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ELEVEN
It was beyond weird to go back to working in the barn. Like my life hadn't entirely changed. Again.
It was also beyond comforting. Even with all the sudden drastic differences I still did plain old boring chores. I still had this.
My parents were gone, off at a local business owner get-together. I'd gotten out of going with them by changing into barn clothes, because my chore backlog was even longer than it had been on Monday. I chipped away steadily, losing myself to the rhythm of the work. Aftran was mostly inattentive, focused on her own thoughts. Occasionally she'd dig through my memory, always something to do with my friends. Every now and then stress wafted off of her.
I tried not to think too much about how quickly I was getting used to this, how readily I was accepting part-time ownership of my own body when the alternative was nothing at all. Those thoughts made me want to throw up until there was nothing left in my stomach, so I didn't think them. I pushed my worries to the back of my mind and focused on the work instead.
I got the patients fed, I checked the bedding in the cages and noted down which needed changed. I got the horses in the runs, mucked out the stalls, put down fresh straw. All three mares got curried and their hooves picked out. The afternoon swept towards evening.
The whole time I kept expecting to see Tobias fly through the hayloft door. I kept expecting Jake to walk in the side door looking like God couldn't keep him from answers. I kept expecting one of the most awkward, unwanted, overanticipated conversations of my life. I kept half-expecting an ambush that never came.
At least, not from the source I expected.
The light was starting to change outside when I heard the sounds of cars pulling up. My parents had taken both vehicles, so that wasn't too odd. What was odd was that there were too many wheels crunching on the ground, too many engines running. It wasn't just my parents coming up the driveway.
I slowed from where I was finishing up with med rounds. Car doors slammed outside. I heard talking, laughter. Indistinct voices. Aftran rifled through my memory. «What's going on?»
«I don't know.» I replied. «They just had some local business thing. To try and get funding for the barn.»
Footsteps. The voices got louder, more distinct: my mom, my dad, a woman. Aftran went tense.
The top and bottom bolts on one of the double barn doors unlocked. It opened. My mom and dad walked in, my dad gesturing behind him, talking. "This is the—"
Aftran snatched back control the second the woman started coming into view. Shock rolled over me. I lost the rest of what my dad said, abruptly powerless.
«What?!» I asked. «Aftran—»
«I'll handle this.» She said lowly. I abruptly realized that the shock I was feeling wasn't all mine, wasn't even mostly mine, that the emotion was rolling off of her alongside more tightly managed panic and stress.
I went quiet. It wasn't that I trusted her— I didn't— but I knew anything that scared her this much had to do with yeerks. And that was also… not great for me.
My dad called out to me. My head and neck moved. My face looked up, broke into a smile as my hands re-capped a bottle and laid down a used push tube. "Hey mom, dad. What's going on?" My eyes glanced behind them. "Oh, hello. I'm Cassie. Nice to meet you!" The woman with them waved.
My eyes focused back on my dad. "Dad, the stalls are mucked and bedded. Feed's out for the patients. I just did meds. Cage beddings aren't done." He nodded, proud of me.
I watched from a crevice of my mind, unnerved and alarmed. I'd only seen Aftran do this a little, with my parents when I was first "rescued" out of the woods. She'd let me have my own interactions with my parents the entire time since. Until now.
«Can't,» she said shortly, almost cutting off mid-word. Caution and fear flooded off of her. She moved my eyes to my mom, watched that interaction for a few seconds.
The woman with her was beautiful. She looked like one of those aspiring-actress types. She laughed, smiled at something my mom said to her. She looked warm and approachable. She turned as my dad began to show her around the barn.
«What's wrong?» I asked, dreading the answer. «Who is she?»
«That is Nilset 579» She said quietly, tense. «She does recruitment, mostly priority host acquisition. She shouldn't— absolutely should not— be here. Something is wrong.»
«Yeah, that seems pretty obvious.» My tone wasn't sarcastic. It was quiet, afraid. I didn't have any way to fix this, and I needed one. Fast.
Aftran didn't respond. Her thoughts were racing, focus sharp. Anxiety was coming off of her in huge amounts now, reinforcing mine. It was impossible to get away from.
My dad was giving his quick tour for Nilset: the cages, the OR, the horse stalls and runs and the adjoining paddock, the locked stockroom where we kept the meds. Aftran kept me busy during it, changing a poisoned raccoon's cage bedding, ears alert.
«Is The Sharing coming after my family?» I asked her, dreading the answer but unwilling to not know. I couldn't deal with that on top of everything else. I could not.
I had to. I had no choice.
She didn't respond. Her emotions were a knot of anxiety, wary concern, and caution.
"Cassie? Why don't you come hear this too, sweetie?"
Aftran perked my head up. Walked me over with an interested look on my face. Like everything was fine.
"Cassie," my dad said, "this is Melanie." Aftran turned my head, smiled.
"It's nice to meet you, Cassie!" Nilset said. "I've heard so much about you! I'm Melanie Roberts, and I do grants and funding with a local community organization called The Sharing!" She beamed.
«No.» I said. «No. No. No, absolutely– NO!»
Aftran closed herself off. Distanced herself from me. She replied, "oh, wow! Are you here about the barn?" My voice was excited, interested, innocently hopeful.
It sounded exactly like me. Maybe a little more saccharine. More naive and polite. A little closer to me before the war.
"Cassie, I am!" Melanie began, her voice sounding strange to me. "I've heard how worried you've been about the Clinic." She shared a glance with my dad, who nodded. My mom stood to the side, professional smile on.
"It's very mature for your age, taking on so much responsibility to help other animals." Nilset said. She was still talking to me from what I noticed seemed like an increasingly long, echoing, thundering distance away. "Community strength and reinvestment is very important—"
I felt like I knew where this was going. I felt like the world was tunneling in. Reality was closing off at the edges. I felt like if I could, I'd throw up. Right there in the barn in front of everyone.
Aftran kept my face attentive and interested. Stayed distant from me. In that moment I think I was grateful she had control, because I was losing it: I could not make this go away.
I tried very hard not to think, not to listen. I couldn't do this. It was just too much. I didn't want to listen to this. I didn't want to think or feel right now. I couldn't process this too.
"—which makes me very happy to announce that The Sharing is considering offering funding for the Wildlife Rehabilitation Center's monthly operating costs, indefinitely!
I went away for a while. I curled up and shut down and stopped.