Page 103 of Pas de Trois
I toss the knife inside the backpack, sling it snugly over both shoulders, and slip my hands beneath the baby, repositioning the blanket to ensure he’s covered well and protected from the cold.
I start to push to my feet, but I feel rooted to the spot.
How can I leave her?
How can I leave my blue-eyed girl behind?
She’s asleep, unconscious…no awareness of whether I’m here or gone. Blood continues to spread across her gown, a slowly creeping darkness telling the tragedy of the life she was forced to live, reminding me that I’m powerless to help her. But I don’t know if I can pull hard enough, fast enough, to yank myself free of the hold she has on me. My breath hitches and I let myself sob, let myself have one last look at her.
My blue-eyed girl.
I bend over her, pressing a kiss to her lips that are somehow still soft and warm.
They did this to her.
They did this to us.
There is no more time to waste and I won’t fail her—I’ll escape and I’ll save our baby. I won’t let them take him, too.
I cradle him in my arms and head toward the road. I look back the way we came as the clouds part and moonlight glints off the metal. I strain my eyes to see. There really was a spike strip laid across the dirt road, at the bottom of the long decline.
It was put there intentionally.
It’s why there was no guard at the gate.
They knew this would foil any escape attempt.
Well, fuck them.
I can’t take my girl with me, but her baby and I…we’re getting the fuck out of here. Anger bolsters my intent, punches another rush of adrenaline, and fuels my determination.
I turn.
I take a deep breath.
And I run.
