I feel the weight of eyes on my back and feign unconsciousness. With my head pounding like it is, it’s not hard. I wish I still was.
“What’s wrong if she knows what we plan to do to get rich? She has a very special role to play, besides she’s not going anywhere.” Mazhar laughs. No one joins in.
That gets my heart pumping.
Where’s Harpoc and what will they do to me once they know I’m awake?
Calm down, Pell, I tell myself. Funny enough, it’s not all that easy to do, all things considered.
“Hand me some more.” It’s a voice I’ve not heard before.
Plastic rustles, then quiets and that snapping sound continues.
I chance cracking open an eye and discover white fabric hanging from a frame, fluttering not far away. I glance out of the corner of my eye to see more white fabric that forms the slope of the top of a tent. Wooden legs—rows of tables—fill my vision, covering much of the space.
I’m in the nursery tent out on Zeki’s plantation, I’d bet my life on it.
I pause, okay, poor choice of words.
The sun makes the thin, white fabric too bright, and I close my eye again.
Who knows if Harpoc will guess who my abductors are and check here first. I pray he does, but in the meantime, I need a plan.
I crack open my eye again to see what else I can see, something that might help my cause. I jump.
The kid from before, the insufficiently dressed one, is on his haunches, leaning over me, watching my every move. I never hear him approach. He’s stealthy. And he’s still not dressed properly.
He smiles and pulls the blanket up, under my chin.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
One friendly, among so many.
“Is she awake, Eser?” It’s lower voice guy.
Eser looks up quickly and shakes his head.
Bless you, boy.
The pounding in my head has taken up “Painkiller” by Judas Priest, and it’s hard to think, but I force myself to focus.
“Then come help us de-stem these, boy.”
Eser brushes a stray lock of my hair behind my ear with his small hand—it’s such an intimate gesture, and I don’t know what to make of it coming from him—then stands and steps around me, disappearing.
Survival. Keep your head down and stay invisible as much as possible. The boy and I understand each other.
I’m not sure how many men are behind me, not that it matters hog-tied like I am, but I can pick out at least five distinct voices.
Plan, Pell. Form a plan.
Right.
There’s a hose not far away, three stacks of empty, green-plastic plant pots, lots of juvenile weed just tall enough so I can see it peeking over the tabletops, spades, trowels, and other usual gardening supplies. Nothing inspires me.
I continue scanning, keeping movement to a minimum.
One of the tent’s fabric panels has come undone at the bottom, from between two of the wood supports, and it flaps in the breeze. It’s inconveniently behind one of the tables that ring the perimeter of the tent, and probably why no one’s done anything about it.
It’s not far, fifteen feet maybe.
I can make it, I know I can. I’ll disappear into the weed once I do and make tracks.
It’s half-baked, but I don’t care. I need to move. Now.
Before I can overthink myself out of it, I pull my knees up and prepare to roll up on them.
“Eser, go check on her again. She should have woken by now,” lower voice guy says.
Time’s up.
I roll up on my legs and the pounding in my head nearly stops me in my tracks, but I press on and I’m on my feet a second later, running.
“Stop her,” Mazhar shouts.
I wish I’d played softball because I’m no base hitter, sliding awkwardly as I am, but I’m under the table, then halfway under the flapping fabric, then ducking beneath and pushing myself up by my arms from behind.
“Damn it, Eser, get out of the way,” one man yells.
Eser, my hero.
Oh, my pounding head, it’s making my stomach turn, but I do my best to ignore it, and I’m running hard, for the weed. Until I step on a sharp rock I didn’t see in my haze.
Shit! Oh, that bitch hurts, but I keep moving, hobble running.
Gold eye, silver eye.
I can do this.
I keep telling myself that, until Zeki steps from between plants, into my path.
I can’t stop in time, and I barrel right into him, sending us both sprawling.
But I’m not done fighting.
I scramble to get up again, but my head really isn’t on board with my hairbrained plan anymore. I’m going to puke.
Keep going, Pell, my inner voice shouts.
Zeki rights himself to sitting, then reaches over and grabs me by the forearm with a vise-like grip, pulling me up.
My stomach rebels all over the front of the guy, and he throws me to the ground, profane words filling my ears.
I’m not one bit sorry as I collapse, panting, then wipe my mouth on a shoulder.
Mazhar and two other guys, plus Eser, surround us a minute later, their eyes wide as they take in the scene.
I give Eser a secret wink while Mazhar drags me up to standing, taking care to avoid the sick, which I’ve managed to leave entirely on his boss and the ground—I’m pretty proud of myself, I couldn’t have aimed better if I’d tried.
Eser grins, then shrinks back between the men while he schools his expression.
“Get her back to the tent while I go change,” Zeki says in a gruff voice, waving his puked-on arms.
But Eser’s now-clenched jaw and unwillingness to meet my eyes, tell me no good will come of whatever’s
