The two agents climbed the steps, pausing in front of me. “Can we come in? Where are your parents?”
I cocked my head like I’d seen actors do on TV. The ones who pretended they were innocent but had just committed mass murder. “I can’t let you in without their permission. Stranger danger and all. We’re raised with strict rules, you see.” I smirked as they looked at each other with annoyance. “But you can go and see them.”
“We were told they were at home,” the woman agent snipped. “Are you saying they’re—”
“I’m saying they’re behind you. In the barn.” I pointed at the A-frame, paint-peeling structure where until a few minutes ago Snowflake had called it home. “They’re milking our cow.”
“A cow?” the Beard asked.
I nodded. “We’re home grown here. Nothing but organic foods and good ole’-fashioned labour. That’s why Della knows so much about the circle of life and the food chain. Not because we have a bad upbringing, but because we’re not hidden from the truth.”
“Right.” The man nodded. “That makes sense, I suppose.”
I smiled just as fake as before. “I’m glad. Okay then, go talk to my parents. I’m going to play with my sister and pull some carrots up for dinner.”
The syrupy crap falling from my lips sickened me, but I’d dress up in smart clothes and quote the Bible if it meant they fell for my story and gave me time to keep Della safe.
The principal scowled but had nothing to say as the Social Service agents descended the stairs, crossed the driveway, and gave me one last look before disappearing into the barn.
The principal and his deputy followed.
I waved, animated and idiotic, cursing them under my breath as all four adults traded sunshine for shadows and vanished into the barn.
And that was when I made my move.
I flew down the porch steps, slammed the single wooden door closed, wedged the piece of wood I’d made with the simple hinge to lock them inside, then sprinted as fast as I’d ever sprinted before.
To the pond.
To my backpack.
To Della.
* * * * *
“I’m sorry, Ren.”
“How many times do I need to tell you? You don’t need to apologise.”
“But I ruined it.”
“You ruined nothing.”
“I did.” She dragged the stick she’d been playing with through the dirt as I built a fire from gathered twigs and logs. Her red uniform, frilly socks, and shiny black shoes were now bedraggled and forest worn. “I shouldn’t have said that about Frosty.”
“I don’t know who Frosty is, but you did nothing wrong.”
“I told them how to eat a rabbit.”
“And where is the harm in being honest?” I looked up, willing her guilt to stop beating her up. “Honesty is better than lying, Della. You know that.”
“I know but…I don’t think the kids liked being told how to gut a bunny.”
“I’m sure they didn’t. But that’s the point.” I broke more twigs into kindling. “It’s because parents teach their kids that meat comes in packets and not alive like them that’s the problem. Not you for pointing out the truth.”
“Is it wrong to kill?” She looked up with nerves dancing in her eyes. “Are we bad because we eat meat?”
I stopped what I was doing, giving her my full attention. “People have forgotten so much, Della Ribbon. They’ve forgotten that behind their supermarkets and houses, beneath their fancy dresses and suits, they’re still just animals. We’re not bad for eating meat because we only eat what we need and don’t waste. It’s everyone else who doesn’t appreciate the cost of things who are bad.”
I dropped my gaze as I used one of my four lighters—ever the resourceful—to start the fire I’d built.
Della had been subdued all evening from the moment I’d skidded to a stop beside her by the pond, hauled on my backpack, then took her hand and jogged until she couldn’t jog anymore, to now when all we could hear were crickets and insects, and our house had been replaced with a canopy of tree leaves.
I tried to hide my joy at being back where I belonged.
I tried not to smile or laugh in sheer pleasure at being away from cruel people and rotten societies.
I was happier than I’d been in a while, but Della was sad, and I didn’t want to make her feel worse by treating this as a celebration rather than a serious escape from potential separation.
She poked a leaf with her stick. “I thought you left me.”
“I promised I never would.”
“But you did leave me.”
“Only for forty-five minutes.”
She stuck her bottom lip out, pouting dramatically. “You still left me.”
I chuckled under my breath. “Okay, what can I do to make it up to you?”
She peered at me from beneath her brow. “I don’t know yet.”
“Well, while you’re coming up with a suitable punishment, how about I put up the tent so we can go to bed?”