Unfamiliar Territory
Chapter 10: A Break in the Chain

I threw up before I was even fully awake. I leaned over and hacked into the ground. What came out was dark and sticky and only made me sicker.

I tried to get away from it, crawling in the soft grass, but I didn’t get far when something caught around my neck, keeping me from going any further. It rattled in the cold air, slackened when I fell back.

A chain was wrapped around my neck, the other end around an apple tree.

The chain that connected me to the tree was held together by a padlock. The ‘collar’ around my throat was no more than an extension of the chain, a different padlock keeping it in place. I pulled on the chains. I hit them with what sticks and rocks I could find. I tried to cry out, but the collar around my neck was tight enough to keep me from being able to get out anything more than a meager whimper.

It wasn’t long before I was out of breath, my muscles aching, and the chain hardly had a scratch. I collapsed against the tree. It was uncomfortable, with the biting bark at my back and the cold, rough chain tight around my neck, but I could already feel myself drifting off.

I felt something warm on my face. I opened my eyes and had to squint against the rising sun. I was near the top of a hill. I could see the expanse of trees below me, a clearing in the distance, maybe a lake. Nowhere did I see signs of civilization.

Footsteps approached me. I tensed up. I clenched my hands, but there was no where I could go. No energy to put up a fight. I closed my eyes and waited. For the pain, for that commanding voice.

“Made you a sandwich, in case you were up for it.”

Stallion. My body protested as I peeked around the tree. He stood a good distance away, dressed in a green, long-sleeved shirt and loose track pants. His hat was gone, allowing me to see several deep scratches on his face, one long enough to reach his neck. They were pale and stood out enough against his dark skin so I could see them easily from where I sat.

“Here,” he said, placing the plate with the sandwich on the ground at his feet. I looked at it then back up at him. “Sorry, man, Mr. Mallard said I shouldn’t get too close,” he backed away a few steps, for emphasis. “He said you might have gone feral.”

I stared at him without moving. It was hard to look at him, riddled with scars, but I didn’t feel much beyond that. Only hunger.

He stared back, but only for a second, dropping his gaze when our eyes met. I stood up and he backed away again. I walked towards the sandwich as I watched him. He wouldn’t look me in the eyes but he was keeping an eye on me, maybe seeing how far the chain would go.

There was barely enough length for me to reach it. Just enough, in fact. I knelt down, picked up the paper plate, and smelled the sandwich. Ham and cheese. My stomach ached at the smell, but I restrained myself. I carried the plate over to the tree and sat back down.

The sandwich was cut into two even triangles; I picked one up and took a careful bite. It was delicious, the best thing I’d ever had. I savored the bite as long as I could before taking another. Bite after bite, I ate. Slowly, carefully. All while watching Stallion out of the corner of my eye.

He watched me, in turn, the entire time until I finished and brought the empty plate back over to him, as far as the chain would let me.

He did not approach the plate until I had walked back over to the tree. Even then he took slow, calculated steps, watching me but avoiding my eyes. He picked it up and caught my gaze for a second. “I’m sorry, Foxy,” was all he said before breaking the gaze and turning around.

He walked back to a building that looked close to collapsing. Bleached white walls with crude spray painted images, cracked and grime coated windows, and stood at least three stories tall.

The asylum. How I had missed seeing it, this close to me, I did not know, but I didn’t recognize it right away because I had never seen the front until now.

The stone steps were covered in the debris of the woods. They led up to what were probably once glass doors. They were boarded up now, covered in newspaper. I assumed they weren’t functional until I saw Stallion pull one open, albeit with a great deal of effort, and close it back behind him.

It was quiet for a long time after that. I pulled up my knees to my chest and laid my head down against them. I wanted to sleep, but I could not.

Maybe Stallion put more of those drugs in the food. I thought about trying to throw them up, but I remembered the dark things I saw when I had done it earlier. I knew it was out there, somewhere close, lying in the grass. I did not want to see it again.

As the hours dragged on I kept hearing the wind and the birds. I could smell the earth and the grass beneath me. Things, maybe bugs, tickled my hands and arms. Despite my situation, I felt almost at peace.

Alone, no one could hurt you, betray you, or make you like them.

I forgot who I was, where I was, for a fleeting instant. I was a fox, hunting alone in the woods. Free, peaceful, happy. I needed no one to survive. The wind masked my scent and cooled my skin beneath the glossy red fur. My nose against the ground picked up so many interesting scents. I could smell a rabbit digging in the earth. A squirrel foraging for food. A foreign creature and blood.

I followed this last scent, expecting an easy kill. I followed the smell, and then the trail, of blood until I came to a small glade in the woods. There, a creature with large floppy ears, over-sized padded feet, and wet brown eyes was being whipped over and over again by a hunter with glasses. The creature whined and howled as the whip tore away the flesh on its back, spraying the green forest with red. The hunter made no sound and had no emotion as he punished the defenseless creature.

I watched from the safety of the underbrush. I did not move, did not breathe. I wanted to look away, but I could not. The sounds from the creature overpowered every other sense, even the smell of blood. I could not only hear it as it whimpered and whined, but, after awhile, I could understand it as well.

It begged for me, for my life. It begged until its last breath that I would not be hunted.

Suddenly, there was the sound of the ground crunching, and another foreign smell, right behind me. I turned around to see a new hunter with bright green eyes and a gun pointed straight at my head. She rode a large, black horse and bore no smile in her face as she clicked the trigger of the gun.

I ran away as fast as I could. I ran through the twisting trees. I felt the presence of something behind me, chasing me, but I could not hear it.

I looked back and saw a large phantom with a wide frown and empty eyes. He pulled his way through the trees, his white, shapeless form overtaking everything.

I continued to run, but he was faster. I could feel his cold reach my tail. He swallowed me, and my entire body was chilled to the bone as I froze in place. I looked all around, but all I could see was white.

Then, she appeared, hobbling through the whiteness. Promising to care for me. As she spoke, giant purple flowers sprouted up from the white ground, surrounding me. They bloomed and I saw the beauty—the bright yellow. I finally felt at peace.

The serene feeling was dashed when a great beast arrived. He tore apart the flowers with his claws and fangs; he scared away the hobbling woman who vanished into the fog.

He turned to me. I knew he saw himself as a hero, but all I saw was a destroyer. I growled a challenge to him, but he denied me. I bared my fangs and he turned his back. He prepared to leave, but I would not give him the chance. I ran. I leaped. I prepared to dig my fangs into his exposed neck-

“Get up, kit,” Mr. Mallard said.

I raised my head. The sun was lower in the sky. I had fallen asleep after all.

“Up I said, beast!” Mr. Mallard commanded, tugging at my chain with enough force to pull me, staggering, to my feet. The chain had been freed from the tree; most of the slack was wrapped around one of Stallion’s arms.

“Thirsty,” I managed to croak out, the sudden dryness in my throat and mouth hitting me as soon as I was fully awake.

“You will get your fill soon enough, kit,” Mr. Mallard said before turning and making his way back towards the asylum.

Stallion gently pulled me along and we followed Mr. Mallard back behind the building. He led us down the hill and towards the forest.

I hesitated.

“Are you afraid you will run into her, kit?” Mr. Mallard said, sensing my fear, “If you remain loyal, by our side, there is nothing to fear of Fawn. Remember that.”

In the woods, Mr. Mallard moved with a quick pace and Stallion kept us moving right behind him. I was still weak from thirst and from pain so Stallion had to forcefully jerk my chain more than once. I fell down at some points to which Mr. Mallard scolded and yelled about my weakness.

It was starting to turn to static in my ears. When Mr. Mallard struck me across the face again I did not feel it the same way I did the first time.

We finally stopped moving when we reached a small pond nestled somewhere deep in the woods behind the abandoned asylum. Not nearly as big as the clearing I had spotted when I was chained to the tree. I almost leapt into the water at once, but was held back by Stallion and the chain.

“Remove your clothes, then scrub yourself clean, kit,” Mr. Mallard said, handing me a bar of soap. I looked down at it like it was something foreign, before looking back up at him. He immediately took on a sour face so I dropped my stare. “You will be presentable for Mouse, kit. Now do it.”

I stared at the soap again.

Mouse. I had forgotten. She was somewhere far away, in a different world. A better world.

I stripped the clothes, the pajamas I was wearing when I had first woken up in Mutt’s room. They were covered in mud and some blood. Was that really just yesterday?

I took the soap and walked slowly into the water. It was cold, freezing, but it felt good at the same time. As I washed the grime off my body, I pretended that it was also getting rid of the past experiences as well. Washing clean the memories, the pain, and freeing it all into the black pond, never to be seen again.

When I dove my head into the pond, I was tugged back out again by the chain. I coughed and sputtered water out from my lungs.

“That is enough, kit. Get out.”

I got out before the chain made the decision for me. Along the way, I cupped what water I could and drank from it greedily. It tasted terrible, like coins, but it rid me of the dryness.

I dried myself with a ratty looking towel they had brought with us and put on some clothes that I noticed, same with my pajamas, belonged to me. I wondered then if they had hurt my mom, or if they had worked some lie out about me staying with a friend to buy themselves time. I really hoped it was the latter, though it seemed less likely.

It was awkward to put the clothes on with the chain, but I managed. It was a bright orange polo shirt and a pair of jeans. Both over-sized and baggy, as was the fashion.

“Hey, Foxy, do you know where your hat is?” Stallion asked me after I finished dressing. “You know, the one Kat made? We couldn’t find it in your room...”

Mr. Mallard was already heading back into the woods, in the direction of the asylum. Stallion had yet to drag me along. By how quietly he was speaking, I knew he was trying to keep this private.

But I didn’t look at him and, after a few seconds of silence, he got the picture and we followed after Mr. Mallard.

I hoped the hat was gone forever. Burned up. Ripped up. Lost at sea. I did not want to see it ever again. I almost laughed out loud thinking about the me of just yesterday. The naïve me. The one that was so scared, so upset about losing that damn hat.

I looked up from the leaf covered earth and at Stallion’s back as we followed Mr. Mallard through the dark and quiet wood. “I tore that stupid hat up,” I choked out against the chain at my throat.

It caused Stallion to stop, to turn around and look at me like he wasn’t sure if I had really said something. I smiled, baring my teeth at him. “I tore it up and burned it just for good measure. It was so damn hideous. I did it a favor.”

I smiled wider at the look that came over Stallion’s damaged face. Shocked. Horrified. I even attempted to laugh but the grip on my throat turned it into violent coughs. I fought through them, I wasn’t done yet.

“It was the stupidest thing I had ever seen. I hated it, but not as much as I hate her—”

I was cut off by a sudden, titanic grip around my throat. A million times worse than the chain. Stallion held me in the air by one hand. I gripped his arm with both hands, but I knew it was futile. The breath was caught in my lungs as I stared down into a scarred, malicious face.

“You don’t mean that,” Stallion said, his expression softening but his grip no less tight on my neck. “You don’t mean that.”

Even as the darkness began to fill my lungs and my vision, I could still see the pain in his face, the tears beginning to fill his eyes.

And it made me happy. It made me smile again. To see him in such pain. I would make sure, before I died, he saw in my smile just how much I meant it.

“Stallion, release him.”

And then I was on the ground. But the darkness did not fade. I took in as much air as I could, but I could feel myself fading away. I was faintly aware of Stallion kneeling beside me, a hand bringing my head up from the ground. I felt rain hit my face, but it wasn’t rain.

Before I left the waking world I saw Stallion kneeling over me—crying over me—his face against my chest. I heard him chocking out words between sobs. “Foxy, man, I’m so sorry, god, I’m so sorry, so, so sorry, please, Foxy, please.”

It went on for as long as I remained. It faded away as the darkness overcame me until I could hear nothing at all.

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