Savage

Part Eleven - Treyton

Chapter Eleven

Treyton

I've never made a real decision in my entire life. I mean, the only type of decisions I've needed to make is whether or not to make my bed in the morning, but it's not like my choices have ever mattered. This is different. This decision will change everything, which is why I need it to be perfect. If I am going to keep Mom from being dragged down with my death, I have to go to the river and convince that pale-faced witch to spare her.

The only problem is, I don't know why the girl wants me to come. Maybe there will be a load of policewomen waiting, or maybe she will have a different killing weapon, or maybe she will shoot me from a distance as soon as I reveal myself. It's impossible to tell, and this fact alone makes me realize I'm not the best at planning. The chances of me convincing the girl are slim enough; I'm not sure how to face whatever else awaits me. What if I don't even get a chance to speak?

I head down to the river half an hour early, just to mentally prepare myself. This night is both colder and darker than yesterday, which is hopefully a coincidence and not an omen. I grind my knuckles against the dirt and rehearse my bargain through my mind. The girl can have anything she wants in exchange for Mom's safety. It doesn't matter if she wants to brutally torture me to death, so long as I can save Mom's life and pay off this eternal debt I owe her.

But as soon as the girl breaks through the trees, I hate myself for coming. My noble plan of risking my own life to protect Mom's suddenly doesn't feel so brave. It feels completely stupid; probably because it is. The girl has one gun pinched between her fingers, aiming directly at my head, and three more wedged into her tight jumpsuit. It looks like she's planning to take out the entire neighborhood.

I quickly scramble to my feet, but the words I've been rehearsing for hours stick to the inside of my throat. Somehow, I forgot how terrifying and helpless this position is. She could kill me any second now—she probably will. And it's going to hurt, and then I'll just be dead. And god, I do not want to be dead.

"I'm not going to shoot unless you make me,"she says.

"I'm not going to do anything,"I say. I force Mom's tear-stained face into my mind and remind myself why I can't back down. I'm already here, and she's depending on me. I have to do this.

"We're going across the river."

"Whatever you want,"I say. I open my mouth to add, as long as you don't kill my mom, but the words don't come.

"You go first."

So I do. I plunge into the icy water, almost relieved for the way it stings my skin. For just a second, I almost forget that I am being held at gunpoint and marched farther from Mom. I drag my feet through the mud and onto the dry river bank. The girl wades into the water moments later, but I keep my body facing the opposite direction. I don't want to look at her; I don't want to see her cold eyes anymore.

There's a sudden splashing, followed by an aggravated grunt. I turn slightly to see the girl crumbled onto her elbows with her legs trapped underwater. Her eyes are wide and unblinking, so unlike their usual sharpness. She looks vulnerable, afraid; and I realize that somewhere deep inside her, this girl has regular, human emotions. And if she has fear, maybe she has compassion, too.

I lean forward and despite her horrified expression, I pull her out of the river. She pitches onto the bank; and then, she shoots at me. I instantly drop my hand and cover my ears. Somehow, I end up with my back against a tree. But I'm not shot, at least, as far as I can tell.