~

Chapter Twenty-three

~

I had my slab of bacon in the counter-top oven, contemplated how I’d prepare my eggs, when my cell rang. Wouldn’t be Zia. We’re still at the textin’ stage. I had to walk into my office where I was chargin’ the thin’. The call was from Ike and I hesitated. He’d be mad at me. He’d have nothin’ but bad news, pretty sure.

“Hey,” I answered. No reason to be too upbeat. He was gonna pound on me.

“Ya’re not with the hens?” he asked. Of course. He couldn’t even say hey.

“No.” Hard to lie or spin the situation when the question is black or white.

“Good,” he said.

That surprised me. How could it be good?

“Got word three OW execs were just kidnapped. I’ve got a better picture which three.”

Ah. This was gonna be worse than him bein’ mad at me. “Darshee? Wizper?”

“And probably Nuel,” he said. “They’re not answerin’ their cells.”

“I have a couple of Northerners waitin’ outside for me too,” I said in Trollish, and waited for the question.

“Where are ya?” he asked instead. Maybe that was more important than why I’m still speakin’ Trollish.

Here it comes. “Home, makin’ some breakfast.”

Ike remained silent a long moment. At least he wasn’t shoutin’ at me yet. Finally he said, “I’ve ordered the North Plain Highway to be closed. Got a lot of people upset with me. But at least for now ya’re safe and they won’t be haulin’ the hens North.”

Ike is pretty easy goin’ for an ogre, but even I could read the anger in his voice. Maybe with all the Trollish I’ve been speakin’, my ability to empathize has improved.

Nah. Doubt it.

The bull’s just very, very angry. Nuel, after all, is his favorite OW exec. Darshee and Wizper aren’t far behind.

~

Nuel

~

I had ripped the one gun out of the human’s grip, but didn’t know what to do with it. I dropped it to the floor and looked down at the round burn mark in the shoulder strap of my vest, pulled it back a little to see the blood pumpin’ out, maybe more oozing, into my blouse. Ouch. That hurt.

A strong hand turned me around, and Darshee pressed that towel she’d been usin’ to wipe the sweat from her face against my chest. That pinched up the pain level a bit. I was pretty much ignorin’ the shoutin’ from the two humans. Do ya call that shock, or indifference?

Thankfully for a moment the emotion on Darshee’s face wasn’t anger. But when she looked past me at the humans, it turned to outrage. Words, Ogrish, a lot of ’em, tumbled out of her in a fierceness that kept me from parsin’ ’em. Granted, Standish is my first language, not Ogrish, in fairness.

Darshee had an arm around me, still puttin’ pressure against my chest, pulled me more behind her than beside her. Wizper stood next to her. Not sure who was shoutin’ what, or the loudest. Though I believe I heard Wizper say somethin’ like, “What, ya’re gonna shoot another unarmed hen?”

“I’m sorry,” I muttered at Darshee. “I’m really sorry.” I’m such a twit.

I was bein’ pulled forward now. Kind of thought that out the door was the wrong direction. I preferred to set a spell on the couch. Maybe they were takin’ me to see a healer. I mean, a doctor. I don’t believe in healers. Maybe I do. Tie, the troll, sure banished my exhaustion. But that was probably whatever was in the syringe with that antibiotic.

There were a few more humans in the hallway. With guns. A number of ogres and trolls stood outside their room doors up and down the hallway. Maws were flappin’ so much I couldn’t make anythin’ out. By the expressions on the humans’ faces, they were afraid they were about to be torn to shreds. What was keepin’ ’em from shootin’ everyone?

Oops. That thought came into focus too soon. Those long guns were poppin’ now. But I think they were at least mostly chippin’ the material from the ceiling, flingin’ debris all over the place. Concrete, drywall, bits from light fixtures. The hallway started to clear, and the three of us hens marched between the gaggle of humans toward the stairwell.

“Stay calm,” Darshee told me in Ogrish. “Ya’ll be fine. Takes more than a bullet to hurt an ogre as tough as ya.”

That was probably supposed to make me feel better, but I was achin’ somethin’ awful, from my jaws, down my spine, into my hips. I guess everythin’s connected. Pain radiates. I’ve heard that expression.

Darshee and Wizper each grabbed an arm as we went down the steps, each one punchin’ up the pain. Stinkin’ humans. The pain spiked over and over, but anger started to replace other emotions. Maybe I absorbed some from my two friends. Are they my friends? As close as Darshee came to bustin’ my face in just moments ago, maybe not. Currently ogre-ogre support more likely.

To think I thought about headin’ home, to surround myself with more humans. How stupid is that?

Outside, a gun barrel pressed into my back, I guess to hurry me to get in the itty bitty SUV they were tryin’ to shove me in. With Darshee. Where’d Wizper go? Oh. They were pushin’ her toward another of those little SUVs, thirty feet away. If we wanted, we could have taken ’em on. Could have ripped ’em to shreds. Humans are so fragile. But to what end? This whole nonsense is—well, nonsense. Even for a human activity.

And I didn’t want Darshee and Wizper to feel any pain like the pain spreadin’ through my body. Even if we ended up free.