THE NEXT DAY

Sara was glad there were plenty of thick bushes growing right up to the edge of the shelf. She and Cherise were sufficiently hidden that Sara had a tentative feeling of safety as she watched traffic in either direction on the mountain trail. "Traffic" might be stretching it, the word inspiring mental images of dozens of cars crossing and turning on intersecting roads, their movements controlled by electric signal lights. For as long as an hour at a time there was no one in sight on the trail or its approaches at all. Each time anyone made use of the trail, usually one or two men driving a wagon pushed by slavegirls, with a doggirl or two attending them, Sara lifted Cherise up so she could see. Between viewings of the passages of wagons of various sizes, they'd been discussing, in near whispers, ideas for making the crossing themselves.

To the right, through a stand of trees, lay the farm that was directly across from the beginning of the mountain trail. Sara could dimly make out, as she had two days ago, the sounds of work in progress -- the creaking of wheels of wagons, carts, or wheelbarrows, the occasional barking of doggirls, sounds her mind was beginning to accept as the background of her life, along with the more familiar twittering of birds and buzzing of insects. Some of these new environmental sounds were coming from the cave, a bit farther to the right, to which were added the muffled smacks from within of hammers striking rock.

Sara had spent at least an hour yesterday examining the iron bands, padlocks, and chains holding Cherise's hands and feet together in their seemingly permanent grasp. Sara was glad there had at least been a way to relieve the strain of the entire assembly being trapped against the small of Cherise's back. But any greater degree of freedom for Cherise seemed to be out of the question. There were plenty of loose rocks around that could have been used to pound any of the padlocks to the breaking point, but there was no way to attack the locks with the required abandon. All of the bands on Cherise's wrists and ankles were turned so that the padlocks were on the inside, so striking them with rocks using any great force carried an unacceptable risk of breaking bones instead of the locks. Cherise couldn't even get her hands underneath her feet to bring them around in front of her ankles -- the hobble chain wrapped around the joining of her hands held them too close to the backs of her ankles, so she couldn't get them past the barrier of her heels. The chain itself, like the locks, was too close to any number of skin surfaces to allow Sara even to think about trying to smash it. Rubbing rocks against the surface of the metal bands might gradually wear them down, but certainly not in the time remaining.

Sara had given up at last, frustrated to the point of crying. Cherise had told her it was okay, really, it was all right, that she could stand staying bound up this way. She reminded Sara that the alternative had been a life of many years of bearing one litter of babies after another. Then she'd leaned forward with her lips parted. Sara understood the signal. They'd kissed until Sara felt better, which had taken about three seconds, and a little longer past that.

Sara, when Cherise smiled at her, talked to her, listened to her, felt herself on a high plateau, towering over the world. And when she and Cherise kissed, in Sara's world there were no slaves, no breeding farms, no men who would strip away her freedom if they caught her, no mountains in her way, no past, no worrisome future. Only the present, the wonder of lips meeting soft lips.

The kiss ended, and Sara considered the future again. Time. That was the big issue. A deadline loomed over Sara and Cherise. Sara's roast was scheduled in eight days, but more importantly, the boat returning the restaurant staff and interns to the mainland would leave three days after that. Eleven days from now, there would no longer be a reason for Sara and Cherise to get past the mountains. There would be no one anywhere on the island who could rescue them from the natives.

Sara didn't feel time pressing unbearably yet. She had followed Cherise to this point from the restaurant in a matter of hours, during a single day. Once they crossed back over the mountains, getting back to the restaurant would take longer than that, with all of the stops and detours made necessary by whatever dangers intervened. One detour was already obvious: they couldn't take the road that went straight to Purity Town, along which Hairy and son no doubt were still looking for her. But Sara felt sure that they could get to the restaurant no later than the day after crossing the mountains.

Crossing, though, was a serious problem. Sara could still impersonate an island male, but she would have to carry Cherise the entire way, which was not at all comparable to carrying a crate of peaches. Sara couldn't imagine any interpretation of an island man physically carrying a slavegirl over the mountain trail that wouldn't set off alarms bells in the mind of anyone seeing them.

Sara was starting to think she might need to consider a night crossing. They wouldn't run into anyone on the trail at night. If the sky would stay clear, there would be a slightly-more-than-half moon in the sky that should clear the mountains a little after midnight, which would give Sara sufficient light to see where she was going, but it also exposed them both to greater danger of being seen from below -- if it was light enough for Sara to see, it was light enough for anyone else to see too. And there was no way to know how temporary the current clear skies might be. With a return of the thick cloud cover, there might not be a visible moon at all tonight, leaving the trail in pitch blackness. Sara was going to have to make the crossing walking upright -- she'd be carrying Cherise, so she didn't have the option of crawling and feeling her way ahead with her hands on the ground. Trying to walk the trail blind was much too dangerous to attempt.

Sara had spent the last couple of hours discussing all this with Cherise. A shroud of gloom was starting to settle over Sara's mind.

As if to punctuate Sara's mood, the prospect in front of her suddenly fell into shadow. Sara whirled around, instinctively ready to defend against attack, and saw that a thick bank of clouds was approaching from the west, stretching unbroken to the horizon, the sun now vanished behind it. She sighed deeply. New rains coming. At least, she told herself, the streams will be flowing again.

She saw that Cherise was frowning at the western skies as well. Cherise echoed Sara's sigh and looked away. She was sitting upright, her legs necessarily drawn back, her back pressed flat against the surprisingly smooth natural rock wall separating the shelf from the woods. She had told Sara she could manage to feel relatively comfortable that way. It didn't put any strain on her back, and she needed only to bend forward periodically to stretch her legs straight out when they began to ache.

Cherise gasped and looked up suddenly at Sara, wide-eyed. Sara could almost see the lightbulb that seemed to have just turned on above her head.

Sara listened carefully to make out Cherise's whisper. "Sara, I came here in a wagon. All these guys crossing over have wagons. Would it work if you put me in a wagon and pushed it across? Nobody would even have to know I was in it. You could cover me with skins, maybe. Or peaches. Then you'd just be a guy with a load to trade in town. You already got across carrying a load of peaches. Pushing a wagon full of stuff isn't really any different. Could you get a wagon somehow? Steal one?"

Sara was cautious about the idea. "Just walk up to a guy and take his wagon away from him?"

Cherise shook her head. "Not here. I mean from a farm. They have to put them somewhere when they aren't using them."

That could work, thought Sara, that could really work, assuming I can get hold of a wagon small enough to push by myself. Anyone seeing me would attach the same story to it that made my carrying peaches seem natural.

Sara's excitement began growing, but she saw one drawback immediately. In anything she said or did, her uppermost priority, her first thought, was how it would affect Cherise.

She knelt in front of Cherise, reached behind her feet to take hold of both hands, and kissed her briefly. "I need to know if this is okay. If I do start looking for a wagon, I'd have to leave you alone. I mean really alone." So far, Sara had only had to go short distances from where Cherise was to gather peaches and nuts to eat. "You wouldn't be able to see me, or hear me, or know how long I was going to be gone. Please don't just say 'Sure, that'll be fine.' Really think about how scary that will be." Sara could imagine herself in Cherise's place, and to Sara, the thought of being so completely alone in a place of constant danger, unable to move, unable to evade capture that would lead to a lifetime of slavery, was terrifying.

Cherise nodded solemnly, with no hesitation. "I don't want you ever to let worrying about me stop you from doing things you have to do."

"Cherise, I don't have it in me to stop thinking about you. But I can do it if you swear to me that this is what you want."

Cherise nodded forcefully. "This will work, the thing with using a wagon. We've spent all day thinking and this is what we came up with. Nothing else has sounded feasible."

Sara watched Cherise's face intently, looking for any sign of uncertainty. Finally she nodded. "Okay, but not today. There's not that much of a hurry, and we can spend the rest of today trying to think of something different that would work. Instead of this."

Cherise quickly agreed. "Okay."

Sara smiled. "You hungry?" Sara had worked out the problem of opening up the nuts, and mealtime was less monotonous than it had threatened to be at first, featuring only peaches. They would need girlmeat eventually to stay healthy, but Sara didn't think that would be a problem. In two or three days, tops, they should be back at the restaurant.

Cherise grinned. "Yeah."

Sara kissed her once more. "Back in a minute."

THREE DAYS LATER

Sara woke up and felt the excitement surge through her, tinged with fear. She was going to try for the wagon today. She'd spent two days watching, learning the schedule of the farm, the habits of the farmers. It would be better to study the routine a little longer, but as always, Sara felt time ticking away. If anything looked wrong, if anything didn't fit her expectations, she could wait for another day, but there weren't that many days left. The worst case would be having to start over at a different farm. She really hoped that wouldn't happen, but she wanted to have enough time if it did happen.

Sara uncovered Cherise's upper half -- she'd draped her vest over Cherise from her waist up past her ears, to give her some shelter from the rain overnight. As she had daily, Sara gave Cherise a drink of rainwater that had fallen into Sara's upturned hat overnight, then fed her peaches and nuts, turning each peach as Cherise bit off the fruit surrounding the pit. Then she held Cherise up, butt down, supporting her with arms under Cherise's knees and shoulders, so Cherise could empty her bladder and get rid of digestive wastes, afterward wiping Cherise's butt with a wad of leaves, then washing her own hands in the nearby stream afterward. Cherise had been terribly embarrassed by the toilet process the first day, but seeing how serious Sara was about taking care of any need she had, and knowing that it was something that had to be done, had made it easier to accept it as the days went by.

Cherise smiled as Sara ate her own breakfast and buttoned her vest. She knew why Sara was looking eager to get going this morning. Sara had described everything to her, and together they had agreed that it was time to give it a try. The countdown was approaching its end. They should be over the mountains and on their way to safety later today.

Sara helped Cherise sit upright against the wall, as she preferred, and set several peaches and some shelled nuts beside her, so that if Sara was gone too long and Cherise got hungry, she could fall onto her side and have lunch. Sara knew Cherise could manage on her own to wriggle back to a sitting position afterward -- she'd returned each of the last two days to find Cherise sitting up, with the nuts gone and only pits remaining of the peaches. It was really lucky, Sara told herself, that this place is full of food you can eat without using your hands.

Sara knelt in front of Cherise, put her hand behind Cherise's head and kissed her deeply. Her throat tight -- leaving Cherise always brought her close to crying -- she said, "I'll be back as soon as I can. Probably sooner than the last couple of days. I think this should do it."

Cherise grinned at her. "I know. Go ahead, I'll be fine. I'm getting used to this." She leaned forward for one more kiss, and Sara found herself, again, in that timeless world that her lips shared with Cherise's.

Sara let go of Cherise and backed away. As she'd expected, tears were running down her cheeks.

Cherise's eyelids were shining, about to spill over. "Now go. Get us out of here." She managed to maintain a smile.

Sara turned and began weaving her way through the trees, ordering herself sternly not to look back. If she did, she knew she'd come back for one more kiss, and have to start the whole departure process over again.

Sara lay on her stomach, supporting her chin on her hands, remaining as motionless as she could for as long as she could, moving only her eyes as she followed the activities in front of her. She was about ten feet from the edge of the field, within a dense stand of trees. Even on a sunny day she would have been deep in shadow. Her hiding place was still darker under the heavy clouds. Nevertheless she'd smeared her face and arms with mud again, to be that much harder to spot. She'd found a relatively dry place to wait -- the arrangement of leaves and branches above her seemed to divert most of the lightly falling rain elsewhere.

In the field, several slavegirls were harvesting some sort of herb Sara hadn't recognized, when she'd first spent nearly all of a day watching the work in progress two days ago. She'd puzzled over it long enough to decide it was likely the raw form of the fertility drug, the island's most valuable export, which had proven impossible to grow on the mainland.

The girls, as they worked, piled the harvested herb into one of several small wagons, perhaps more properly called carts, whichever one was nearest. Periodically one of the girls pulled the cart to a distant structure that Sara suspected was a drying shed, the cart replaced with an empty one returning from the shed.

Sara needed one of those carts. Any one of them was big enough for Cherise to curl up inside, but small enough that Sara was sure she could pull it up the mountain trail by herself. She had planned to cover Cherise with peaches, though she suspected that would add too much weight. She'd wished there had been a supply of girlskin leather she could appropriate, since that would more easily hide Cherise with less of a weight penalty. She decided that the herbs available here would be a good compromise, much lighter than peaches.

Sara hadn't had nearly as much trouble finding carts she might steal as she had expected. This was the first farm she had checked, the one directly across from the mountain trail, the one on whose periphery Sara and Cherise had set up camp after Cherise's rescue.

On Sara's first day of watching the farm, the slavegirls had worked steadily all morning, then were given a break, no doubt for lunch, at about midday, though time was hard to judge in the absence of a visible sun. At that time, the field had completely emptied, as the slavegirls, doggirls, and their overseers had all headed for the building adjacent to the supposed drying shed, really just a roof supported at the corners by upright logs, in which lunch was served. Lunch had taken about a half-hour, Sara judged, during which time the carts in the field had been left completely unattended.

Sara would have preferred to take one of the carts at the end of the day, but as darkness approached that first day, signaling the end of the workday, all of the carts had been wheeled back to the shed. Lunchtime was the only time Sara would be able to make off with one without being seen. The farmers would, of course, be left with the mystery of a missing cart, but with no idea where to start looking for it.

Sara did acknowledge the possibility that she might be seen. It worried her. The danger wasn't immediate -- as far away as any of the overseers were going to be, Sara could easily abandon the cart and run, at the first sign that anyone was chasing her. But she would then have to give up on this particular farm and scout out another. There were still five days now until Sara's roast, eight until the boat left for the mainland. If everything went well today, Sara might be able to pull the cart, and Cherise, over the mountain trail this afternoon, and perhaps arrive at the restaurant late tomorrow. Losing a few days finding a new farm and planning a theft could cause a major problem with her own roast, but returning Cherise to the restaurant was the important thing. There would still be time.

Yesterday Sara had repeated her surveillance of the farm. The same thing happened again at noon: field abandoned for half an hour, carts left behind. Sara didn't bother to stay to watch the rest of the day -- it seemed doubtful, based on the previous day's events, that the afternoon and approaching sunset would offer any better opportunities than lunchtime did. Sara had returned to Cherise, to report on what had happened and to talk over plans and exit strategies. It had been Cherise's idea to pause just out of sight in the woods, after stealing the wagon, to watch for any signs of pursuit before continuing. Sara thought that was a very good idea -- once she started lugging the cart through the woods, she didn't want to be run down from behind and surrounded while she was distracted by her efforts.

Sara loved so much being able to talk to Cherise! All those years wasted when she could have been getting to know Cherise and growing closer to her, but they were making up for it now. Sharing the planning of the Great Cart Heist was just a small, but rewarding, part of it. They talked about their families, about experiences they'd had in college, in high school, and in those years before they'd known each other.

Cherise was moved to happy tears when Sara had told her that her whole reason for volunteering to be roasted for a restaurant-sponsored feast here, on the island, was so that Cherise could eat part of her. She'd leaned forward with her lips parted, in the now standard kiss-me signal. They'd kissed for a long time then.

Sara tensed now, feeling her heart pounding against the hard ground. Lunchtime had come, and once again the girls stopped what they were doing and headed for the meal shelter.

Sara had picked out her target cart: one that was to her left, very near the edge of the woods. Sara judged she would probably need less than thirty seconds out in the open to reach it, pull it past the front line of trees, and wait there for a time, to see whether the theft had been witnessed.

In a few minutes, the slavegirls and overseers were all in the meal shelter. Sara watched carefully as she counted to a hundred, then rose slowly to her feet and sidled through the woods closer to the cart.

She took several deep breaths, trying to calm the thumping of her heart, then walked out of the woods, trying to appear as if she belonged where she was, having decided that running would catch attention and any sign of furtiveness would generate suspicion.

She was starting to bend to reach for the handles at the front of the cart when alarm bells went off in her head, just a fraction of a second too late to prevent her taking another step. Why, she suddenly asked herself, is this cart in a cleared area, at least a dozen paces from the nearest herb patch? Why would anyone choose to leave it there instead of in the middle of the work being done? And why is the dirt in front of it unnaturally smooth?

Her brain sent frantic signals to her feet to freeze in place, but she was too far along in her stride to stop.

As she set her foot down, it began sinking into the ground, and continued sinking. She threw her arms out to the side to try to catch any firm surface she could find as she plunged downward. She saw the dirt puff up from the ground surrounding her, dirt that had covered the strands of the net covering the hole she was sliding into. The net followed her in, surrounding her now, beginning to close in at the top.

Her fall was brought to a soft, springy stop, arrested as the net reached the maximum depth its anchors would allow, and her feet splashed into a shallow puddle of collected rainwater at the bottom of the hole.

She tried desperately for a handhold along the sides of the hole, and looked above her to see that the edge of the net had closed just above her head, as the drawstring forming the edge shrank to a circle barely three inches across. From the circle, strands of twine radiated outward. Anchored to unseen stakes, those strands had been buried under soft dirt like the rest of the net.

Her brain still rang with the words of her mental alarm, repeated over and over, uselessly and woefully late: It's a trap! Cart right by the edge of the woods! Perfect one to steal! Away from where they'd been working, away from everything!

There seemed to be a swatch of girlskin between her feet and the bottom of the net. Yes, of course, she thought, that was covering the hole. Damn it damn it DAMN IT!!! SHIT!!!!! So stupid, so stupid! I should have figured it out sooner! How did they know?? How did they know?? If they saw me yesterday, why didn't they just take me then? SHIT!!!!

Above the clamor of recriminations almost overwhelming rational thought, another voice broke through: Stop it! Stop panicking! Nobody was out here to watch! You still have time to get out of this!

The hole itself was about three feet across at the top, narrowing at the bottom so that there was barely room for her feet side-by-side. She could easily have climbed out, if she hadn't been enclosed in the damned net!

She reached up to try to widen the opening of the net at the top, but her own weight holding down the net made it impossible. It's anchored outside, she reminded herself. I need to get my weight off the bottom of it.

She climbed up a few inches and dug her heels into the side of the hole, so that her weight wasn't on the bottom. It didn't help. She was just anchoring the net to the sides of the hole now, which did nothing to relieve the tension in the drawstring. Short of floating weightlessly within the hole, she wasn't going to be able to open that drawstring any wider.

Wait, she told herself, I can be weightless for a second.

She jumped upward, her hands above her trying to spread the opening during the brief moment when she wasn't holding the net down, hoping she could afterward dig her heels into the sides of the hole to prevent her falling back, which would pull the drawstring closed again. She tried it five times, each time briefly making the opening wider, but never succeeded in anchoring her heels against the hole's sides. Maybe, she thought, if I jump, spread the opening, and catch the edge of the hole with my hands after...

She heard voices approaching. Shit, shit, shit, shit...

She thought: I must never tell them about Cherise. I have to protect her...

She almost screamed when she realized that keeping Cherise's existence and whereabouts secret wasn't an option. Cherise couldn't survive on her own. She might wriggle her way to a few fallen peaches, but not enough of them near enough to keep her going. And she couldn't do anything with the nuts, which could only be opened by smashing the shell with a rock. Left on her own, she would starve, but that wasn't the worst part. That wasn't the completely, totally unthinkable part.

Cherise would die alone and her meat would spoil, uneaten by her kind. Everything a woman lived for, existed for, would be lost.

I have to tell them, Sara told herself. They have to find her. The alternative, Sara knew, was so unacceptable to any woman that Sara must not let it happen.

The voices outside the hole were near enough now that Sara could make out what they were saying.

"Gotta be a kid. I bin sayin' that all along."

"Reckon his daddy better whip him good. Damn kid, out stealin' from our hard work!"

"'Nless his daddy put him up to it. What he gonna do with our herbs all by hisself?"

Sara's jaw dropped. It was so unfair! The trap wasn't for me! she told herself. They never knew I was here! I was going to steal from them, but somebody's already been doing it! I've been caught in a trap they set for some local juvenile delinquent!

She couldn't help a whimper escaping her throat as she realized the mistaken identity made things still worse for her. They'll assume I've been doing it! she thought. Not only am I a woman in clothes, but on top of that, they'll think I'm a woman who's been stealing their stuff! They were talking about whipping a boy for this! What will they do to a woman?

Several shapes towered above the edge of the hole over Sara's head. Her bladder let go.

Two of the men bent down and pulled the net, and Sara with it, roughly out of the hole. How long before they can tell what they've got? she wondered helplessly.

Not at all long, it turned out. Her hat, with its shoulder-length wig, had come off, revealing her slave-length hair and her full face. The eyes of the man she happened to be watching went wide in astonishment. Sara had seen that exact look before. The man said slowly, as if searching for words he never imagined saying, "It's... a... girl!"

Another voice, standing by Sara's feet where she lay stretched on the ground still entangled in the net, said in wonderment, "And she ain' got no metal on her!"

The first man, holding the net near her head, said sharply, "Clement, run get us some slave gear."

The one named Clement sprinted off, leaving three men surrounding Sara.

It would, she reflected later, have made a lot more sense for them to leave her netted until Clement came back, so the four of them could let her loose carefully and hold her down while locking her into the wristbands, hobble chain, and collar, which would keep her their inescapable property for the rest of her life.

But their hatred of the idea of any women wearing clothes like a man was so intense, so deeply held, that the first order of business was to do something about it.

With an angry yank, the man who'd identified Sara's gender, standing by her head, pulled open the drawstring and dragged her out of the netting. The man was a generation older than the other two. Sara dubbed him Dad.

With two hands around her arms, Dad pulled Sara up to her feet, and the younger two, Skinny and Slack Jaw, began tearing at her clothes. It took just seconds for them to strip away the vest and shorts -- she'd already lost the shoes at the bottom of the net -- leaving her naked in less time than it took to think the word "naked."

Sara tried to resist, to the extent she could, but Dad maintained his grip on her arms, almost cutting off the circulation.

In the distance, Sara could see Clement returning, a full set of slavewear jingling in his hands.

Anger suddenly replaced fear within Sara. I don't care what they'll do to me if I don't get loose, she told herself, but Cherise will not belong to these men.

Sara began struggling wildly, challenging Dad to keep his hold. She could feel his hands tighten still further. Fine, she thought. You hold on, Dad. Don't even think of letting go. Just hold me up and don't let me drop.

Dad grunted, "A little help here."

Skinny and Slack Jaw had turned away to toss Sara's clothes off to the side. They turned back to face her directly now.

Now, thought Sara.

She bent at the waist to kick her legs into the air, repeating her thought: Hold me up Dad, hold me up. Dad obliged.

Planting her left foot against Skinny's chest and her right against Slack's, she thrust outward with her legs as hard as she could, thinking of all the leg presses she'd done in her workouts.

Skinny and Slack went staggering backwards, and the recoil of her butt slamming unexpectedly into Dad's stomach sent him reeling back. Unable to move his feet quickly enough to keep his balance, he went over backward, falling on his back with Sara face up on top of him. He cried out when his elbows struck the ground painfully, and his hands shot open, freeing Sara.

She bounced to her feet, turned sharply to her right as Skinny recovered and reached for her, slipped out of the grasp of his outstretched hand on her forearm, and ran. No possible way to stop to recover her clothes this time, which were in shreds anyway. Skinny was just a few feet behind her, Slack just behind him.

She ran directly across the field, seeing several astonished slavegirls gaping at her, hearing two doggirls bark at her, not near enough to pose any danger. Into the woods then, on the opposite side from where she had hidden. Instinct had told her not to run in the direction of their encampment where Cherise was waiting.

It took several minutes of weaving through trees, with the two men just behind her, before first Skinny, then Slack, each staggered to a stop, bent over, panting, their hands on their knees. Sara ran straight ahead for another minute, and knew she must be out of sight by then. Turning directly to her right, she dropped to the ground and crawled for several minutes in that direction. She stopped when she saw the right type of bush, one she could crawl into that would hide her from all directions, and stopped there at last, trying to catch her breath with her mouth wide open, making less noise that way.

She heard sounds of pursuit resume, but soon they receded into the distance.