Griffin looks grim. I wonder if he has a history there.
“That must have been where they were taking me,” I say, adding to the discussion.
Sarah looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “So that’s where you picked him up,” she says to Griffin. “You rescued him from the slave trade?”
Griffin says nothing.
“Yes,” I say.
She looks at me up and down. “Be careful with him,” she says to Griffin, as if I weren’t here. “I don’t know why, but they’ve been looking for young blonde men in particular. They fetch ten times the normal rate.”
I blink. The slavers did call mequality goodswhen I tried to escape. They also didn’t beat me like the others.
“How do you know all this?” I ask suspiciously.
Sarah points toward the table where a few people are gathered to eat. “We had a runaway from the slavers last month. We found him almost dead near the river. He was starving to death. They captured him a while ago. He managed to escape and had been running aimlessly for a while. We were lucky to find him before the wolves did.”
I look closer and notice a young man with long blonde hair speaking with the others.
“Why would they want men like me?” I ask, dumbfounded.
Sarah shrugs. “Who knows? A weird fetish, I reckon. Or a person with power is looking for someone in particular.”
I don’t like the sound of that. My life was already difficult enough without having a price on my head.
“He’s safe with me,” says Griffin.
I look at him, surprised and pleased. But his face is hidden under his hood, and I can’t see his eyes. I think he’s warming up to me, just like Beet.
“If you say so,” says Sarah.
“Send a radio signal if the slavers find their way here,” he adds. “And I’ll come help.”
She shrugs. “I doubt they will risk the Roc’s wrath just for a few dozen souls.”
“Who knows.”
So Griffin might be a loner, but he’s still in contact with a few people.
Sarah walks away as someone calls for her, and I find myself alone with him.
“Are you hunting slavers often?” I ask him.
He nods. “Human trafficking has always been a thing since the Rise, but it’s gotten worse lately. They’ve built trade routes for that sole purpose.”
“Yes. But why make it your business?”
“Because someone has to,” he says, then walks away.
I wince, regretting pushing the issue, and find my way back to the feast.
I mingle for an hour or two, enjoying the company. They make their own beer, but I don’t indulge. I never do. Alcohol makes you slow and clumsy, and I always want to be ready to run and defend myself if I need to. Griffin circles around the fires, never exchanging more than a word or two with the villagers. I wonder why he’s not just going back to theBeetleif he hates being among people so much.
At some point, the night gets cold. It’s the beginning of September, but Yellowstone is well above sea level, and the temperatures drop fast. It’s a brutal change after the weeks I spent in the wastelands. I get close to one of the big fires and sip on my drink. A young woman, in her early twenties at most, walks to me.
“Hello, my name is Laura,” she says with a smile.
She has long, dark hair and doe eyes. She’s the kind of pretty that only exists in those thriving communities. Or, in other words, she looks healthy.
