“Step one, complete. Take that, Fortress of Solitude.”
Freedom tasted like pine resin and sweat as I moved deeper into the forest beyond the fence. Each step took me farther from the cottage than I’d been in months, and I couldn’t help the bubble of triumph expanding in my chest. I was doing it. Actually doing it. No masked commandos tackling me into the dirt, no humiliating return journey thrown over someone’s shoulder like a sack of disappointment potatoes.
My mental map guided me through the trees, each landmark confirming I was on the right track. The lightning-struck oak. The rock formation shaped vaguely like a middle finger (which I considered my personal spirit boulder). The small clearing where wild strawberries grew in tiny red constellations across the forest floor.
Five hundred yards beyond the fence, I allowed myself a brief rest against a broad pine trunk, taking a small sip from my water bottle. This was farther than I’d made it last time, and my heart pounded with equal parts exertion and exhilaration.
“Maybe those handsy guards really did get fired,” I murmured to myself, allowing hope to creep into my voice. “Maybe dear old dad actually listened for once in his?—”
A rustle in the underbrush cut my monologue short. I froze, water bottle halfway to my lips, every muscle tensed for flight. The rustling grew louder, accompanied by the soft sound of panting.
Dogs. Shit.
I pressed myself against the tree trunk, trying to become one with the bark like some desperate woodland nymph. The guards had German shepherds—massive, terrifying beasts trained to hunt down escapees and probably eat their livers with some fava beans and a nice Chianti. At least, that’s what I’d assumed based on their snarling enthusiasm during my last escape attempt.
But when the dogs burst into view, they weren’t snarling. They weren’t even looking particularly menacing. Two Germanshepherds trotted toward my hiding spot with their tongues lolling and tails wagging like they’d just discovered the canine equivalent of an all-you-can-eat buffet.
“Um, hello?” I said cautiously, because apparently being raised in isolation had destroyed my instinct for appropriate reactions to potential threats. “Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know, tearing my throat out or something?”
The larger dog—his collar tag read “Apollo”—cocked his head at my voice, then bounded forward with the enthusiasm of a furry missile. I braced for impact, but instead of attack mode, the dog went full golden retriever personality, shoving his nose against my hand and wagging his entire back half.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I muttered as the second dog (helpfully labeled “Zeus”) joined the lovefest, both animals circling and sniffing me with obvious delight. “You’re supposed to be highly trained attack dogs, not therapy puppies. What kind of security operation is my father running here?”
Zeus flopped onto his back, exposing a belly that clearly expected scratches. Apollo continued nudging my hand, his dark eyes soulful and expectant.
“This is ridiculous,” I informed them both, even as my hand betrayed me by scratching Zeus’ offered belly. “You’re supposed to be dragging me back by the scruff of my neck, not auditioning forWorld’s Most Ineffective Guard Dogs.”
Apollo’s ears perked forward at the sound of my voice, his expression suggesting I was the most fascinating thing he’d encountered since squirrels were invented. An idea began forming in my mind—an idea so audacious that it just might work.
I rummaged through my backpack and extracted a package of beef jerky I’d stashed for emergency protein. The moment the package crinkled, both dogs snapped to attention like I’d pressed their power buttons.
“Hungry, are we?” I asked, tearing off a piece. “So much for professional standards in the security industry. I’m pretty sure accepting bribes from the escapee isn’t in your job description.”
I held out the jerky. Both dogs sat immediately, their training apparently extending to basic manners if not actual guarding. I dropped a piece for each of them, watching as they devoured the offerings with single-minded focus.
“You know,” I said conversationally as they licked their chops, “what I really need is a guide. Someone who knows these woods, maybe could lead me to the quickest way out.” I tore off another piece of jerky, holding it up. “Any volunteers?”
Both dogs stared at the jerky with laser focus, tails sweeping the forest floor.
“How about this,” I continued, feeling slightly ridiculous for negotiating with animals but too committed to stop now. “You help me find the path to the road, and there’s more where this came from. Deal?”
I had no idea if dogs could understand complex bargaining, but the universe had already demonstrated its sense of humor by sending therapy dogs instead of attack beasts, so I figured it was worth a shot.
I stood, brushing pine needles from my shorts. “Lead on, boys. Show me the way out of this gilded prison.”
To my complete astonishment, Apollo turned and trotted a few paces deeper into the forest, then looked back expectantly. Zeus followed, pausing to ensure I was coming along.
“Holy shit,” I whispered. “You actually understand me. Either that or this is the most elaborate coincidence in escape attempt history.”
I followed my newfound canine guides, periodically rewarding them with small pieces of jerky. They moved with confidence through the trees, taking a path I wouldn’t havechosen—moving away from the creek I’d planned to follow and instead heading through denser forest.
“I hope you guys know what you’re doing,” I told them as branches snagged at my clothes. “Because if this is some elaborate dog prank, I’m leaving scathing reviews on whatever social media page handles security canine ratings.”
The dogs continued forward, undeterred by my commentary. Apollo occasionally looked back, as if checking that I was still following. Zeus had taken point, his tail held high like a furry flag leading our bizarre procession.
After about fifteen minutes of hiking, the trees began to thin slightly, and I noticed the ground underfoot was becoming more packed, as if this path saw regular traffic. A thread of suspicion wound through my triumph.
“Where exactly are we going, boys?” I asked, slowing my pace. “Because if you’re leading me back to the cottage via the scenic route, we’re going to have serious words about the nature of our arrangement.”
