I thought of Mum when I saw the little old lady's figure emerge and draw closer from behind the hazy front door glass.

Somewhere in London Mum would be worried sick about me, and there was no place else in the world I wanted to be than at the front door of my own home, moments away from wrapping Mum in my arms to let her know I was okay.

The elderly woman didn't answer the door right away.

"There's someone at the door," she whispered to her husband.

I could hear her clearly thanks to my heightened hearing. My ears however weren't pointed, and hadn't been for numerous times I had heightened my hearing. At first I had assumed my ears had to become pointed in order to increase my hearing potential, but it seemed it wasn't needed. Or, at the very least, had stopped needing to be the case since I was becoming well-accustomed to using the ability since the first time Sophie had demonstrated how to use it.

"Wait here," said the elderly man.

I heard the chair he was sitting in creak as he rose to his feet.

I reduced my heightened hearing as the old man neared the front door.

"Who is it?" said the old man from behind the door.

This question, though simple, had me stumped. My brain felt dry and empty, and every thought of how to respond to the old man seemed to rise out of my head as if attached to helium balloons.

"Burgess O'Bannon," I said, hoarsely, "I was wondering if you could help me?"

There was silence for a moment and then the front door opened enough to pull the metal chain it was still latched to on the inside taut.

Half the old man's face emerged in the opening. He had quite a large nose, and had deep wrinkles. A blue left eye looked me over.

Nothing more needed to be said because, I could see, the mere sight of my current condition spoke volumes.

The old man slammed the door shut and for a second I thought that would be the end of our encounter.

A metal scratching sound followed and then the door opened all the way, revealing the tall old man and his small elderly wife.

My eyes smarted from the soft golden glow of the hallway light that shone like a veil behind the couple.

"What happened to you, son?" said the old man.

I didn't know what to say, or where to begin.

Thankfully the elderly woman spoke up first. She gripped the old man's shirt and tugged on it.

"We can ask him later," she said, "Can we help the poor boy?"

The old man considered the question but didn't seem to take much convincing.

"Of course," he said, he reached out for me.

It took a good deal of self-control for me not to flinch away like I wanted to. The man's hand found my right arm and he gently guided me into the house hallway.

The smell of the hot roast dinner I had seen from the window met my nose before the elderly couple finished ushering me into the kitchen.

"You take a seat here," said the elderly woman, pulling up one of the old wooden chairs by the dining table.

I sat down, happy to take the weight off my feet again. As much as my body seemed to be able to defy exhaustion, the simple act of sitting down still brought immense relief.

The elderly woman gasped.

I remained still, being determined to not make any sudden movements that might give them reason to think I might harm them.

"Donald," said the elderly woman in dismay.

She must have gestured to the nasty crusted wound on the back of my right shoulder. The old man stood at one end of the table and stooped lower.

"What happened?" he said.

That's a big question, I thought. I tried to think of a simple answer but I just found myself staring at the deep lines made in the old wood dining table that must've been formed after decades of use.

"Well," said the old man after looking over my shoulder-wound, "It doesn't appear to be bleeding. It might be a tumor. Is it a tumor?"

I realised the old man had asked me another question.

"No," I mumbled, "It's just healed funny."

Maybe it had been a bad idea to seek help from this elderly couple after all? It seemed almost cruel to interfere with their quiet evening, bringing myself and all the chaos that entailed into their home.

"Donald's a Doctor," said the elderly woman.

"Not seen anything like this before," he said, "The way this has healed. Did you burn yourself?"

I nodded, "Sort of," I said.

My stomach gave a loud whine.

"Oh I'm sorry," said the elderly woman, "Are you hungry? Of course you are. Here, please help yourself. There's plenty."

The elderly woman pushed the plate of roast dinner closer to me, so that it sat over the spot I had been staring at.

I considered eating the meal like a feral animal, but had enough composure to stop myself.

"Could I trouble you for a knife and fork?" I said.

"Oh, silly me," said the old woman.

She slid over the knife and fork which had been set for Donald's dinner.

Sorry, Donald, I thought.

My hands trembled as I reached out to grab the knife and fork. I then started to eat the meal with as much politeness as I could muster; elbows off the table and everything.

Donald took a seat to my right at the end of the table, and the old woman took a glass and filled it with tap water, which she then set in front of me.

Nothing was said whilst I sat and ate for a few minutes. The food tasted good, but much of the taste was lost on me because I was too focused on stopping the hunger gnawing at my gut to pay much attention to the varied savory flavors.

I finished three full glasses of water between bouts of eating. The elderly woman diligently refilled the glass with more water each time it was empty.

I wasn't one to finish meals to the last morsal, but this time I had wiped the plate clean, leaving just the smears of gravy sauce as any indication there had been food there at all.

I eased back in my seat and felt the happy contentment which comes from having a full stomach.

"Thank you," I said, "I really appreciate it."

"There's more if you want it," said the elderly woman, "Just let me know."

I nodded and gazed at the floor beneath the table.

There, under the table, lay a baby fox curled up upon a cushion.

Guess I'm not the only guest, I thought, fighting a smirk.

Satiated, my mind seemed to hold onto thoughts easier.

"If it isn't too much trouble," I said, "I was wondering if you had any spare clothes I could wear?"

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"Should have something," said Donald.

He looked beyond me to his wife.

"Would you fetch something for Burgess?" he said.

My ears pricked at my name. It was always odd hearing others say my name.

"Yes, dear," said the elderly woman.

She shuffled off out of the kitchen and made her way upstairs.

Donald's demeanor became a tad more serious with just the two of us in the kitchen.

"What's this business about?" he said, "Where'd you come from?"

I considered lying to him, or outright refusing to share the details of what had happened to me, but that seemed far too rude given how generous they had already been welcoming me into their home.

"I escaped a facility not far from here," I said, "They were killing us."

Donald was surprised by what I said, but took this new information better than I expected.

"You're the first that's walked up to our front door and asked for help," he said, "But we've seen plenty of kids your age coming and going. They've got a lot of you on the run. We'd help them too but most steal from the farm and go on their way before we can get the chance."

"Have you seen anyone dressed like me?" I said, thinking of Sophie and Walter.

Maybe they had come this way too.

"Hard to say," said Donald, "Last young man I saw was wearing a silver - er - shirt, and - what do you call them – the shorts that go past your knees?"

"Three quarter lengths?" I said.

"Yeah," said Donald, "Those. Olive skin, messy black hair. Know him?"

I tried to think of anyone I knew that might fit the bill.

"No," I said, "Sorry."

"He was a good boy," said Donald, "A friend of his had stolen one of our chickens. Apparently he had gotten wind of it and came to give it back. We gave him some eggs as a thank you."

"Did you get his name?" I said.

Donald started to show his age, the wrinkles in his face deepening as he made an effort to remember.

"Started with an A," he said.

He gave up.

"Sorry," he said, "Memory's not what it used to be."

The elderly woman returned with a heap of clothes bundled in her arms so high I couldn't see her face.

She set the clothes on the table.

"There'll be a bit big for you," she said, "These belong to our son, Rupert. He doesn't need them anymore."

"Why's that?" I said.

"He's a Priest," said the elderly woman, proudly, "You won't often find him not wearing his cassock."

Donald noticed my lack of comprehension.

"The uniform priest's wear," he said with a friendly smile.

"Oh," I said, nodding.

I figured telling them I didn't believe in God probably wasn't the best thing to mention given how charitable they were being towards me. I wondered if they were the type of religious people that cared much if the person they were helping shared the same beliefs as them.

"We've got a bathroom at the back there," said the elderly woman, "You can shower and change. Do you think you'll be able to manage by yourself, that-" she gestured to my shoulder wound, "-does it hurt?"

"Not really," I said, "Kind of aches but that's it."p

I got up, stealing another look at the adorable little baby fox beneath the table. Just seeing it made me feel a whole host of strange emotions; good and bad.

"Sienna, dear?" said Donald.

"Yes?" said the elderly woman.

"Do you remember the name of the boy that gave back the chicken?" said Donald.

"Oh," said Sienna, biting her thumbnail, "Azaad, wasn't it?"

"Ah, yes," said Donald, patting the table, "Azaad."

"But he preferred 'Az'," said Sienna, "Such a nice boy."

"When did you see him?" I said.

"Two weeks ago, or thereabouts," said Donald.

"Are you sure he was…like me?" I said.

Donald ran a hand over his stubbled chin.

"He was about your age," he said, "No doubt he was on the run."

"Let the boy get washed," said Sienna.

Neither Donald nor I argued. I let Sienna usher me out of the kitchen to the bathroom at the back of the house.

I breathed a sigh of relief once I was alone in the bathroom. After turning on the light I could see the bathroom was small and old fashioned. The bathtub, sink, and toilet were all a dark green colour, and the tiles on the walls had the same image of a flower within a diamond pattern repeated all over.

I stripped from the last remains of the blue overalls, and then stepped into the shower. What I really wanted was a bath – I loved baths - but I had already lingered too long at the farm as it was. I needed to shower, get dressed, and get moving again.

After messing around with the hot and cold knobs for a few seconds, I managed to get a consistent heavy stream of hot water flowing over me.

It was bliss. Pure. Bliss.

For all I knew Officer Freeman and the Pied Piper officers under his command probably assumed I was dead and drowned somewhere in the underground complex. Then again, they would eventually find the torn opening in the sewage pipe; they'd know at least one of us; whether that was Sophie, Walter, me, or the Adam-George-Amalgamation, had made it out.

Were they chasing me? Even if they knew I had made it out alive would they consider me someone worth hunting down?

I didn't know, but it seemed safest to act as if they were going to be hellbent on finding and killing me until I knew any different.

Whilst I showered I kept my hearing heightened. This proved futile at first thanks to the sound of the water drowning everything else out.

Once out of the shower I toweled off using one of the large yellow towels hung up on a rack.

Dry, I then changed into the clothes Sienna had left me. Besides the boxer briefs and socks, the black jeans were about a size too big for me, but came with a belt which meant I could fasten them up at least. She had also given me a green flannel shirt that was about two sizes too big.

Could make myself grow into them, I thought, Maybe later. Don't want to freak them out.

Dressed, I moved over to the sink and looked at myself in the mirror. I flinched. My eyes were wide open and staring. Had I really looked so traumatized when they met me at the door?

The last remaining item of clothing left for me to try were a pair of old boots. I slipped them on and quickly found they weren't my size either. Much too big.

Guess you'll have to grow for a bit, I thought. For some reason the notion of making myself taller, and broader, the way I had done in the underground complex when fighting for my life seemed vaguely repulsive to me. Sort of like a man deciding to wear lifts in his shoes, or putting on a wig to hide hair loss; compensating. But was it really compensating if you could actually change those things about yourself and not just cover them up with external things?

Fed and clothed, it seemed like a good time to slip out the back door and run off into the night.

Don't, a small voice in me begged, stay the night in a warm bed if they'll have you.

I decided at least I wouldn't leave without thanking them for what they had already done for me.

I picked up the scraps of my blue overalls and left the bathroom.

Both Donald and Sienna were sitting in the kitchen. Donald had started on his own meal. The whole scene before me just felt so normal; so casual.

"Not a bad fit," said Donald with a mouthful of chicken.

"You'll have to excuse me," he said, pointing to his dinner, "Been a long day, I usually skip breakfast."

I didn't know how to respond to that so I just kept quiet.

"If you would like to stay the night you're more than welcome," said Sienna, "You can have Rupert's room upstairs."

"That would be great, thank you," I said, before I could think better of rejecting the offer.

The safe thing to do was to leave the house and continue on my way. But some part of me, beyond just being physically tired in the strange way my tireless body could still feel a kind of exhaustion that felt like being stretched beyond a comfortable limit; I simply couldn't pass up staying in a place that felt so safe and homely, not after close to a month of bland facility walls.

We needed to wait for Donald to finish his dinner before going upstairs.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" said Sienna.

"Yes," I said, trying not to scream with joy at the question. "Please."

Sienna saw to making cups of tea for everyone.

"How do you take it?" she asked.

"Milk. Strong. Two sugars," I said.

Usually I opted for no sugar, but given the state I was in the additional sugar was more than welcome.

The boiling kettle filled the silence in the kitchen. I heightened my hearing and listened out as best I could to make sure there was no approaching trouble coming from outside. There were birds settling into their nests in the trees, and different small animals scurrying about; as well as the cows, and chickens, and other farm life moving about.

But no sound of vehicles, or footsteps, or the rattle of guns, or the distant sound of helicopters. Just a quiet night. It didn't mean I was safe, but it did set me that little bit more at ease to know the nearby surroundings of the farm were empty of Pied Piper officers or anyone else that might cause me trouble, like an unexpected police visit.

The tea tasted glorious. Simply. Glorious.

"Boy likes his tea," said Donald, jokingly.

I held up my mug and smiled, "Cheers," I said.

The elderly couple stifled chuckles.

When Donald was finished with his dinner both he and Sienna led the way upstairs. The stairs creaked with the three of us making our way up.

"Here you go," said Donald, gesturing inside the first room on the left.

I made my way inside and found the room to be small, with a single bed. Nearby a bookshelf was stocked full of books that looked old and probably worth a good deal of money. I flinched at the sight of a large crucifix on the wall depicting a severely bloody and bleeding Jesus. In the dark of the room the bloody and bruised body almost looked real.

"We'll check on you in the morning," said Donald, "We would appreciate it if you would stay in this room until morning, just so we know where you are."

"Okay," I said, nodding a lot to show I was really listening, "Thank you."

"We'll talk more in the morning," said Sienna, "I'll fix you up a good breakfast. Will you stay for breakfast?"

"Sure," I said, without thinking, "That'd be nice. Thank you."

After an awkward few moments of none of us really knowing what to do or say, Donald and Sienna shuffled off. I closed the door and sighed with relief to be alone again.

Without wasting any time I moved over to the bed, kicked off the boots, and then lay on top of the bed.

Want to stay dressed just in case I need to make a quick getaway, I thought.

I lay on the bed using my heightened hearing to listen to the surrounding farm life and at some point in the night I finally drifted off to sleep.