"Meg, you ready?" he asks. I nod and grab my backpack off the rusty table, swinging it over my shoulder."As always" I sigh. We race down the concrete staircase, the damp aroma cool. I grin as we approach the moldy door at the bottom of the darkness.
We had been camping at this place since I can remember, me and my dad. We'd been caught you see, and they'd arrested my mom, so he'd fled with me. I was only two. But he still carried on. And now I helped him. Conning farmers out of their land. Sometimes even scaring them to leave, if we had done a good job. But of course no one else would move there. And so we'd have our new home.
The air is fresh, as expected from the countryside. We make our way over the muddy haystacks. The yellowed grass brushing against my thighs. Sunset was approaching. Perfect. We walk until the ground beneath us is dry. Almost a natural green, soon to become supernatural. We were in a feild not far from our claimed barn. "Here?" I ask as my father stops in his tracks. "No" he replies. And we travel futher until we approach a hedge, behind it an old road. Silence.
We make our way through it, the sharp twips gnawing at the bare skin on my legs and arms. It was june, and very hot for a matter of fact. I wore shorts and a hoodie, my sleeves rolled up to my elbows. My father cutting at the leaves with his blade, to make it easier. We find ourselves standing on the dark concrete, coverd in leaves, but perfectly calm. We had to be.There were no cars, bearly even a bird chirping. But then came the shillouettes in the distance.
"Dad" I say tugging on his arm, "we have to go, they'll catch us". He just stands there and looks at me, his eyes bluer than ever, their surrounding wrinkles illuminated in the orange sky light. "No" he replies again. The figures reach us, unaware of the giant crop cutter, grasped in my fathers hand. We usually went around by ourselves cutting our prefferd shapes, rare for our kind, but you couldn't fault our accuracy. We just couldn't get caught. "There here to help us Meg" he nods towards the other side of the oppisite hedges. A tractor.
I close my eyes slightly. We had never before needed help. We walked along the tramlines, carefull not to leave footprints, no flashlights so bright that we'd be caught. He could see the confuision, clear on my face. Then the unasked question, why? "Meg, were going to Oaken Hill" he sighs. And I nod autumatically in reaction. Quicker than I probably should. But I just don't care.
He continues about how he was going to leave me back at the barn, about how it wasn't safe. But I just smile, "Im in" I say. And the five other men begin to shake my fathers hand. Oaken Hill was where they had caught my mother. So I got it, straight away, the only mission that he had never compleated, he wanted revenge. It would probably be the same family, the same place that my parents had last carved the criss-crossing ovals. Large shapes they were, one of their best ones yet. I understood, they had been caught in the act, my mother thrown in jail, my father left with me. He wanted revenge, and I suppose, so did I. But what were they in it for?The other men. I couldn't trust them. Not yet.