I creep around the side of the barn, just out of the light of the torches. The firelight casts long shadows across the door of the barn. I watch Hershel and the Hank haul wooden planks out of the barn.

A few minutes go by. I keep my breath steady and muscles tense while I wait for the signal. I play with the fabric on the hood of the cloak Zeke lent me as I count the seconds in my head. A loud thump echoes through the air from the spot Zeke and I were hiding earlier.

The signal. Hershel and Hank swivel in the direction of the noise. They look at each other but don't move forward to investigate. I wait, willing them to go. Just as they turn to go back to their work, another bump, louder this time accompanied with rustling, demands their attention again.

"What's that?" Hershel asks.

"Probably a fox or a coon," Hank tells him. "They're always after the chickens." He pulls the pistol from his hip holster. "Come on. It's dark I might need some help."

Hershel nods and follows him closer towards the line of trees. Seizing my chance I dart for the barn door, grab the handle with one hand and squeeze through the crack I open.

The inside of the barn is cooler than I thought. There are only two horses and a cow stabled in here. I look around for the two men that were captured. Everything is so quiet, other than the gentle rustling of the animals, that I wonder if they're asleep.

A metallic clink sounds off somewhere in the back of the barn to the left and I hurry towards it. Turning into a livestock stall I see them. Their chains are interlocked and wrapped securely around a wooden beam. It reminds me sharply of my own situation Nick and Rene saved me from only days earlier.

One of them is asleep, but the younger one, sees me right away. He sits up from leaning against the back wall, his quick movement rattling the chains loudly and causing the older man to jerk awake.

His sunken eyes fly open and terror fills them until they focus on me and the panic is replaced with wary confusion. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"Shh," I shush them quickly. "Don't worry about that. I'm here to help, okay?"

"Help?" the younger man—who I now see is probably barely sixteen—asks slowly. "What are you talking about?"

"You're about to die aren't you?" This comes out sharp, but this doesn't feel like the time to be asking questions. I run past them to the chains tied to the post. The chains require a key so it's fruitless when I pull on them with my weight. Maybe the key was left in the barn? Unlikely.

My wrists catch my eye as I pull and I focus briefly on the old scars beneath the fresh burns on the skin. I shudder involuntarily. Now isn't the time to take a trip down memory lane.

"It's no good," the older slave man says. "You need to get out of here. You can't open those chains without the key."

"I realize that." Frustration makes heat crawl up my back. I'm upset that the reckless, ridiculous plan to rescue them is already going to pot.

"Young man, you need to go right now."

Young man? He thinks I'm a boy? Of course, the boy's clothes. Is that why Zeke gave me his cloak to wear? To disguise the fact that I'm a girl? It might come in handy; no one would pay any credence to a slave girl after all.

"Don't risk your life for nothing," he insists.

"I'm not risking it for nothing," I mutter.

The sound of the barn door swinging open nearly stops my heart from beating. Terror pools into the eyes of the two men, they stare at me in horror for their own lives as well as mine. I waste no time falling back into the shadows of the empty stall across from them. I crouch behind a bale of old hay, holding my breath.

Three shadows darken the floor of the barn. Hershel and Hank march inside followed by the boy holding a lantern. Their footsteps are deliberate and heavy as the make their way to the stall. I can't see what's happening from behind the hay, so I stay still and strain my ears.

"Get up, boys." The chains rattle and someone grunts in pain as boots stomp across the dirt floor. The footsteps travel from the stall to the front of the barn. The door swings shut. Within the span of three minutes, I've failed. Disappointment floods my chest. I was too late, I hadn't done any good at all. If deep down I had been hoping to save them to ease my guilt over Mari, it hadn't worked. I risked mine and Zeke's life for nothing. How stupid.

Bending forward, I shift onto my knees and crawl out from behind the haystack.

"What are you doing here?"

My heart stops. My fingers drag across the dirt floor, closing around the stray hay. I slowly raise my head up to lock gazes with the little boy. His blonde locks fall across his forehead and frames his flushed cheeks. He stares at me with wide eyes. "Who are you?"

My limbs are stiff from fear. A full minute passes by in silence as we stare at each other. Finally, I move my feet under me. The boy backs away. "Pa..."

"No, no, no," I straighten and hold my hands out, palms facing him like I'm trying to soothe a frightened horse. "Please be quiet." He looks at me uncertainly, but he doesn't shout out again for his father. I try to force a smile. "It's alright. I won't—"

"Are those my clothes?" he interrupts.

I pause. I forgot I was dressed in his clothes I had stolen from the line. "Um, yes."

"But I thought you were a girl."

Pushing back the hood on the cloak, I allow him to see my face and for my hair to tumble out the back. "Yeah, I'm a girl."

He frowns, obviously confused. "Then why'd you steal my boy's clothes?"

I don't have time for this. "They looked comfortable. Listen, promise me you won't tell anybody you saw me, alright?"

The boy shook his head and took another step away. "You're a thief and you're a nigger. My pa says bad niggers need to be punished. I'm going to tell him you're here—"

"No, wait, please!"

The boy starts at my high-pitched urgency. Calm down, Lyric. I lower my voice. "What's your name?"

He pauses, wondering if he should tell me. "...John."

"John." I sigh, a breath exhaling through my nose as I try to keep myself calm and think clearly. "John, you know those two men your father and his friend took outside?" He nodded.

"Well, they're my friends and...I don't want them to die." I place my hands on my knees and bend to eye level with the boy. "They're going to burn them alive, John. I know they're slaves, but you don't think that's a very good thing to do, do you?"

John titled his head to the side, watching me with his big eyes. I had to keep him talking to me until I could come up with a plan.

"My...my ma was friends with her slaves."

My gaze narrows in on him. "Really?"

John nods. "Yeah, she was really nice to them. She took care of them when they were sick, made them clothes, and gave them food and stuff." He lowers his eyes to the ground. "But after she died, Pa got really mad and hated all the slaves and sold them."

My breath hitches in my throat. This was my chance. "Sounds like your Ma was a good person."

He nods, still looking at the dirt. "Yeah."

"And your Pa, he's probably just sad she's gone. That's why he's so mean. Your mother wouldn't want you to burn people, would she?"

"No."

"Then don't tell anyone you saw me," I plead, pulling myself back to my full height. "Will you?"

I half expect him to refuse or blackmail me into taking him with me like I did with Nick and Rene. But he's already free. Free to grow up and to do and be anything he wants. Being born with that freedom he probably doesn't even realize what it means. But I do.

"I won't," he breathes.

I stare at him, open-mouthed for a moment. Does he really mean that? Or is he just saying that to get away from me? I'm not sure this is a chance I can risk my freedom on. The realization of what I have to do makes my conscious burn, but there really isn't any other option.

Nodding, I try to not let my breathing quicken. "Thank you. Now...I need to go rescue my friends, okay?" He nods, never taking his eyes off me. I have to get him to turn around. "Could you take me to them?"

John hesitates for an agonizing moment. Then he nods and moves to lead me out of the stable. He turns his back to me.

A sign of something that isn't hate. One day this child may grow up to be a cruel slave master. But right now, he's a boy not ruled by the rift the color of our skin creates. Maybe Zeke was like this as a kid. Confused, but not convinced.

My hand silently slips under the lip of my bag. It must have been nice to have that option.

~

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