He took in a deep breath, his eyes going beyond the tablet to where the child sat. Twenty minutes ago, the boy had stumbled into his early morning campsite, naked and unaware, bruising blooming over his torso.
The rustling first heard in the distance intensified, and Owen held his hand low to block the fuel cube flame as best he could, cursing even that tiny bit of light to blind him. The sun wasn’t yet tinting the skyline, but whatever had been sleeping in the nearby scrub was apparently awake and headed his way. Mostly small varmints in this area, but black bears had been known to wander down from the nearby mountains to dig for grubs in the fertile ground. With a hand on the gun strapped to his thigh, he waited.
The dim light didn’t reach far between the trees, but the sounds indicated whatever was coming, it was arrowing straight towards him and the flame. Then the light glimmered off a shape about four feet high, bipedal, and thin. A child? He had only a moment to consider before a naked boy about twelve years old stood across the small clearing.
“Hey.” The boy didn’t react to the sound, just stared at him. Owen’s gut twisted as he took in the purple splotches along the boy’s upper arms and legs, mixed in and overlapping more bruises in green and yellow, all indicating long-term abuse. “What’s going on?” He stood, wanting to be on his feet for this encounter.
“Mister.” The high-pitched and wavering voice backed up Owen’s gut feeling the child hadn’t hit puberty yet. He was immature physically, too, which could be racked up against long-term starvation, Owen guessed. The boy wove back and forth, clearly exhausted and virtually out on his feet.
When he stumbled, Owen smoothly moved in time to save him a tumble. He kept the boy from going to his knees and pulled him to one side of the camp stove. Owen swept the sleeping bag from the still-hanging hammock and wrapped it around the boy as he guided him to sit.
“You gotta save my sister.”
“What?” Preoccupied with cataloging the injuries the boy had suffered, because Owen had seen more bruises on his back and flanks, he hadn’t quite heard anything past the echoing “mister,” which had drawn the protective instincts to the surface. The boy in the warehouse had called him mister, and been worried about his sister, too. For a moment, Owen thought maybe he’d imagined the boy’s words.
“My sister, she’s still there. He’s got her.”
A chill colder than the North Atlantic flowed over Owen. He got the boy situated and then crouched slightly away, next to the camp stove. The boy was so cold he wasn’t even shivering, but the flesh of his arms where Owen had gripped was chilled to the bone. Too fuckin’ cold. “Who’s got your sister?” He put the pan of water on to boil, but instead of the oatmeal he’d been planning to prepare, he dug into his food bag and pulled out a freeze-dried dinner. Food will help warm him. This kid needs to eat. He brought out his flashlight, too, and wound the handle a few times before setting it aside, pointing the stream of light off to the side to keep from blinding either of them. “Were you there, too? Did you escape somehow? Is it family or what? Foster care?” No way would he gloss over the boy’s questions or story, making nice for polite society. At this point, anything the kid said was truth, simply based on his physical condition and the fact he’d been dumped in this place, out of all the land along the East Coast. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Not fosters. That was before. Now, our owner still has her.”
Owen’s hands stilled, and he turned his head to see the boy staring at him, an anguished expression on his face.
Owner.
His gorge rose, bitter bile flooding his mouth. “What can you tell me about that?”
“He bought us a few weeks ago and I made him mad. Everything’s been…” His voice trailed off, and from the twist his features adopted, Owen thought if he’d had any spare fluid in his body, he’d be weeping. “It was hard, mister. Real hard. I made him mad, but it was just to keep Shiloh safe. I promised her I’d keep her safe.”
“We’re going to get her out of wherever she is.” Owen didn’t hesitate to make the promise, because he’d turn over every mountain even if Alace wouldn’t help. She will, though. He had faith in her, and the realization surprised him, because faith and trust were different beasts, both earned, but through different processes. The fact Alace had impressed him enough for him to hold her up to that kind of standard was shocking but good. “I need you to tell me everything you know. Drink this.” He handed the kid his water bottle. “Pull the top up to open it.” At the boy’s troubled stare at the bottle, Owen reassured him, “It’s only water. I promise. I’ll take a drink if that puts your mind at ease.”
“It’s just…” The kid made a face, nose scrunching in a way that had Owen lowering his estimation of the boy’s age by a couple of years. “I can’t let anything happen to her. I’m all she’s got.”
Dumping the meal into the now-boiling water, Owen stirred it with a spork and set it aside. He used a stick to knock the still-burning fuel cube onto the sandy ground inside the fire ring. “You’re dehydrated and dangerously chilled. I want to get some water into you, and then you’ll eat that.” He was breaking small sticks into kindling as he talked, tilting the tip of his chin towards the pan of food. “And we’ll talk. I need to get the story, but know this—what’s your name?”
The boy’s chin lifted, and Owen saw the muscles of his throat work as he swallowed hard. “Kelly.”
“Kelly, my name’s Owen. I’m a kind of specialist. I specialize in helping people who are in exactly the kind of situation your sister is in. To do that, I’m going to need to have all the information I can to make sure when I help her, I don’t inadvertently hurt any good guys.” Kelly’s gaze didn’t waver, boring deep into Owen. “I’m not going to hurt you or her. I promise you. Swear to you the water’s safe, and so is the food. Your job is to give me the info I need. Can you do your job to help Shiloh?”
Kelly nodded slowly and lifted the bottle. He had a fleeting wrestling match with the top, then got it open and took a deep swallow, his gaze still not leaving Owen’s face. “You’re going to hurt the bad guys?” Owen lifted one shoulder, giving Kelly the only response he’d allow himself. “Good.” Kelly swallowed again, this time seeming easier, and took another deep drink from the bottle. Owen tipped his head towards the pan of food. Kelly reached out and gripped the handle, dragging it close enough to lift, even that small weight stretching his limits. With the pan propped against his legs under the sleeping bag, he held the spork awkwardly in his fist and shoved the first bite into his mouth, spitting it out immediately and hissing. “Hot.” The next sporkful he put in his mouth was cooled first by blowing on it.
Satisfied the boy would continue eating, Owen set his teeth and moved from adding kindling over the sputtering fuel cube to stacking more wood in place. He hated fire. Fortunately this would have to be a small one because they wouldn’t be here long, but while they were, Kelly needed the extra warmth. And Owen needed the light to see the boy’s face more clearly. The flashlight was nice, but if he aimed the beam at the boy’s face, any conversation would feel more like an interrogation than a debriefing. By the time he sat back on his heels, the flames had caught and were feeding from the kindling to the lower pieces of wood.