Freak Camp, page 16
Jake had no idea how much his father heard, and after a while he didn’t want to know. The words weren’t important, and maybe he shouldn’t have said any of them. But he had to talk, because with each hand gripping one of the two things he loved most in the world, he needed to hear a voice to convince himself that the Eldorado and Dad and Toby weren’t just an illusion, something that he had made up in the dark to hold his sanity together.
The Eldorado purred under his feet, and Leon Hawthorne bled through Jake’s fingers, and Jake kept driving, kept talking about Toby, who was so far away.
Late spring in Freak Camp was almost tolerable, especially when compared to the imminent scorching summer, but it was still hot enough to burn the skin off a vampire and leave everyone else heat sick and sunburned.
Jake always made sure that they at least had a piece of shade, whether because he didn’t like the heat or because he cared—Tobias wrestled sometimes with which it could be, Becca’s voice and his own instincts warring with each other. Sometimes, being Sally Dixon’s son, he could even talk their way into one of the air-conditioned buildings.
This visit, Jake had convinced the people in Administration to let them through, and he and Tobias sat in an out-of-the-way corner under a stairwell, against the cool plaster of the wall, and shared what Tobias was sure was the biggest meal he had eaten in his entire life.
“Dad’ll be busy for hours,” Jake said. “No need to rush, Toby. We’ve got lots of time today.”
He hadn’t believed it when Jake kept pulling food out of his bag. Two sub sandwiches, three apples, a huge bag of chips and two small, squashed cupcakes in plastic wrapping. Tobias nearly shook from the effort not to snatch some of that food and shove it into his mouth before someone—monster or guard—took it away.
Only the fact that he was with Jake—and Jake looked happy and relaxed, which he hadn’t always the last few visits—kept Tobias from acting like a filthy, grabby monster. Tobias knew that Jake would give him some of that bounty, because Jake had never been cruel enough to show him food and not allow him to eat it.
Jake beamed at him as he shook out the bag. “Dig in. I’m just glad they give me less shit about bringing in food these days.”
Cautiously, still not quite believing the feast before him, Tobias reached for a sandwich.
By the time Jake had finished his sandwich and opened up the bag of chips, Tobias’s anxiety had ebbed. He still tried to eat slowly—too much food at once, good food, could come back up if he scarfed it, and Tobias didn’t want to lose any of the wonderful food that Jake had brought him—but he was smiling and able to laugh at the stories Jake told around his mouthful of chips.
He had been afraid, sometimes, on Jake’s recent visits. Not because he was afraid that Jake would hurt him—nothing Jake did could possibly hurt—but because Jake was sometimes tense, distracted, and unhappy. Tobias assumed it had something to do with his father, or maybe the real world, but Tobias always had a nagging fear that it was his fault and that someday Jake would stop coming because of something Tobias had done without ever knowing what it was.
But not today. Today Jake smiled and pushed chips in his face and grinned when he made jokes so that Tobias could be sure that he should laugh.
“Sub taste all right?” Jake asked. “I wasn’t sure what kind to get, so I went with everything.”
Tobias nodded. “It tastes great. B-b-but…” He stuttered to a halt, not sure how to ask. “Why so much… I mean, I love it, this is amazing, but…” God, Jake’s food was so good. He felt full for the first time in months, he was sure he wouldn’t have to eat for the next week if he had to, but he couldn’t even pretend to understand why Jake had done all this. “It’s just so much.”
Jake colored a little. Tobias blinked, not sure he could believe that Jake was blushing for him.
“Well,” Jake said. “It’s April. You know.”
Tobias stared. He had no idea what Jake was talking about, unless… “My… birthday?”
“Yeah.” Jake cleared his throat and looked away. “I mean, I know it doesn’t make much difference here. It’s not really a big deal like it is outside, but I like to do something special. Just between us, so I know I’m doing something, you know? And you only turn twelve once.”
Tobias stared as the idea sank in. Jake cared so much that he would remember something as pointless as the day Tobias had been born and make it special.
Tobias thought about last year. Usually he tried to forget the day-to-day of Freak Camp. Why would he want to remember pain—his own and others’? Why should he keep track of bad food, miserable hungry nights, and punishments doled out to monsters who disappeared before he could ever know their real names?
But he remembered every one of Jake’s visits. He stored them up like some monsters hid food, because it got him through the bad times. Like some of the rare stories he found in the library, every one of Jake’s visits was a moment when he could, at least for a little while, escape everything that could hurt him.
If he thought back, he could clearly remember this time last year when the weather had been warmer. Jake had brought a small cake in a slightly crumpled box. It had been an even better day in all the best days when Jake had visited.
For a second it was hard to breathe, but not because he was in pain or because he felt faint from hunger. It was because of Jake, who looked so embarrassed but happy. Because Jake was good to him all the time and didn’t expect anything from Tobias. He just did it because he cared. Tobias knew this was true because Jake never pointed out when he was doing kind things, things Tobias would never be able to repay. He just did them and didn’t ask for anything in return.
Tobias clenched his hand in his shirt to keep from reaching for Jake. His fingers were coated in salt from the chips, plus a little sauce from the roast beef sandwich, and he didn’t want to repay Jake by dirtying his jacket.
No chance he could ever find the right words, but he swallowed and said, “You’re the best,” as authoritatively as he could, sure of this one fact. Jake was the best person in his life, maybe the best person in the world.
As they finished the food, Jake told wild stories about traveling and hunting with his dad, and Tobias occasionally threw in a comment about monster lore that he had read. Once or twice, a guard or staffer would stop and stare at them, but Jake glared, and then they went away. Tobias didn’t know if Jake had this power because he was a hunter, or a Hawthorne, or just because he was Jake. With him Tobias felt safe, and it felt like some of that protection stayed with Tobias even when Jake was gone.
An hour later, feeling unnaturally, pleasantly full, Tobias felt someone staring at him. He looked up from their card game expecting a guard, and instead he saw Leon Hawthorne.
Tobias forgot all his lessons in survival and stared, terrified. Maybe this was how the fresh meat felt with the regular guards. He trembled from that stare alone, and he could feel the cards slipping from his hands. He forced his eyes down and swore at himself. Freaks didn’t look at guards or hunters. Above all, freaks didn’t invite attention by showing fear. Especially now, when it could cost him so much more than a beating. He tried to think of a way to warn Jake that right behind him stood the only person in the whole camp, maybe in the whole world, who could hurt Jake.
If Jake was punished because Tobias had contaminated him just by sitting next to him, dealing him cards, and reaching into the same bag of chips, Tobias didn’t know how he would ever be able to look at Jake again.
Maybe that was why Jake had been tense and unhappy before. Tobias hadn’t seen any welts, scars, burns, cuts, bruises, or even the stiffness that he got sometimes after a beating or other punishment, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened.
Maybe if Jake hit Tobias now, treating him like a monster deserved, he would be safe, and Leon Hawthorne wouldn’t take his disgust out on his son.
“Tobias, what’s wrong?” Jake reached for his shoulder.
Tobias pulled away, afraid of Jake’s father seeing the way Jake touched him—gently, kindly, without pain. Only then did it occur to him that he should have flinched.
“Your father,” Tobias whispered, keeping his eyes locked on his hands and the fallen cards. The jack of clubs looked up at him with one eye. “You can hit me if you—”
Jake swung around. “Dad! What are you doing here?”
Leon Hawthorne’s eyes shifted between his son and Tobias, the scowl never altering. “ASC’s full of assholes.”
“Yeah.” Jake dragged out the word, like it was a basic fact that didn’t require acknowledging. “But I thought you were in Special Research all day.”
“The interrogation protocols are biased in favor of the fucking Dixons, and they’re trying to tell me I have to come back another fucking time to finish my… research. I’m here to find someone whose ass I can shove those protocols in and see if they get as pissed as I am. What are you doing?”
Jake shrugged and gestured between him and Tobias. “Just talking.” He straightened defensively. “It’s research of my own. Can’t I research while you do? It’s the same thing, isn’t it, you talking to monsters, me talking to Tob—other monsters?”
Tobias didn’t look up, but he could feel Leon Hawthorne’s eyes boring into his head. He hoped that maybe if he didn’t move or speak, Leon would forget he had been there, contaminating his son.
Leon jerked his head. “Come on, pack your stuff.”
Jake jumped up and scrambled to sweep up the deck of cards. His hands brushed Tobias’s, and Tobias jumped. “We’re leaving? New hunt?”
“No, we’re not leaving, but you’re not staying here.”
Jake paused in the act of shoving cards and wrappers into his duffel. “Dad, if we’re not leaving…”
“You should learn how this shit Dixon administration works.” When Jake didn’t move, Leon took a step closer. “Jake, you’re coming with me now.”
Jake straightened like he’d been slapped, but his expression was still sullen, angry. “Yes, sir.”
He continued packing up, but more slowly. Tobias was glad that anger had never been directed at him, and he marveled at Jake’s bravery, that he could be angry toward a hunter like his father. Maybe it was something that came with being a real person, or maybe it was just Jake.
“Now, Jake,” Leon said.
“I’m coming already.” Jake zipped the duffel closed and swung it over his shoulder. “See you later, Toby.”
“No, you won’t,” Leon said, and Tobias felt his lungs seize up for the second time that day.
But Jake didn’t even flinch. “Well, maybe not today.” He glanced at Tobias, but the next words were still directed at Leon. “But I’ll be back sometime.”
If anything, Leon’s scowl deepened. “Come on.”
“Toby needs to—” Jake began, but his father cut him off.
“The freak can find his own way back to the yard. Go, Jake.”
Jake was sullen and pissed off, but to Tobias’s surprise he didn’t look afraid. “Yes, sir,” he muttered, and walked past his father deeper into Administration.
Tobias expected Leon to follow, but he stood there looking at Tobias, long enough to stop his breath in his chest.
Just when Tobias had resigned himself to being whipped—at least beaten or kicked a couple of times—Leon Hawthorne turned and strode off after Jake.
Tobias breathed a sigh of relief and stole out of Administration, careful not to let anyone else see him.
On any given October 30th, if the Hawthornes weren’t on a hunt or in the hospital, they found themselves in a bar.
This year it was the Crossroads Inn, and Leon was halfway to drunk on the hardest whiskey he could buy.
Leon was an old-school hunter, an ex-Marine who had entered the great fight against inhuman threats after his wife died at the turning point of the war, when the things crawling in the dark suddenly came into the light. He was a hard man to get to know—he had few friends, and those he had he tended to piss off—but everyone knew that with a weapon in his hand, Leon Hawthorne was one of the most frightening things the monsters would ever see.
Jerry Bentham took a seat next to the hero and bought him a few rounds of drinks. It was an honor. And, drunk enough, perhaps Leon might let slip some secrets, some insights that—beside his ruthless obsession—had made him the best.
“Where’s your boy?” Bentham asked, gesturing for another pair of whiskeys. “He’s, what, fourteen, fifteen now?”
Leon gave a bark of laughter. “Almost seventeen and growing like a goddamn beanstalk. He was here, you saw him. Left with a girl.”
Bentham blinked. He’d noticed the kid who had a couple of drinks with Hawthorne and then left with the hot blonde on his arm. He hadn’t looked twenty-one, but he sure as hell hadn’t looked sixteen. Sixteen was the age of high school drama and pimples, not that cold-eyed assessment of the room and the brazen confidence in his smile at the girl.
“Damn, Hawthorne, you’ve got a good kid there. Lucky all the way around. I’ve even heard you’ve reserved yourself a damn fine piece of monster ass. Good stuff.”
Leon’s eyes were no longer muzzy, but startled and dangerous. “Monster ass? What the fuck are you talking about?”
Bentham tensed. He didn’t know what Hawthorne was reacting to—he’d heard the guy could get damn right sanctimonious if rubbed the wrong way—so he proceeded carefully. “There’s a kid at the freak facility. They call him . . .” Baby Freak, yeah, not going there. “89UI . . . something like that. I’ve heard that you’ve . . . you know, shown an interest.”
Hawthorne snorted. “Oh, Tobias.”
That surprised Bentham. Most hunters, if they called the freaks anything, used the guards’ nicknames. “You know his name?”
“Jake talks about him.” Hawthorne scowled. “Don’t know what he sees in the freak, no matter how human it looks. If I had my way, I’d put a bullet, stake, or a fucking axe through every one and leave ’em for the turkey vultures.”
“So,” Bentham said slowly, “you don’t care about the kid? You don’t have . . . a plan for him?”
“What the hell would I do with a monster? All these fucks who want to study them, want to get close to them, make my skin crawl. Right up there with perverts who get off on little kids.” Hawthorne threw back the latest shot. “I see a freak, I kill it. End of story.”
Bentham was relieved he hadn’t talked more about the freak. If Hawthorne hadn’t gutted him for implying he was fucking a monster . . . well, the guy clearly didn’t share any of the private interests Bentham held in common with some of the camp guards.
But this opened up opportunities for guys like his friend Victor. And maybe for himself, if he played his cards right.
“So you don’t have any interest in that damn monster,” Bentham repeated, just to be safe. “It’s just your kid, Jake?”
Hawthorne nodded. “And he’d better fucking grow out of his stupid obsession before he gets himself killed. I keep telling him.”
Bentham ordered another shot and somberly clinked glasses with the hero. “Here’s hoping.”
***
Tobias had only been in the library for half an hour that morning, researching accounts of international crop circle activity and their relative connection to recorded demon activity outside the North American continent, when Victor appeared in the doorway.
“This is a special day for you, Baby Freak.” He twirled in his hand an ugly, heavy lead line—the kind they used to drag big, defiant monsters around.
Tobias went very still before he tucked his paper into the book and closed it, so carefully it made no noise. He pushed the book to the center of the table with both hands, then stood up and kept his eyes on the floor as he walked over to the guard.
“Hands out.”
Tobias extended his wrists, keeping them limp as Victor slid the zip tie cuffs over them and yanked them tight.
But when Victor clipped the stiff lead line onto his collar, Tobias’s well-honed composure broke. The floor tilted underneath him, his vision swam until he closed his eyes, and an audible keen—that he knew was a mistake, he could have told any other monster that—rose through his throat. When Victor gave the line its first jerk, his legs almost gave way.
“Aw, what’s wrong?” He tugged again, and Tobias nearly stumbled against him, just catching himself in time. “Not used to being on a leash? You’ve been pretty privileged until now, haven’t you? Our little spoiled monster. Those days are over, freak. No more special treatment.”
Tobias could barely walk out of the room. The lead provided no slack, just a few links between the snap hook and stiff metal rod, enough for it to rotate in the guard’s grip. He couldn’t remember the last time he was put on a leash. It might have been when he first arrived, but that was so long ago, he barely remembered anything of those days. Even Becca’s face was dim.
Now, with Victor ruthlessly yanking him along, shoving him ahead an extra step or hauling him back, all of Tobias’s coordination was off. He stumbled repeatedly into doorways and walls, despite all the times he’d watched monsters on leashes and thought how they should just cooperate to make things easier. There wasn’t any way to make it easier. He’d never been so conscious of his collar—not since he’d been fitted for a new one a few years ago—but now it seemed to shrink around his neck. He would be strangled before they got to wherever Victor was taking him.
And where else could they be headed but Special Research?
Tobias had last seen Jake two weeks ago. Jake, who had given him a sandwich and then found him a bottle of good, cold water from inside Reception. Who had smiled at him so openly, gently, looking fully relaxed again, and hadn’t hesitated to brush Tobias’s hair out of his eyes and rest his hand on his shoulder. Jake hadn’t known that would be the last time. Would he be upset when he next came and they told him 89UI6703 had expired? How long would it be before Jake forgot about him, about that pathetic little freak he used to visit?
