Human Bait

Chapter 23: Pikkel's Petrol

Fennikk finished her food first. By the time the rest of us had finished, she lay down on the ground in front of the rock, one arm tucked under her head and the other draped across her middle. She snored softly, and a trail of drool trickled from her mouth to her arm.

While Rekkan repacked his bag, he cast several glances at Fennikk. "We can't sleep here," he told Nikkla. "Will she be able to walk?"

Nikkla jostled Fennikk's shoulder. "Fennikk, wake up."

Fennikk continued snoring.

"Fennikk, baby, can you get up? We have to keep moving."

Fennikk groaned and rolled onto her back without opening her eyes.

Nikkla sighed. "I've pushed her too hard." She grabbed Fennikk's armpits, pulling her up to cradle the child against her chest. "Alright. We're ready."

I frowned at her. I had a feeling however hard she had pushed Fennikk, she had pushed herself even harder. Briefly, I considered offering to carry the girl for her—but I feared Rekkan was already nearing his limit. Our rule was to stay away from people, and he was making a big compromise by allowing them to join us at all.

"You really think you can carry her?" I asked.

Dark lines creased the space below her eyes, but she jutted her chin in determination. "You really think this is the first time?"

Rekkan studied Nikkla and Fennikk, lips twisted to the side. Then he shouldered his bag and started walking.

After a half hour, the woods opened back up to a stretch of highway. Cracked pavement weaved through white fields, occasionally disappearing in the snow like a snake obscured by grass. Nikkla never once complained, but her walking grew slower. Rekkan cast glances over his shoulder, scowling.

When she fell too far behind, I slowed down, and in response, Rekkan slowed too. He drifted closer to my side, and I expected him to tell me that we needed to leave the mother and daughter behind. Instead, he only said, "Let me know if you see anywhere we can sleep. We need a small building set on its own with all exterior walls intact."

I scanned the horizon, but only an occasional tree interrupted the neverending line where white met blue. "What if we don't find anything for miles?"

"Then we keep walking."

I bit my lip. "Nikkla is getting tired..."

"Nikkla is not my priority."

Irritation overrode my previous resolve not to push him too far. "Come on, Rekkan. You really don't care about them at all? That kid worships you."

His jaw tensed. "She is extremely misguided."

"Apparently."

Rekkan started to respond, but then his gaze flitted back behind us, and he halted in his tracks. I turned back to see what had stopped him. Nikkla sat on the pavement, holding her still-sleeping daughter on her lap. Her arms were trembling.

My heart squeezed. I will never stop until I have secured the future you deserve, my mother had written. But Nikkla didn't need to write a dedication in a book; her dedication was visible in her lined eyes and her trembling arms.

I took a few steps back toward her. "Nikkla, are you alright?"

"We're fine," she called back. "Just resting for a few minutes. You go on ahead."

My tongue twisted around an offer to help—an offer I knew would start an argument with Rekkan. But we couldn't just leave them here like this. They were more exposed and vulnerable here than they had been in the woods when they found us. Surely we could at least—