Get skinnier.
For me that’s difficult since I’m so skinny to begin with. I mean, I could not eat anything for a few days, maybe shed half a pound, slide right on out. But obviously that won’t work ’cause then the Keep’ll see me stucker’n a ’zard on a skewer. He’ll know I tried to escape. He’ll tell my father. I’ll be sentenced to more time in Confinement. Nope, I gotta get skinnier quicker. Like now.
I count to three. Suck in my breath all the way so all you can see are my ribs. Let out the breath in a groan of effort, straining to squeeze through, my eyes squeezed tight and hard, every pitifully small muscle in my body working together to accomplish the same thing. Inch by torturous inch. And then…
Escape!
It’s not like what you’d expect the thrill of escape to be like, all happy and elated and airy. Well, it’s airy all right, ’cause a rush of air surrounds me as I go a-flying off into the desert. I was pushing so hard and not going anywhere, but then as soon as I breached the bars, all that energy had no place to go but off into the yonder. I crash land in the durt, practically right on my slinged arm, feel searin’, burnin’ ripples of pain tear through every nerve on that side of my body. I tumble, not once, not twice, not even thrice, but four times, rolling and bouncing and kneeing myself in the face, which hurts like scorch ’cause my knee is so bony it’s sharp like a spearhead. I moan and yell out things that would have my mother blushing, and then settle in a heap at the base of a prickler, which proceeds to jab and poke me in the gut with its barbs, adding injury to injury.
I just lay there. For a long time. I got no idea how long. My wrist’s throbbing something awful, and with each thump, thump, thump, I feel like I’m going to vomit up my unsatisfying meal and the tug jerky Circ gave me. The pain is so sharp I think I drift in and out of consciousness a little, too, like I’m in a strange fireweed smoker’s haze. First I see the stars, shining all perky and happy down on me, and then I’m seeing nothing, just black, as if every natural light in the night sky has been sucked into a void, where only the moon goddess can enjoy them.
When the black turns back to night, and I can see the stars again, I realize I gotta get up or I might never. Then where’ll I be? I can just imagine Keep looking in my cage the next day, seeing me sprawled out in the desert, dust on my lips, my arm hanging from my shoulder, limper’n a tug tail.
I’m smart, so I use the prickler to help me to my feet, getting jabbed half a dozen times on the way up. “Thanks, Perry,” I whisper to the prickler. He deserves a name for all his trouble. After all, like so many people in my life, he’s helped me and hurt me. Either that, or I just like talking to plants.
My sling’s a wreck, ripped in at least three places, two holes jabbed in it by Perry, who can’t be blamed, ’cause he hasn’t moved the entire time. Although I guess it could be argued that if he was really on my side he woulda moved. Perry, you baggard, I think, you shoulda moved!
MedMa would be appalled at the state of my sling, so I do my best to rewrap it, which hurts worse’n a snap from Father’s snapper. But I get it done, let out a breathless sigh, exhausted from the strain of the last…how long’s it been anyway? I got no clue. I coulda blacked out for three thumbs of sun movement for all I know. Or just a few moments. More’n likely the real amount is somewhere in between. But which side’s it closer to? And what do I do now?
I got a real problem. If I chase after Raja and the other prisoners with the tools, they might already be coming back, done with whatever it is they’re doing. But the thought of trying to squeeze back into my cage right now…I shudder.
I’m out now so I might as well take advantage.
You’re gonna end up back in Confinement, says Perry.
“Shut up,” I whisper over my shoulder as I walk away.
~~~
I ain’t got further’n a rock’s throw away from the edge of the Confinement cages when I see them. The glint of the bright moonlight offa the edges of tools tells me they’re coming back already. Either they’re real fast workers or I was in a pain-induced stupor for longer’n I thought. Too long.
I grit my teeth and hustle back the way I came, around the edges of the cages, past the sleeping non-lifers. Then I’m back at my cage and I’m staring a torturous reentry right in the face. The gap I escaped from looks even smaller, like the cage has a brain and, upon realizing its flaw, recreated itself. There’s gotta be another way.
Back at the front of the cage I stare at the mound where the big rock is covered. The clink of metal tools is carried to my ears on a gust of wind. Hard to tell how far away. Could be a mile. Could be a stone’s throw. If they’re a mile away, I could maybe dig up the rock, move it, slip through the hole, and pull the rock back into the gap. But the rock would be bare, instead of covered like it’s s’posed to be. The Keep would know something knocky was going on.
Voices bounce across the desert like brambleweeds.
They’re not a mile away. They’re back!
I’m ready to rush ’round to the back, jam myself through the first gap that looks big enough, deal with whatever physical consequences I’ve got coming, but for some reason I stop to take one more look at my cage. I gaze from side to side, from bottom to top. I freeze.
The top.
It’s still got plenty of bars, and up there they’re crisscrossed, but each bar appears to be set further away from the one before’n the bars along the sides. Perhaps it’s just enough for a skinny lil runt like me to slip through without further shattering my already damaged arm.
Clink!
The sound is so close I could swear it was right next to my ear. I start climbing.
It ain’t easy climbing with only one good arm, but I don’t weigh no more’n a bundle of vulture feathers. I jam my feet between two of the bars, trying to use the roughness of my moccasin bottoms against the roughness of the wood as a sort of fall stopper. My one good arm does most of the work while my broken one takes the rest of the night off. Well deserved.
Perry’s just staring at me, like the shanker that he is. Thanks for the help, buddy.
I grab as high as I can, pull with all my might, move my feather-light butt up a few feet, and sort of hop with my feet, almost like a horny toad—don’t laugh, that’s what they’re called—and then rewedge my moccasins to keep from falling. It’s slow going.
Grab, pull, move butt, horny toad hop, wedge. Repeat.
The voices get louder. Someone laughs. A gruff voice reprimands. Keep, trying to get control of his prisoners.
I don’t stop for the voices, for the clinks, for Perry’s catcalls. Slow and steady, I keep moving until I reach the cross bar that means I’ve made it to the top. The lid on my cage.
One leg over, then t’other. Take a breath.
The voices stop in front of Raja’s cage. “You’re up next, dog! Get in!” Keep barks, sounding more like a dog himself. I freeze, look down, see Keep with maybe eight other prisoners. Raja drops to the durt, everyone watching him. I’m exposed under the soft glow of the moon goddess. If they look up, I’m knocked! Where are the searin’ clouds when I need them?
Raja squirms like a worm underneath the bars. “Lock him in!” Keep growls, handing one of t’other prisoners a shovel. I’m dead-quiet, and to my surprise, Perry is too. Silent schemers. Placid plotters.
When the big rock for Raja’s cage is in place and covered, Keep and the rest of them move on. I hold my breath. They walk straight on past my cage, not even giving it a casual look. I’m just a runty girl, couldn’t hurt a fly. ’Cept myself, I think, feeling my arm start to throb again.