F I F T E E N

They Are The Hunters, We Are The Foxes

 

2024 January 7
Sunday

It was past midnight by the time they reached The Worlds End. The door was closed and the lights inside were low, but Persephone could faintly see a figure inside wiping down a table.

Summer rapped on the window. The figure stood and started walking towards them. “I’m sorry, we’re…Summer?” Molly’s eyes flicked over the two of them in their coats, boots, and pajamas. She darted over to the door and opened it. “Is everything alright?”

“We’re in trouble,” Summer said grimly. “Can we come in?”

Molly bundled them inside, locking the door behind them, and then into a back office. It was only there that Summer finally took her hand out of her purse, away from the taser Persephone knew was concealed inside it.

“Are you two alright?” Molly asked.

“I think we’re unhurt,” Summer said, glancing to Persephone, who nodded. “‘Alright’ is probably a different story.”

“What happened?” Molly asked.

“Armed men broke into my flat just now,” Summer said.

“What?” Molly asked. “Who?”

“Don’t know,” Summer hedged.

“I do,” Persephone said. “They were my uncle’s men. I recognized one of them.”

Molly looked between them, confused.

“Persephone came out last week,” Summer said. “Her family wasn’t pleased, so she’s been staying with me.”

Molly’s eyes widened. “Conversion therapy?”

Persephone leaned against a desk as a wave of vertigo hit her. It had to be that. Why else would her uncle have tried to get her back?

“Maybe,” Summer said. “I don’t want to get you too involved in this; the less you know, the better.”

“Right,” Molly said. “Sensible. What d’you need?”

Summer swung her backpack up on her desk. “A ride—maybe a cab. The room so we can change. A few minutes with your phone. And for you to place a call for me once we’ve left.”

“You’ve got it. Money?” Molly asked.

Summer shook her head. “I was prepared for something like this.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a hoodie, thick socks, gloves, and a face mask, which she tossed onto the desk in front of Persephone; then she pulled out a few things of her own.

Molly fished her phone out of her pocket, unlocked it, and handed it to Summer. “I’ll get the car from the bar phone,” she said. “Take all the time you need.” She closed the door behind her.

Persephone picked up the shirt. It was far too small to fit Summer; she must have packed it specifically for her. Which meant that, although Summer’s escape plan on the roof had been set up for years, she had re-planned it in the last few days.

Persephone had thought Auntie Elle was being a little paranoid, sending the taser and all. Apparently Summer had taken it far more seriously than she’d thought.

Persephone shucked her coat and started changing out of her pajamas. As she did, Summer tapped out a text message on Molly’s phone, then placed a remarkably cryptic phone call:

“This is Summer, checking in.” The voice on the other end was too quiet to understand, but it sounded feminine. “Emergency still in progress. We are on the move. Evasion phase.” More indistinct talking. “Next check-in within sixty.” Still more speaking noises. “Yes, she escaped with me. We’re unharmed.” And a little more. When Summer replied, her voice was a little softer. “We’ll be careful, Aunt-B.” And then she hung up and started digging her own clothes out of the backpack.

‘Aunt-B’? Some kind of codename? What in the world was going on with Summer?

In the last hour, she’d seen a side of the woman that she’d had no idea existed. The Summer she knew was kind, caring, generous, empathetic. But tonight she had shown iron control, incredible foresight, and a competence with violence that had seemed completely at odds with her character.

Summer had taken down and immobilized two armed and trained soldiers with nothing but a taser, some fetish gear, and a scared trans girl to help her. And most strikingly of all, she’d been so cold when she’d done it. Even when she did their electrolysis sessions, Summer was always sympathetic about the pain she had to inflict. But tonight, Persephone had seen her kick a man in the head casually and without a hint of remorse. Tactically sound, probably, but Persephone hadn’t known that Summer could compartmentalize like that.

But should she have? She thought back to the party a week ago, the way Summer had controlled herself around Albert, the way she’d gracefully slipped into the persona of an upper-middle-class woman who wouldn’t have been invited to such an event herself, but had been a guest at them often enough to be used to it.

If she could be a kind mentor, a gentle professional, an experienced socialite, and a brutal bodyguard…which one of those was the real Summer?

A week ago, she’d wondered if her roommate was trans Mary Poppins. Now she was thinking more along the lines of trans James Bond.

After changing into a similarly practical outfit, Summer had pulled a duffel bag out of the somewhat deflated backpack, then stuffed both the backpack and the discarded pajamas and coats into it. When they left, Persephone realized, the two of them would be wearing different clothes and carrying a different bag. She wouldn’t have thought of that, but Summer sure did. Where had she learned all of these tricks?

“Persephone?” Summer asked. “How are you holding up?”

Persephone tilted her hand back and forth: so-so. “My head’s kind of spinning. Like, metaphorically.”

Summer looked her over, then her cool exterior slipped and she gave Persephone a small but warm smile. “I know it’s distressing to be the damsel.” She blushed hotly. How could Summer come up with such unfair things to say to her in the middle of all of this? “But we’re only about halfway done getting away and the quicker we finish it, the safer we’ll be. So bear with me a while longer, okay, sweetie? We’ll process it when we’ve reached safety.”

“O-okay,” Persephone said.

“Hood up,” she told Persephone, doing the same herself, “and tuck your hair into it too.” Persephone followed the instruction; then Summer passed her the bag, which she shouldered easily, and together they stepped out of the back office.

“All set,” Molly said. “If you go out the back—“ she pointed at a door, “—the car should be waiting for you at the end of the alley in one minute.”

“You’re a star, Molly,” Summer said. She gave her back her phone, followed by a hug.

“Nothin’ you wouldn’t do for me,” Molly said modestly. “You said you needed me to make a call for you?”

“Yeah. You still have the scheduling line for my work in your contacts?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell them that I’ve had to leave town for a family emergency. They should cancel my appointments for the next two weeks.”

Persephone looked at Summer, surprised. This wasn’t going to be resolved quickly, was it?

 

* * *

 

The electric Corsa at the end of the alley, it transpired, was being driven by Summer’s friend Alicia, the woman who’d worn a Xena outfit at Halloween. She was a rideshare driver, but when they got in, the phones arrayed on her dashboard were all turned off. “Molly told me you’re in a fix,” she said. “This one’s off the grid and off the books.”

At Summer’s direction, Persephone threw their bag into the front seat, then climbed into the back with her. Summer wrapped a much-needed arm around Persephone’s shoulders and she leaned into the taller girl’s warmth.

Summer gave Alicia the cross-streets she wanted to go to; then, after a brief exchange of information—home invasion, maybe conversion therapy, probably best if you don’t know too many details—they began trading gossip about their mutual friends, and Persephone soon started to doze against Summer’s shoulder.

Eventually, Summer shook her awake. “We’ll be there soon,” she said. Persephone sat up, rolled her shoulders, stretched her neck.

“Where do you want me to drop you?” Alicia asked.

“Just somewhere near the corner,” Summer said. “We’ll be walking from here.”

Once they were on their feet, ‘walking from here’ turned out to mean several blocks of walking, much of it weaving through back alleys. There was hardly a pedestrian or vehicle in sight at this hour; Persephone could only guess that Summer was worried about someone watching CCTV cameras. And it was bitterly cold; a hoodie was wholly inadequate for the January lows in Edinburgh.

Finally, they came to the entrance to a park. The posted hours had long since passed, but the gate was open. “Come on,” Summer said, tugging her in. “We’re almost done.”

Summer led them along a path; then, as they were passing a statue, she suddenly pushed Persephone against it and started nuzzling her neck.

“Just giving anyone who watches the tapes later an excuse for us to be here,” Summer murmured. Persephone tried not to squirm. “We’re here to meet someone who will help us. Their name is ‘Morgan’, and they use she/they pronouns, but she won’t introduce herself until we’re indoors. Until then, try not to say any names or identifying info above a whisper. ”

“O-o-okay,” Persephone said, shivering slightly. The name ‘Morgan’ rang a bell, but she was thoroughly distracted and couldn’t recall where.

Regrettably, Summer stepped away again, took her hand, and led her into a copse of trees. There she stopped, put two fingers in her mouth, and whistled. A few seconds later, there was an answering whistle from a little ways away; they walked through the trees toward it until they finally met the person who had whistled.

Morgan had, as far as Persephone could tell through the shapeless hoodie and balaclava, feminine facial and body features, but she was tall—substantially taller than Summer—and broad, and when she spoke, her voice was deep, like she hadn’t bothered with voice training. “Got your text. Some sort of trouble, pet?”

“We need a place to stay for a couple of days,” Summer said. “We were attacked in my flat earlier.”

“Cops?”

“PMCs.”

They gave a low whistle. “The big guns, then. I’ve just the bolthole.”

The girls followed Morgan out of the park and down the street. Many people would have been intimidated by her, but to Persephone, she seemed friend-shaped.

Morgan was also even more paranoid about CCTV than Summer. They stopped short at chalk and paint marks on the ground, on fences, on posts that they said indicated the edge of a camera’s field of vision. They cut across streets, through alleys, under fences, even into someone’s garden once. At one point, they led the group under a lamp post, tugged on a cable running up the pole, and got everyone around the corner in the thirty seconds it took for the camera to reboot. And sometimes they had one of the girls trail thirty seconds or a minute behind the others, or pass around the duffel bag (when they inquired about Summer’s purse, she carefully tipped it open to show them the taser, which prompted another low whistle and a quiet conversation about its feature set), so the group wouldn’t be as easy to identify.

Eventually, the trio reached a small terraced house and Morgan led them over a fence, into the back garden, and through the back door into a cheerfully-decorated kitchen with blackout curtains drawn over the windows. When she dropped her hood and pulled off her balaclava, she proved to have rounded cheeks, a bare chin, bleached white hair in a deep, aggressive side shave, and several piercings in her mouth, nose, and ears.

Summer stepped toward them and gave them a hug. They wrapped a long, thick arm around Summer and rested their other hand on her head.

“It’s good to see you again, you lumbering blockhead,” Summer said.

“You too, pet,” she replied, kissing her forehead.

Persephone watched them with curiosity, but also warmth. It was lovely that Summer had someone who would dote on her like this.

The person noticed her smiling at the scene. “Pardon—I’ve been rude. Name’s Morgan, she/they.” They held out the hand that had been atop Summer’s head.

“Persephone,” she replied, shaking it, “she/her.”

“Persephone! I’ve heard about you,” Morgan said. “Babygirl,” she called over her shoulder, “Summer and her girlfriend are here!”

There was a crash on the floor above and a few mismatched towels tumbled down the stairs; then a tall, slender girl in red-and-white-striped footie pajamas followed, straightening her glasses and picking her way around the linens.

“Oh! What a lovely surprise!” Lisa said. Right—Lisa was one of Summer’s lovers, or ex-lovers, or whatever, and so was her wife, Morgan. But it was Persephone, not Summer, that Lisa enveloped in a tight hug. “It’s Persephone, yeah?”

“Right,” Persephone said, hugging the girl back. “And Lisa? From that shop, right?”

“Yup.” She broke the hug and then Morgan released Summer so that Lisa could have a turn. And a kiss—lucky girl. “So what brings you to our humble home so far past my bedtime?”

“We’re in a bit of trouble, I’m afraid,” Summer said. “We need a place to stay for a couple of days.”

“Oh!” Lisa said, looking around the group. “Well, the bed will be a little tight with four, but I’m sure we can make it work—”

“I think they need to hide more than visit, babygirl,” Morgan said.

“Oh,” Lisa said, briefly crestfallen before she perked up. “Well, that’s something we can handle too!”

She led the way to the living room—blackout curtains were drawn here, too—where she and Morgan picked up a coffee table and moved it against the wall. Then Lisa pulled back the rug and Morgan opened a trap door hidden underneath it. A dark hole yawned up at them; Morgan dipped a foot into the blackness and nudged a light switch, revealing a ladder down into a metal room. Persephone stared down into it.

“It’s an old bomb shelter,” Morgan said. “The Luftwaffe only came this far north a couple of times, but whoever lived here back then must have been a bit paranoid.” They climbed down the ladder.

Noticing Persephone’s startled look, Summer explained, “Morgan is an organizer.” Then she started climbing down too.

“Organizer of what?” Persephone asked as she followed Summer down into the pit.

Once she was on the ground, Persephone looked around. The space was cramped, lit by one bare lightbulb and warmed by an electric space heater, with a bunk bed in the back and a small desk with a table on one side; the rest was cabinets and shelves full of stuff. Balaclavas. Gas masks. Saline bags and Milk of Magnesia. Black clothes. Motorcycle helmets. Metal bowls. Rubbish bin lids. First-aid gear. Protest signs.

“Anti-fascist protests,” Summer told Persephone. Then she turned to Morgan. “Do you have a fresh burner? I have about—” she checked her watch, “—ten minutes to check in before my friends start sending the cavalry.”

Morgan, who had to hunch over to avoid hitting their head, opened a drawer; there were a half-dozen cheap smartphones, a few new SIM cards, and some prepaid recharge cards. “Knock yourself out,” she said.

“Thanks,” Summer said, and went up on her tiptoes to give them a peck on the lips before she dove into the drawer and started putting something together.

“You two must be knackered,” Morgan said. “We’ll talk in the morning? Nine o’clock?”

“Sure,” Summer said. “Thank you for everything tonight.”

“Always, pet,” Morgan said, and they started climbing the ladder. “If you think something’s going down upstairs, just stay down and stay quiet. Nobody expects a space like this in a house like mine; they won’t find you unless you give yourselves away.” And then she closed the trapdoor, and they heard the sound of furniture scraping across the floor above them.

The moment the trapdoor closed, Summer dug into her purse and pulled out a wad of bills. “I have limits,” she muttered to herself as she stuffed it into the drawer. “They’re not just giving me a bloody mobile.”

In these surrounds, Persephone was thinking of Summer as less MI6 and more black bloc, but she was getting too tired to properly analogize.

“So, that’s it?” Persephone said. “We’re gonna sleep down here?”

“Yup,” Summer said.

Persephone sighed, dropped the duffel on the floor, and started pulling out her pajamas to change back into them. “Not that I’m ungrateful, but it’s not the first place I’d choose to be.”

“I dunno,” Summer said vaguely, “I’ve seen worse basements.” Her new burner phone chirped. “Ah, there we go!” She dialed a number and held the phone to her ear. “This is Summer, checking in.” Persephone could hear even less of the other side of the conversation this time. “Emergency still in progress. We’ve bedded down with some resourceful friends for the night. Will start planning exit phase in the morning. — Next check-in by noon. — We’re still fine, just tired. No signs of pursuit since our last check-in. — You too. Now go to bed, Aunt-B.” She hung up.

Persephone started changing. “Is it okay to ask questions now?” she said.

“I suppose,” Summer said, bending down to extract her bedclothes too.

“Who have you been calling?”

“Elle’s people,” Summer said. “If I’d failed to check in, they would have sent a team from her PMC to rescue us.”

“PMC?”

“Private military contractor—soldiers for hire. Elle has a firm called Peckinville to handle her security; your uncle must get his men from a different one.”

“Oh,” Persephone said. She’d never thought of her uncle’s guards as soldiers, but they did have the look. “This was all planned? Everything, from when you woke me up to when we climbed down here?”

“It wasn’t, like, one big master plan from beginning to end,” Summer said. “More a few snippets of plans linked together on the fly. At most of the decision points, I had two or three different options. Going to Molly was a matter of good timing; Morgan and Lisa were my first choice for overnighting because I hadn’t been here in months, plus there was Morgan’s, well—” she gestured at the room as a whole, “—side gig.”

Pajamas now on, Persephone sat down at the end of the cot, hugging herself around the middle. The mattress was a little thin, but not too bad; the size would be more of a problem. “Where did you learn all that?” Persephone asked.

“I’ve had a hard life at times,” Summer said, turning around to peel off her top and bra, “and I learned the skills I needed to survive it. Beyond that, we’re heading into ‘Summer’s secrets’ territory.”

The secrets Persephone had promised not to ask about. She wasn’t inclined to push that, not after what Summer had just done for her. “Okay.” She paused. “So, what’s next?”

“We need to leave Edinburgh,” Summer said. “The problem is, my exit plans are all for one person, not two. I need to figure out where we should go and how we should get there.” Summer had put her pajamas on too; she climbed onto the bed. “But that’s a problem for tomorrow.” She opened her arms. “Right now, let me hold you, okay?”

Persephone climbed into Summer’s arms. It was only once she was there that she realized how badly she’d needed it; she clung to Summer, tears welling. “Summer, I—I was so scared,” she admitted.

“I know, sweetie,” Summer whispered, stroking her hair. She touched her cheek, and her fingers felt a little damp; Persephone glanced up and realized she was crying, too. “You were so brave for me, and you did exactly what I needed you to do. I’m proud of you.”

“You saved me,” Persephone whispered.

“I meant what I said,” Summer replied. “We’re doing this together. For as long as you need me. Remember?”

“Together,” Persephone agreed with a sniffle.

“And I won’t let anyone stop you,” Summer said. “No matter who they are or what plans they have for you.”

“I trust you,” Persephone whispered.

Because Persephone found that she did. Despite the frightening events of the last couple hours—and the growing pile of unanswered questions about the other girl’s past—she was more certain than ever that Summer would protect her from anything she could, and that what Summer could covered rather a lot. And so, right here and now—homeless again, huddled in an old bomb shelter, hiding from professional soldiers backed by one of the nation’s largest piles of old money—she felt as safe as she ever had, entirely because Summer was here with her.

I want this feeling to last forever.

The thought didn’t surprise her as much as it should have. Nor did the realization that followed. She didn’t have a simple crush—not anymore. She was in love. And if the woman she loved didn’t love her back, if forever wasn’t on offer, she would take whatever she could get.

And a few hours in Summer’s arms, even in a dingy basement bomb shelter, certainly qualified.

She did not know how long it took or which of them dropped off first, but the two of them fell asleep in each other’s arms, clinging so tightly to one another that the size of the cot scarcely mattered.