Raised by Wolves

Chapter 41

CHAPTER 41

WE THINK YOU’RE leaving out some crucial information.

We might even say that you’re lying to us.

I slam my shovel into the dirt. Dunham and Rollins don’t scare me. I just don’t ever want to see them again.

I fling the dirt to the side, grab a green seedling, drop it into the hole, and cover up its roots. Planting tomatoes in Lacey’s garden is chore number one on a long list the chief left for us before he went back to work a second shift. Guess I was wrong about what I told Waylon I’d be doing on a Friday night.

“We have to be ready to run,” I tell my brother.

Holo pinches off a leaf of a chard plant and pops it into his mouth. He chews and makes a face. “This isn’t as good as miner’s lettuce.”

“It’s because you’re supposed to eat it cooked, dummy. And I don’t think you’re taking this threat seriously.”

He gives me a wounded look. “I did a good job today, though, didn’t I? I didn’t give anything away.”

I soften. I never want to hurt my brother. He’s all I’ve got right now. “You did great.”

Lacey leans out the kitchen window. “Do you kids want chocolate or vanilla frosting on your cake?”

“Cake?” Holo yelps, brightening immediately.

“You bet,” Lacey says. “We’re still celebrating your test scores. You could go to Harvard with scores like that.”

“What’s Harvard?” Holo asks.

“A place only very smart people go. Now, chocolate or vanilla?”

“We’ve never had frosting before,” I tell her.

“Obviously chocolate then,” Lacey says, withdrawing her head.

Holo digs and plants happily for a little while, thinking about cake. But then his face gets serious again. “Do you think those men know anything?”

“I’m not sure. But I don’t trust them.”

But what if they knew who we were? Then would I want to see them again?

I look down at my hands. My fingernails are filthy, but my cuts and callouses are pretty much gone by now. I’ve almost got the hands of a regular, normal girl.

“I don’t really want to leave,” Holo says quietly.

Waylon Eugene Meloy’s smile flashes in my mind. For a second, it’s like I can still feel his arms around me.

“I don’t think I want to, either,” I say. Not yet.