He'd been expecting the knock on the door, but the sound still made him jump. Jonah stood, turning on a few more lights as he made his way to the door. They could have just pressed the chime, he thought, but then they wouldn't have had the opportunity to hit something...

When the door slid open, he saw just what he'd expected: two men, tall and broad-shouldered, one with a beard, one without, standing in the glare of the porchlight. Men with hard, cold eyes. Men you didn't mess with.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

The bearded man shoved a palmscreen at him. "We're looking for this."

Jonah took it and studied the face on the display, being careful to keep his expression level. "Haven't seen it." He handed the screen back. "Ran off?"

"Last night," the other man said. "We're betting it hasn't gone far." His gaze sharpened to a glare. "We've heard about people giving shelter against the law. Even helping them along. You know anything about that?"

He knew what they saw. They saw a man with dark skin, with nice clothes, a nice home. Old, old habits; old feelings.

"All I know," Jonah said finally, "is that a person has a right to his property. If I see anything, I'll let you know."

The men pressed their thumbs to the panel beside the door, recording their contact information. "You do that," the bearded man said, and they turned and went back to their car.

He closed the door and activated the lock, then closed his eyes a moment. How many times had he done this--and every time, he was as scared as the first.

The stew was finally bubbling on the stove. He ladled some into a bowl, turned the heat off, and went back into the bedroom, picking up a small battery-powered lantern on the way. Opening the closet, he pushed his winter clothes to one side, then leaned his weight against the back until the panel swung open. It was cleverly hidden--not a seam showing. They'd searched his house several times but hadn't found it yet.

It was cold back here, the beams and boards exposed, not much heat getting through the walls. He hoped he'd left enough blankets. He turned on the lamp and spoke softly into the shadows. "They're gone. It's all right."

For a moment, he heard nothing. Then there was a slight rustling from one corner, and two bright eyes shone back from a black mask.

"Are you hungry? I brought you something." He held out the bowl and a spoon. "Better eat if you can. It'll be a long trip tonight."

"Thank you," the raccoon said, taking the bowl.

"My friend should be here in half an hour. Those clothes--do they fit you all right?"

The raccoon nodded, chewing. Then he paused. "I'll pay you back for all of this when I can."

"You just get through safe. That's all I need."

The raccoon stared into the bowl for a few moments, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "I didn't plan it like this. My sister... We were supposed to leave together. But they were going to sell me to the Labs tomorrow, and I had to go sooner." His eyes glistened in the dim light. "I should have gone back for her."

"You might have been caught and sold anyway. She wouldn't want that, would she?"

The raccoon shook his head a little, then started eating again. When Jonah took the empty bowl, he laid a hand on the young raccoon's shoulder. "She'll find her chance. And we'll be there."

He took the bowl back into the kitchen. When he returned, he handed the raccoon a white pill and a glass of water.

"It'll jam their tracking," he explained. "Make sure they give you one every day from now on, until you're across the line."

The raccoon stared wide-eyed at the pill. "How...?"

Jonah smiled. "We have friends in the Labs, too. You'd be surprised." He heard the door chime. "Quiet now."

Jonah watched from an upstairs window as the truck drove away. If anyone searched it, they would find the usual barcoded boxes of medical supplies, and--he hoped--no sign of the raccoon huddled with the others under the false bottom.

He could never sleep on nights like this, thinking about them, thinking about how many mistakes people had to repeat before they learned. If they ever learned. And he couldn't even try to sleep for remembering what the raccoon had said before he'd climbed into the truck.

Her registry number was 113-741-272, but her name was Rachel. He called her Rae. No one else did.

Jonah got a cup of coffee, turned on his palmscreen, and started searching the local nets. He had a promise to keep.

This work and all characters (c) 2003 Renee Carter Hall ("Poetigress"). May not be reprinted or redistributed without written permission.