Free Capture (Siren Book 1) by Katie de Long Page B

times, I've considered moving that someday up to something a good bit closer. But something's always held me back. Sure, every morning I wake up surrounded by squalor and misery, that all could be avoided if those in charge had an iota of empathy... it kills another piece of my soul.
    When I was young, I never believed people could be that bad. I thought it was a mistake—that they just didn't see what they were doing. But after Mara, I knew the truth.
    They knew exactly what they were doing. And they chose not to care.
    If I retreated to the control area of the engine room with my gun, and ended my suffering, I could save myself. And I will. There's nothing for me, not family, not friends, not affection or stability. But to let them go unscathed, that would be the true loss.
    When every corrupt political flunky, incompetent or uncaring inspector, or amoral smuggler is entombed here, only then will I crawl into my grave and accept my lot.
    That conviction, it warms me like a shot of liquor. It makes it easier to pick up my feet, drag my sorry ass through the day.
    I wish her farewell with a last reverent touch as I climb down to the rotted, abandoned docking, and make my way through the woods that litter her resting place like abandoned bouquets of flowers. I turn to catch a last glance of her graffiti-covered hull, every inch above the waterline crowded with half-hearted tags, and heartfelt declarations of love.
    A branch cracks in front of me, and I straighten, squinting into the underbrush until I can make out the group coming toward me. Teenagers, carrying backpacks. From their defensiveness when they see me, they've come to add their own signatures to her.  I put my back to them and press forward.
    They won't know her like I do, but for the thousands of fingerprints that still remain on her, from years of work and life, I can let her collect a few more.
    Still, it would be better if fewer people were around. I don't want to encourage them to explore. Once I'm a safe distance away, I pull out my burner phone, and call the cops. I let them know where the kids were going, pretending to be a concerned neighbor who just doesn't want to see them hurt. I go through the motions of contributing to their society, same as they do.
    The cops won't come. They've got too much else on their plates. Nowadays, it takes hours of waiting to get someone by to take a report on a break-in. The money's in speeding tickets, and in watching the middle class neighborhoods for minor violations. They have nothing to gain by chasing scavengers away from the rotting corpse that is the rest of this town. They'll hole up in their little enclave, waiting for the next crumb to fall from the Roanes' lips.
    I've got to tweak my plans, a bit. If Roane pushes his advantage with the cameras, I'll need to figure out some other way to monitor his state. And in the meantime, I'll work. I've got three more acquaintances to reunite with Roane. I sincerely hope their reunion is explosive.
     

Fourteen
    Calder
     
    I can't even tell how long I've been here, anymore. The hunger's given way to a fierce thirst, so fierce that I can't resist dipping my shirt into the water below the grate. As dizzy as I am, I don't trust myself to climb down there without breaking my neck.  The water stains the pale fabric, and I try not to think of what exactly is turning it that color. I suck it out, grateful for the sustenance and its weight in my stomach, even as the aftertaste festers on my tongue.
    I glance down again, my eyes having adjusted enough to make out much more. There's an oily sheen, and now that the smell of bile's familiar, I can pick out the acrid sting of gas, beneath it. No wonder the water steeping down there tasted awful. Even the thought makes my stomach clench, but I can't throw up again. It would hurt too much to.
    It's gotten both easier, and harder to sleep. Easier, because I don't have the energy to do anything else. Harder, because the light seems so