11. The Wall Between Us
The Wall Between Us
Honor
I hear the call every time I close my eyes.
Three notes carried through the trees, soft enough that the guards dismissed them and familiar enough that I knew immediately they weren't meant for them.
Then the change at the end. A question.
I answered.
I probably shouldn't have. Twelve days in this place have taught me what happens when you take unnecessary risks, and answering someone I couldn't see was one.
But I knew that call.
My grandmother used it when I was little, teaching me the sounds of this land and the difference between hearing something and listening to it. Some things carried through generations don't need explaining when they reach you.
That call was one of them, and whoever made it knew that too.
I lie beneath the thin blanket in the dark accommodation building, listening to the building settle around us and the occasional cough or murmur through the walls.
The wall beside my bed is freezing. Beyond it, another room. Beyond that, the yard, the fence and the forest.
Somewhere past all of it is him.
I don't know his name. I don't know what he looks like. I don't even know if he's still out there.
Yet I feel his presence beyond the fence. That should scare me more than it does.
I've learned not to trust easily. Trust gets women hurt. Trust gets information into the wrong hands. Trust makes you careless when careful is the only thing keeping you alive.
But there was patience in the way he called.
He didn't demand an answer or repeat it until I gave him one. He offered me a choice.
I answered because something deep inside me told me I could.
My grandmother would probably have a word for what I'm feeling. Something old, something tied to spirit and land and the strange ways people can recognize each other before they understand why.
I only know the world felt different after I answered him.
For twelve days, I've kept the women here moving. I've watched guards and learned routines, counted vehicles, memorized doors and helped women through panic and exhaustion while swallowing my own.
Being strong is easier when somebody else needs you to be.
Tonight, lying in the dark, I let myself admit I'm tired.
And somewhere outside these walls is a man who came looking simply because I was missing, asking nothing from me in return.
The thought hurts in a place I've kept carefully protected.
I want out of here.
I want Rose.
I want these women walking beside me through that gate.
And, selfishly, impossibly, I want to see him. The man behind those three notes.
I want to know whether I'll recognize him when there's no fence between us.
My eyes close.
I can almost hear my grandmother telling me some connections arrive before we're ready to name them.
Maybe she's right.
Maybe this is only twelve days of captivity making me reach for something hopeful in the dark.
But my spirit recognized something in those trees, and whatever happens tomorrow, I trust it enough to answer again.
Lockhart Mining Compound, Northern Manitoba, Canada. 0900 hours.
I start with the vehicle shed.
Not because anyone outside has told me to. Nobody has.
Three birdcalls don't make an extraction plan.
But I've spent thirteen days learning this compound, and if someone really is waiting beyond the fence, I need to make sure the women here are ready when an opportunity comes.
The vehicle shed sits on the western side of the yard, closer to the treeline than any of the buildings where we're held.
Two pickups are usually parked inside, along with snowmobiles and maintenance equipment.
The guards pay more attention to the gate than the shed because there's nowhere obvious to go beyond it except forest.
That's exactly why I like it.
During breakfast cleanup, I catch Mariah near the sink.
“If the power goes out and I tell you we're moving, take Ivy to the vehicle shed.”
She stops wiping the counter. “Why?”
“Because it's closer to the west fence.”
Her eyes sharpen. “Someone's out there.”
I don't answer directly.
Her mouth moves slightly. “I knew it.”
“Keep knowing it quietly.”
She almost smiles.
By midmorning, every woman in our building has the same instruction. Nobody runs unless I say so. Nobody leaves another woman behind. Ivy stays between Mariah and Tessa because she's still coughing and tires quickly.
The women farther down the corridor are harder to reach directly.
Laundry gives me the opening.
We’re marched outside with baskets again, and I use every trip across the yard to change the pattern slightly.
I send Lena to collect towels near the shed.
I take a load of work clothes there myself.
Sarah catches my eye from farther along the line, and I point toward the building as if directing her where to stack a basket.
She looks at the shed. Then at me. One small nod.
Enough.
The generator falters at eleven fourteen.
I don't shut it down completely. Three seconds today. Five yesterday. I'm testing how quickly the backup catches and which cameras lose power with it.
Finding the generator remote control came in handy.
When the yard comes back, I look toward the trees.
Nothing. Of course there's nothing.
Whoever answered me yesterday knows better than to stand up and wave.
Still, I picture him there. Watching the guards. Watching the fence. Probably watching me.
And somewhere beyond him, if he's as smart as I think he is, he'll have noticed the same thing I have.
The western side is our best chance.
I carry another basket toward the shed and leave it beside the door instead of returning it to the laundry.
A marker anyone watching closely might understand.
Later, when the guard turns away, I move it another few feet toward the western wall.
The next generator failure lasts four seconds.
I use them to cross the open space between the laundry building and the shed.
When the cameras come back, I'm already where I need to be.
I hear the birdcall from the trees.
Quiet. Three notes.
My whole body wants to turn toward it.
I don't. I pick up the basket. Then I answer under my breath.
If he understands what I'm showing him, he'll know where I'll take the women when the time comes.
If he doesn't, I'll find another way.
But something deep inside me says he does.
We're not ready to run yet.
We're getting ready to be.
Lockhart Mining Compound, Northern Manitoba, Canada. 1515 hours.
I know I've pushed too far when Neanderthal grabs my arm outside the generator building.
That's what I've called him in my head for thirteen days because nobody here has offered introductions, and the thick-necked bastard has done nothing to inspire a more flattering nickname.
“What were you doing?”
“Laundry.”
His fingers tighten around my arm. “In there.”
“I wasn't in there.”
“You were at the door.”
“So was the laundry basket.”
His eyes narrow. Wrong answer.
I've spent thirteen days learning which guards enjoy frightening women and which ones enjoy hurting them.
Neanderthal enjoys both.
He drags me away from the generator building.
The other women stop working.
“Keep going,” I tell them.
His grip bites harder. “You don't give orders.”
“Someone has to get the laundry finished.”
The back of his hand catches my face. Pain explodes across my cheek and my head snaps sideways.
Behind him, Ivy gasps.
I look straight at her.
Don't.
She understands.
Neanderthal shoves me toward the maintenance building, and I stumble through the doorway. The door slams behind us.
“What have you been doing to the generator?”
“Nothing.”
His fist drives into my stomach. I fold around the pain.
“Try again.”
“I don't know anything about the generator.”
Another blow catches my side, and I hit the floor hard enough to taste blood.
He wants an explanation for the failures. He wants to know why I keep appearing near the generator building and why I've been moving around the compound whenever the cameras drop.
I can't give him anything.
If he realizes I've been testing the outages, he'll start watching the other women. He'll search the vehicle shed. He'll put more guards along the western fence.
And whoever is waiting beyond those trees could lose the opening I'm trying to give them.
A boot catches my ribs. I cry out before I can stop it.
The sound tears out of me, and I hate giving him even that.
“Who are you working with?”
“Nobody.”
“Who the fuck is outside that fence?”
My blood goes cold.
He knows. Or he's guessing. I pray he's guessing.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
He hauls me up by my coat and slams me against the wall.
“Bullshit.”
I don't answer.
Then, somewhere beyond the building, a howl rises through the wind.
Long. Low. Wild enough that Neanderthal turns his head.
Wolf.
It has to be.
Except the sound pulls my mind straight back to the three-note call from the trees and the man I haven't seen but have felt beyond the fence since yesterday.
Another howl joins the first, then another, carrying across the frozen compound.
Neanderthal swears and looks toward the window.
I close my eyes briefly.
Stay out there.
The thought comes fiercely.
If the man in the trees can hear me, he'll know something's happening. Every instinct tells me he'll want to come.
He can't. We're not ready.
The women aren't together. The cameras are running. Guards are everywhere.
So when Neanderthal turns back and demands another answer, I give him the only one I can.
“I was doing the laundry.”
His fist catches me again.
Later, he drags me outside and lets me go. I nearly fall.
Mariah starts toward me, but I shake my head and force myself upright.
Blood runs warm from my split lip despite the cold.
Across the compound, the other women are watching. So are the guards.
I straighten, then pick up the laundry basket.
The howl comes again from somewhere beyond the western fence.
This time, I don't think wolf.
I think of three notes carried through the trees.
I'm still here.
I don't know whether he can see me, but I make damn sure I'm standing when he looks.
Lockhart Mining Compound, Northern Manitoba, Canada. 1700 hours.
They lock me back in my room before dinner.
The door closes, the bolt slides into place, and only then do I let myself lean against the wall.
Everything hurts.
My cheek is swollen. My ribs burn every time I breathe too deeply, and my stomach still clenches where Neanderthal hit me. I can taste blood each time I run my tongue over the split inside my lip.
No one can see me in here.
That helps.
I cross to the small sink, wet a cloth and clean the blood from my face. My hands shake badly enough that water splashes across the basin.
I stop and take a slow breath.
A soft knock comes through the wall beside me.
“Honor?”
It's Lena in the next room.
“Are you okay?”
I press the cloth against my lip. “I'm okay.”
“You don't sound okay.”
Despite everything, I almost smile.
“He didn't get anything from me.”
“That's not what I asked.”
My eyes sting. Damn her.
“I'm hurt, but I'll be okay.”
A pause.
“Are we still doing it?”
There it is. The reason I can't let what happened in that maintenance building change anything.
“Yes.”
“You're sure?”
“Absolutely. Get some rest while you can. We keep going when they let us out.”
Two quiet taps come through the wall.
Our answer.
I give her two back.
Then I wait until the corridor is silent again.
The shaking gets worse once I know I'm alone.
I grip the edge of the sink and let the tears come without making a sound. Pain, fear and thirteen days of holding everything together because there has never been anywhere safe enough to put it down.
I give myself a minute, then wipe my face.
My palm settles against the cold wall. The trees are somewhere beyond it.
So is he.
I don't know his name. I don't know what he looks like or how close he came when I screamed.
But I heard the howls.
At first I thought wolves. Now I'm not so sure.
Something about the sound felt connected to the man who sent three notes through the trees yesterday. Maybe pain and exhaustion are making connections where none exist.
My spirit tells me otherwise.
He heard me.
And deep inside, I'm certain he wanted to come through that fence.
“I'm okay,” I whisper, although there's no possible way he can hear me through walls, distance and frozen forest.
Still, saying it helps.
I leave my palm against the wall a little longer, drawing strength from the knowledge that someone is out there.
Then I pull away. There’s work to do.
When the guards unlock the rooms for the next round of chores, I'm already standing.
Lena steps into the corridor and sees my face. Her expression crumples.
I give her the smallest shake of my head.
“I'm okay.”
She nods and keeps moving. So do I.
One guard passes at seventeen twelve.
Another checks the corridor four minutes later.
The exterior door opens twice before seventeen thirty.
Same rhythm as yesterday.
They haven't changed the schedule yet. That matters.
Neanderthal is suspicious now, so the generator failures stop. I can't risk drawing his attention back there.
Instead, I watch keys, doors and guard rotations. Who gets lazy after dinner. Which women can move fastest and which will need someone beside them when we run.
The vehicle shed still gives us the shortest route toward the western fence.
Toward the trees.
Toward him.
Neanderthal wanted to beat the plan out of me.
All he did was make me more careful.