I ate breakfast in silence trying to collect my thoughts.

On top of all the things I had to worry about, the addition of imaginary baby foxes was simply the cherry on top.

Around the time I finished eating breakfast, with my thoughts turning to how I might politely leave Donald and Sienna's home and continue on my way, I was surprised by a sudden thought which forced itself to the front of my mind.

Sienna has breathing issues. She is frequently bed-bound because of a respiratory illness which flares up for numerous reasons.

I looked from Donald, who was stuffing more tobacco into his pipe, then over to Sienna, who was washing up the frying pan and dishes in the sink.

Where did that information about Sienna come from? Was it true, or something I had just imagined?

I remained as still as I could manage whilst letting my eyes roam around the kitchen, as if I were searching for anything that might confirm or disqualify the information about Sienna which had just entered my mind.

There's a distinct lack of fragrances in this house. Sienna must most likely avoid having anything fragrant around to prevent her respiratory illness from acting up. Donald used to like wearing cologne but stopped wearing it for Sienna's sake.

My eyes widened.

This wasn't exactly hearing voices in my head, but it was close. It felt as if I were merely receiving matter of fact information as if I were already aware and was simply being reminded of what I already knew.

But was it true? Or was I starting to lose my mind?

I inched my gaze over to Donald and let my gaze settle on him. This time I could vaguely feel my mind, and by extension, a small fragment of the power scrutinising the elderly man.

He has dislocated his shoulder dozens of times throughout his life. It started when he was around sixteen years old. He also used to be a heavy cigarette smoker. Luckily the pipe smoke doesn't set off Sienna's respiratory issues much. She will likely excuse herself from the room soon to continue with her hobby, which is knitting.

The clatter of dishes brought my attention back to Sienna. She set the dishes, and finally the frying pan, onto the dishrack. She then wiped her hand with a handtowel, coughed a little, and then turned around.

"If you'll both excuse me," she said, "I have some knitting to do."

I looked at her with a dumbfounded expression.

"Old biddies and their hobbies," she said, smiling.

She gave Donald a doting kiss on the cheek and then left the room.

Donald puffed on his pipe some more, then said, "You alright, son?"

I nodded, "Yeah, fine," I said, "Just thinking."

"Don't take it personally," said Donald, gesturing with a thumb to the doorway where Sienna just left, "She's sensitive to smells. Sets off her allergies."

"Oh, it's fine," I said, "I should probably be going anyway."

Donald nodded, "Before you do, how about I show you around the farm? Have you ever visited a farm before?"

"No," I said, "But I wouldn't mind."

Donald smiled around his pipe.

"Swell," he said, "Lemme finish my smoke and I'll give you the tour."

*

The first thing I did when leaving the back of the house was to increase my hearing. The sounds of the farm, and the forestation beyond, sprang up and stayed loud.

Twittering birds, skittering rodents, grazing cows, clucking chickens and one moody rooster.

I continued listening as I kept pace behind Donald.

Donald's heavy bootsteps, my heavy bootsteps, a distant plane flying far off.

I twitched my head this way and that to find any sound in the distance that might hint at the coming of a Pied Piper officer, police officer, or any stranger at all. As far as I could tell, for a good distance beyond the farm in all directions, we were alone.

I reduced my hearing to a normal level.

"This is Rose," said Donald.

We had approached the same cow I had passed the night before. It stood several paces from us.

"What made you name her Rose?" I said.

Donald put his hands to his hips and squinted at Rose.

"Well it helps us to remember when the cows were born. The feast day of Saint Rose of Lima is in August; that's when Rose was born. It's good to know this when it comes to knowing when the right time to breed our cows is."

I nodded.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

"Cool," I said.

"Do you want to pet her?" said Donald.

"Sure," I said.

"Go up and give her a pet," he said, "Just take it slow and don't get behind her or she'll kick."

I did as Donald said.

Rose's gaze fixed on me and she started to move away as I approached. After a wary glance back at Donald I continued towards Rose and then set my hand on her back.

"Hello," I said, in a slightly cooing voice.

"She's so big," I said, "Feels sturdy like a sofa."

Donald chuckled, "Sure," he said.

"Come this way," he said, "I'll show you the trees we've planted."

I gave Rose one last pat and then followed after Donald. The sun was out and felt great against my face and neck.

A glance at the back of Donald's head told me he had once fallen over, at around twelve years old, and had cracked his head open, requiring stitches. The way a tuft of hair on the back of his head stood up told me all that.

We reached a field where there were a dozen planted trees. They were small, just a little bit over head-height, with wooden panels at the base of each.

"That's an apple tree," said Donald, pointing at the nearest one.

"And those two are lemon trees."

"How long do they take to grow?" I asked.

"Well, they should be a lot further along," said Donald, "But the roots haven't gone deep enough because we didn't plant them properly. It's a bit too late to fix the mistake now."

I nodded, putting my hands into my trouser pockets.

"Why are you helping me?" I asked.

The question sounded a little out of the blue once I said it aloud, but I had been asking myself this question ever since they welcomed me into their home.

"Because you asked," said Donald, "You were in a bit of a state, weren't you?"

"Yeah," I said, "I really appreciate what you've done for me."

Donald waved a hand but I could tell he was feeling a little bashful, "You're alright," he said.

He sniffed and started walking back the way we came. The next step of the tour was a smelly coup filled with chickens.

"Aren't you worried I might be dangerous?" I said.

"A little," said Donald, "But I suppose there's not much Sienna and I could do if you were."

"I mean," I said, "I am dangerous. Not that I'm intending on doing anything wrong to you or your wife. But the thing is, the teenagers like me, we really are dangerous."

This prompted about an hour of me telling Donald the highlights of what had happened to me ever since I was evacuated from my home. He listened intently, not giving much away about what he thought about things beyond the occasional look of surprise or admonishment.

The tour had become a walk along a forest path.

The light shining through the forest canopy made the green of the tree leaves that much more vibrant. Cool air brushed against my face and the sound of insects, crickets maybe, met my ears like music.

Somewhere in nature, I thought.

It only seemed to highlight how far away from home I was.

"That other boy, Azaad," I said, keeping pace with Donald, who walked briskly despite his age, "Was he like me?"

"Hard to say for sure," said Donald, "But I would assume so. News says a lot of teenagers have run away from home."

"Do you have a computer?" I said, "I'm dying to see what's going on. They didn't give us any internet access at the facility."

"Yeah I've got an old laptop you can use once we get back in," said Donald, "But I thought you wanted to be on your way?"

Ah, I thought, I should be going soon.

Donald stopped walking. By this point we were about a ten minute walk from the house.

"You're welcome to stay with us for a few more days," he said, "You should know what it is you intend to do before you go. Don't want to run around like a headless chicken."

"Really?" I said, rubbing the back of my neck, "You wouldn't mind?"

"Just until you can figure out your next move," said Donald, "Do you know where you're going to go?"

"I want to go home," I said, "But I don't think it's safe to go back into London. And I don't know what to do about getting in contact with my Mum. She's going to be worried sick about me. I should at least call her to let her know I'm safe; though I don't remember her number. I could send her an email, maybe."

Donald nodded.

"You said the Pied Piper officers think you might be dead?" He said, "They'll probably think you made it out alive since they won't find your body. If I were them I would keep an eye on your Mum to see if you got in touch with her."

"So you think I shouldn't call my Mum?" I said.

Donald rubbed his chin. The more I looked at him the more he reminded me of Clint Eastwood, particularly the way he narrowed his eyes in thought.

"If you want to keep your Mum safe you're better off keeping any contact with her in person. But I wouldn't recommend you going home yet. The government's put in place the MICE act, which'll mean anyone around your age will be stopped and asked for I.D in most public places. You might do alright on your own out here where there's not many people, but the closer you get to London the more trouble you'll run into."

"You're really clued in on this stuff," I said, a little amazed at how much Donald had thought through the obstacles which were going to be in my way.

"Well," he said, "I've had to deal with Chellam over the decades myself. They've made a mockery of the medical industry in this country. I had to quit my career because I could no longer adhere to the hippocratic oath because of the bastardization of this country's medical system. But I tried for years to fight the changes. Didn't get very far as you can see."

"What is it that they want?" I said, "Why is Chellam even a thing?"

Donald started walking again.

"Well," he said, "Greedy sociopaths have a habit of finding each other. They adhere to a false religion in order to have a code of conduct to hold each other accountable; and from that foundation they go out into the world and gain influence."

"It's a religion?" I said, a little confused.

I thought of my Dad and how he belonged to his local Chellam lodge. Did that mean he was up to no good too?

"We'll talk more about it later," said Donald.

He sniffed the air and looked back the way we came.

"You know," he said, "I've walked four dogs up and down this path over the years. From the time they were pups til old age took 'em. Wore 'em out. Sienna wants to get another one but I think we're a bit too old for 'em at this point."

I didn't know what to say to that. After a few moments of silence, with just the rustle of the leaves in the trees to fill it, Donald turned about and started walking the path back to the house.

Another unwanted thought sprang into my mind. Whilst the others had been unexpected, this was the first which had been unwelcome.

The thought was:

Donald will die within the next two years, most likely from a stroke.

Donald glanced at me and noticed the grim look on my face.

"You okay, son?" he said.

"Yeah," I said, forcing a smile.

I picked up my pace to match his.