At All Costs

By Emily Grant

I’m tired of my child coming home bloody.

Our lonely life in the forest hasn’t provided the normalcy I’d hoped for. I’ve lost count of the times Lane has stumbled into our tiny home, crying and scrubbing at the red stains on his hands. I always kiss his forehead, wash the nightmare from his skin, and remind him to stay inside.

Then I dispose of the mangled carcass in the yard. A rabbit, a squirrel, or maybe even a deer. Sometimes more than one. He sees a living creature, and he snaps—only to return to reality devastated by his actions.

But today, something’s different. When Lane bursts through the door and his wide eyes meet mine, there are no tears. Only pure shock.

I’ve seen that look, once.

Heart pounding, I clutch his arms with trembling hands. “Lane, what happened? Why did you go outside?” I wish I could keep him indoors… but I’ve seen what happens when he’s too tightly contained.

Fear creeps onto his face as he snaps out of his trance, shrinking away. Always afraid he’ll hurt me. Always making me wonder how many memories he has that we’re both afraid to talk about. He croaks, “There were two hunters. I— I—”

He lifts his hands, dripping blood all over me and the floor. Hunters. So this is human blood, for the first time in six years.

“One of them got away.”

I stop breathing.

He says it with relief, and I should feel the same. But all I hear is that there’s a witness.

“We have to go now.” I pull him to our bedroom and yank out the backpack I keep on the top shelf of the closet. It’s been packed since the day Lane’s father and I broke him out of that horrendous lab.

“Go where?” Lane backs away. I ache for him—uprooting your life isn’t easy. And this time he’s old enough to know what’s happening.

“To find help.” I pull down a pistol in a holster next, strapping it around my waist. Lane’s eyes grow wider.

“Here.” I strap the bag to his back. “Don’t lose it and stay with me!” Finally, I remove a small black box from the shelf, holding it delicately.

Back at the front door, I stop, taking a deep breath. Our life is about to change again. Not for the first time, bitterness builds in my heart as I recall government agents all but knocking down our door and claiming my two-year-old son as a lab rat. Orders of the president—seize as many young children as needed to raise a highly-trained army to dominate any other nation. But after six years of resentment and anticipation, I’m prepared to escape this time.

“Mama.”

I look down into the bravest little eyes I’ve ever seen. Lane swallows. “Leave me here. You’re safer without me.”

Tears blur my vision as the boy I know and love glimmers through the trauma. How can someone so damaged remain this selfless? “I’m not leaving you behind.” I squeeze his hand.

Bolstering myself against the future, I open the door, and we run.

I’m met with distant shouts. They’re already here. Gun-wielding men in jumpsuits run through the trees toward us. Their threatening voices are echoes from the past, when I fled with Lane from our first home—as my husband’s blood flowed down our front steps like a waterfall. The sickening feeling I had that day returns now—of not being safe in my own child’s presence.

Lane struggles to keep up as my burning legs carry me to the shed behind our house. I slam the door open and jump on the motorcycle inside, motioning Lane on behind me.

“Who are they?” Desperation rattles his voice as I start the bike. “Are they coming to take me away? Because of what I did?”

“Not if I can help it!” I grit my teeth. “Hold on!” We tear out of the shed, scattering soil. They’ll follow my tracks for a while, but once I reach the nearest road, I’ll make sure they never find us.

The black box nearly slips from my sweaty hand, but I manage to type in the code and press the detonate button. Behind us, our house blows into the treetops.

I throw away the detonator and grip the handlebars. No need to keep that house standing, and the destruction will hinder our pursuers.

Pangs of guilt twist my stomach as I wonder if anyone was hurt. I push the feeling back, telling myself those government agents are nothing more than monsters.

All these years, I’d hoped we could hide and ignore the obvious. But now that my son’s hands bear human blood again, I have to find help. From whom, I don’t know, because the authorities are clearly not an option. But I have to find someone.

Soon I’ll have to answer all the questions Lane asks me so often.

Like why he mindlessly slaughters innocent creatures with his bare hands—because the government stole you from me and turned you into a monster in a lab.

Like why we live in the middle of nowhere—to keep people safe from you.

Like what happened to his father—you killed him in a fit of rage when you were a toddler.

But right now isn’t the time to answer questions. It’s time to be a mother and protect my child at all costs. Despite the consequences if we’re caught. Or the path of destruction we leave behind us.

I’ll protect him until I die—even if he’s the one who stops my heart from beating.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Emily Grant doesn’t remember the first time she wrote a story, but she’s never looked back. Though her main focus is on novels- mostly fantasy- Havok recently helped draw her back into the wonderful world of short fiction. She loves coffee, rainy days, superheroes, and candles, and while she currently lives in Missouri, she hopes to somehow live in the Shire one day.

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