I went to the back stall, but other than Bully running around his mother, the space was empty. I couldn’t neglect the milking, but I felt conflicted. Something new was twisting in my chest. I missed him. I wanted to suggest a creek run after lunch so I could get back on track and ask about the microchips, about their schedule for leaving. But to be completely honest, I just wanted to talk to him, to hear his voice. As it was, I’d have to work like we were back at the beginning, and I had nothing to look forward to but another day of labor. It was a good thing, I decided. It kept my focus on escape. My real escape that is, not forbidden trips to a hidden creek. I sat on my stool and gripped the teats, filling my bucket and emptying it into the churn, then going back and doing it again. The tone sounded and we all filed into lunch. Hamsters on a wheel, zombies in a pen. I’d grown used to seeing the men looking drugged and passive, the women keeping their eyes down. Only the occasional glance to me, the one who’d promised to do something.
