raw disgust.
“Because,” she said, “they caught me once.” Her voice trailed off, as her vision softened, losing focus.
It was as if Hunter was slipping away before his very eyes.
“Caught you doing what?” Twitch asked in a low whisper, already terrified to hear the answer.
“A mercy killing.”
Chapter Six
It was sweltering. The sun was high in the sky overhead. There was no escaping the heat. No matter which side of the street Molly walked on, the sun’s burning rays beat down on her. She hadn’t showered in days, and the oily scent of her hair was overwhelmingly foul. The smell seemed to thrive in the heat, festering in the sunlight. As soon as she found food and reconnected with Devon and the girls, she would pool resources and find a way to get a shower. Living like this wasn’t working anymore. She hated the way she stank.
Molly pulled her ratty blond hair up into a ponytail to alleviate her damp neck from the unnecessary hot mop of hair that had covered it all afternoon. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t thought of that sooner. As soon as she secured the ponytail, she felt considerably better.
She caught sight of her hands after lowering them from her head. Her skin was dirty. It was as though soot and grease had stained deeply into each pore. Her fingernails were black. She knew she looked dingy. It was impossible to stay clean out here, rummaging through trash barrels, hoping to find something to eat.
She hooked a right, turning down a side street that arched over a canal just ahead. These canals were creepy. Whenever Molly walked over the streets that bridged above the water, she couldn’t help but look down. She didn’t know how deep the canal was, how many feet of water. She hoped very deep. Judging by the water’s surface, which was black and slick with oil, the canal should be well over twenty feet. But what if it wasn’t? What if it was only a few feet? That would mean the water was nothing but sludge. For a split second she envisioned a hand bursting through its surface, reaching up for dear life. But it was only her imagination. She had turned dark ever since moving here. Grotesque images often filled her mind. She couldn’t help it.
She got moving again, and soon crossed over to the intersection and hooked another right, this time down a side alley. The alleys were where dumpsters were located. The dumpsters were their greatest hope for food.
Her jeans clung mercilessly to her legs. She wished she had a way of cutting them into shorts, but Devon had said it would be best if she didn’t. At least the jeans would protect her from life on the streets, sparing her the superficial cuts and lacerations that would surely come from dumpster diving barelegged.
Molly had hated New Hampshire, but in a lot of ways roughing it in the Gowanus was no improvement, except that she had her freedom. But how free was she really? Some nights when she and Devon had nearly starved with hunger, she had gone off with a man for money. It always seemed easy enough. She had
Hunter’s heart stopped beating. A memory flooded through her mind. Then with a hard pound, her heart started racing uncontrollably in her chest. Flashes of the farmhouse swirled through her head, images of the barn spinning in and out of her mind. She could still hear the cries, see the blood. Her stomach lurched, churning with raw disgust.
“Because,” she said, “they caught me once.” Her voice trailed off, as her vision softened, losing focus.
It was as if Hunter was slipping away before his very eyes.
“Caught you doing what?” Twitch asked in a low whisper, already terrified to hear the answer.
“A mercy killing.”
Chapter Six
It was sweltering. The sun was high in the sky overhead. There was no escaping the heat. No matter which side of the street Molly walked on, the sun’s burning rays beat down on her. She hadn’t showered in days, and the oily scent of her hair was overwhelmingly foul. The smell seemed to thrive in the heat, festering in the sunlight. As soon as she found food and reconnected with Devon and the girls, she would pool resources and find a way to get a shower. Living like this wasn’t working anymore. She hated the way she stank.
Molly pulled her ratty blond hair up into a ponytail to alleviate her damp neck from the unnecessary hot mop of hair that had covered it all afternoon. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t thought of that sooner. As soon as she secured the ponytail, she felt considerably better.
She caught sight of her hands after lowering them from her head. Her skin was dirty. It was as though soot and grease had stained deeply into each pore. Her fingernails were black. She knew she looked dingy. It was impossible to stay clean out here, rummaging through trash barrels, hoping to find something to eat.
She hooked a right, turning down a side street that arched over a canal just ahead. These canals were creepy. Whenever Molly walked over the streets that bridged above the water, she couldn’t help but look down. She didn’t know how deep the canal was, how many feet of water. She hoped very deep. Judging by the water’s surface, which was black and slick with oil, the canal should be well over twenty feet. But what if it wasn’t? What if it was only a few feet? That would mean the water was nothing but sludge. For a split second she envisioned a hand bursting through its surface, reaching up for dear life. But it was only her imagination. She had turned dark ever since moving here. Grotesque images often filled her mind. She couldn’t help it.
She got moving again, and soon crossed over to the intersection and hooked another right, this time down a side alley. The alleys were where dumpsters were located. The dumpsters were their greatest hope for food.
Her jeans clung mercilessly to her legs. She wished she had a way of cutting them into shorts, but Devon had said it would be best if she didn’t. At least the jeans would protect her from life on the streets, sparing her the superficial cuts and lacerations that would surely come from dumpster diving barelegged.
Molly had hated New Hampshire, but in a lot of ways roughing it in the Gowanus was no improvement, except that she had her freedom. But how free was she really? Some nights when she and Devon had nearly starved with hunger, she had gone off with a man for money. It always seemed easy enough. She had
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