Page 27 of Incandescence

Daryl lay sprawled on the sofa, his snores increasing in volume. Evidently, he’d been too drunk to make it to his own bed.

“Going somewhere?”

I looked at Alexander, his expression revealing nothing more than mild irritation. He turned to face Rory. “Actually, yes. We’re leaving.”

Rory stepped closer, along with three of his dazed-looking mates. “Not without my permission you’re not.” He lifted his hands, his stare glassy but his intent all too dangerous. “We invited you into our home, showed the utmost hospitality and generosity, and now you’re both leaving without even a thank you or a goodbye?”

Alexander arched an eyebrow and repeated drily, “Thank you and goodbye.”

Daryl’s snores cut off. He woke and stretched. When he saw his brother and mates held us up, he immediately pushed off the couch and stepped behind us. Alexander and I half turned to keep both brothers in our sight.

The younger brother looked more bleary-eyed than everyone else put together, yet it was obvious he wasn’t under any compulsion. He’d probably slept through the brainwashing. He was obviously hungover and apparently mystified by the tension. He put out his palms, signaling us to stay put. “What the fuck is going on?”

Rory barely noticed his brother. “We can’t let these people go.”

Daryl shot us a frown. “Why the fuck not?” His mouth dropped open and his body stiffened. “Holy shit. They saw our lab, didn’t they?”

My gasp gave us away even without trying. Daryl charged toward us, quicker than a striking snake. “I’ve got them!”

Alexander shot his arm out, his clenched fist thumping Daryl’s jaw. The brother flew back and landed on his ass with a muffled grunt even as I saw the glint of Rory’s knife. I grabbed Alexander’s arm and said hoarsely, “Let’s get out of here.”

He nodded and we leaped over Daryl and sprinted through the door, our tread snapping across the leaf-littered pathway before we raced out of the front yard and along the sidewalk, past dingy houses. My pulse jerked erratically as the roar of a loud engine started up behind us.

Alexander cursed and grabbed my hand, pulling me into a driveway and all but dragging me past a dilapidated, fibro house. He jumped a wire gate and I managed to stumble over it.

He caught me and guided me behind the dirty house, where a weedy yard showcased an aged hills hoist with clothes hanging limply from its lines.

A black Rottweiler trotted around the corner, his big silver collar glinting along with his bared teeth. The dog moved slowly toward us, growling and nervous, his undernourished body giving him a dangerous edge.

The brothers’ car roared past, its engine subsiding fast into the distance. I held out my hand and called the dog to me. I needed to calm the animal. I had no doubt the brothers would return, and any barking or vicious growling at this early hour might alert them to our whereabouts.

But the dog didn’t move. His chest rumbled with a menacing snarl before a succession of deep woofs sounded like a neighborhood alarm.

The back door of the house banged open and a skinny, stringy-haired, older woman dressed in flannel pajamas, yelled out, “Shut the fuck up, you stupid dog, or Freddie will beat the shit outta ya again.”

I gritted my teeth as the Rotty slinked low, his fear apparent. The dog was only doing his duty. The owner was clearly the stupid one when she didn’t even glance our way before she slammed the door shut and stomped back inside.

“The poor dog,” I whispered. Not only was it starved, it was beaten too.

Alexander nodded, but I noted he was more preoccupied by the desiccated clothes on the washing line. The sorry-looking shirts, pants and underwear appeared to have been pegged up at least a month earlier.

I called the Rotty again, and he watched us with unblinking, assessing eyes before he finally slunk toward us. He snuffled my hand, then whined when I gently stroked his head.

“Good boy,” I murmured, my heart melting for the dog that’d probably never known a kind word in his life.

I opened my backpack and fed the dog my energy bars even as Alexander stalked toward the washing and unpegged two shirts and a jacket. Carefully unclasping the dog chain that’d been secured to the hills hoist, he moved back to the house and away from its windows.

His eyes gleamed as he handed me a shirt and jacket. “Put these on.”

I nodded. “Good plan.”

After he’d unlatched the gate and carefully opened it, I snuck through with the dog on his lead, our backpacks abandoned so as not to give us away. Ten minutes later we were walking down the street, the Rotty dragging against his lead with an eagerness that belied his starved condition.

The energy bars were probably more than the dog had eaten in a week.

I pulled my borrowed jacket around me even as Alexander adjusted the hood of his red and black checkered shirt. His face was shadowed in his hoodie, and I fell back a little to conceal myself next to him.

The brothers wouldn’t be looking for two poorly dressed people out walking their dog. I grinned at Alexander. His tall body was at least one size too big for the shirt and pants, while my pants were loose around my waist and tight on my ass, the jacket a couple of sizes too large.

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