Page 125 of The Killing Plains

His answer made Colly go cold despite the oppressive heat.

Pete’s brows contracted. “You okay?”

But Colly barely heard him. “Go get help.”

Drawing her gun, she darted past him and through the doorway.

Compared to the brightly lit big top, the research room seemed almost cave-like. The halogen ceiling lamps were dark. The only illumination came from a single work lamp at the opposite end of the space. It was affixed to a stand on the far side of the auxiliary snake pen, positioned in such a way that the glare obscured Colly’s view in that direction. The near end of the room, where she’d seen the venom-milking station and other equipment on Thursday, was now empty except for a few portable tables and chairs stacked by the tent walls.

Colly saw no one. At first, she also heard nothing but the muffled noises of the crowd in the big top behind her and the now-familiar hum of rattlers coming from the snake pen. But after a few seconds, the stillness was broken by a sound that was, in that moment, more terrifying to Colly than all the rattlesnakes in the world.

“Are the snakes mad, or just scared?” It was a high, clear voice that Colly knew at once.

“I don’t know, Satchel. What do you think?”

Colly recognized the answering voice, as well. Her skin prickled, and the gun shook in her hand. Though partially blinded by the work lamp, she now dimly perceived a dark, adult-sized figure standing on the near side of the auxiliary pen—apparently facing away from Colly, since she hadn’t yet been spotted. No child-sized form was visible. Shielding her eyes, Colly began to move cautiously down the length of the room towards the snake pen.

“I think they’re pretending to be mad,” Satchel’s voice responded.

“Why?”

“Avery says that’s what you should do when you’re scared.”

“That’s when snakes are most dangerous,” the other voice answered, as Colly moved closer.

“It’s not their fault,” Satchel said. “People shouldn’t kill them.”

“Sometimes you have to kill things, even if it’s not their fault. Even if you don’t want to.”

Satchel was quiet, apparently considering this point. Colly’s feet felt heavy, like in a nightmare, but she forced herself forward, angling towards the wall to avoid the light. The dark figure grew more distinct as Colly drew abreast of it. Now, she could see a second, much smaller figure in front.

“Why?” Satchel asked.

“We have to stop things that will hurt people.”

“It’s not fair to kill them for something they didn’t do yet.”

“If it’s in their nature to hurt people, we have to make sure they don’t.”

Colly took three more cautious steps, and suddenly the glare no longer blinded her. From this vantage point, the lamplight shone on the faces of the two figures, and she could see them clearly. Satchel was sitting on the edge of the pen, his arms and legs wrapped like a baby monkey’s around the torso of the adult who was with him. Dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, with a partially deflated red balloon tied to his wrist, he was leaning backwards, craning for a better view of the snakes, while the other’s arms were locked around his waist to keep him from tumbling in.

Colly inhaled sharply.

At the slight noise, Satchel looked up. “Grandma!” he shouted happily. “Let me down, Aunt Brenda—Grandma’s here.”

Brenda gasped and spun around, still holding onto Satchel. But when she saw Colly, her face assumed its familiar, friendly expression. “Oh good, you made it. I didn’t think—” She froze when she noticed Colly’s gun.

“It’s over, Brenda. There’s no way out.” Colly kept her voice calm. “I’ve got guards at both tent exits. Put Satchel down and step away from that pen.” She edged slowly towards them.

“What on earth—?” Brenda’s brow furrowed. Clutching Satchel with one hand and keeping the other on the rim of the snake pen, she backed away. “Colly, are you all right?”

Scared and confused, Satchel began to cry. The half-deflated balloon, which had been rising and sinking slowly around him, now drifted in front of his face, and he batted it fretfully away. “I want Grandma, Aunt Brenda.”

“It’s okay, buddy. I’m right here,” Colly said. “Brenda, let him go.”

Brenda’s arm tightened around the squirming boy. “Hold still, Satchel. She won’t shoot, I promise. Grandma’s been under a lot of pressure. But we’re going to get her some help.”

“You can drop the concerned-psychologist routine. I know about—” Colly stopped herself with a glance at Satchel’s frightened face. “I know everything, Brenda. Others do, too. It’s over.”

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