The Writing Retreat(91)

Taylor whistled the Harlem Globetrotters tune as she waved Wren ahead of her into the basement. Keira and I went back to our laptops. A new anxiety fluttered around my chest: the fear of not having enough time to finish the novel. It was funny—wasn’t it?—that the story had somehow become my main concern.

“Do you think they’ll finish our books if we don’t?” I asked suddenly.

Keira paused. “Yes.” She went back to typing.

Twenty minutes later, Yana strode in. I wondered if she was going to grab Wren’s computer—something Taylor had retrieved before for a one-on-one session. But instead she went quickly to the cell door and tapped in the code.

She pulled it open. “Come.” She gestured and strode back to the doorway.

Keira and I stared at each other, shocked. Simultaneously, we jumped to our feet and hurried after her. We held hands, gripping each other tightly, as we followed Yana through the door, past the piles of boxes, and towards the back of the basement.

She stopped in front of the door that led up into the yard. The one that we’d thought Zoe had sleepwalked right through. It seemed like that had happened years ago.

“Here.” Yana pointed to a colorful pile of boots, snow pants, and fur coats.

Keira let go of me and grabbed a pair of red snow pants. I followed suit, shaking with bewilderment and adrenaline. Why would Yana do this? My boots were there in the pile, but the snow pants were too small and the coat was too big. No matter. I felt faint as Yana pulled open the door. The icy wind hit me in the face. The fresh air was sweet as ice cream and I gulped it in.

Tightly packed snow still covered the stairs, but Yana had etched some ruts so that we could climb out. She went first, leading us in her sneakers up the steps. The wind felt heavenly rushing over my itchy scalp. I breathed so deeply it made my lungs ache. Above, the sun was setting and a bloated moon shone bone-white in the sky.

Yana led us around the side of the house. The snow had melted from the storm but was still at least a foot deep, though dense and icy enough that we could walk on top of it. We crossed the uncleared drive and hurried to the garage.

Yana wrenched open the side door. Inside, two cars waited like sleeping, hulking creatures. Would we be able to drive out in the snow? I had a horrible vision of us stalled, the wheels spinning uselessly.

Then Yana pulled a plastic cover off something near the door.

The snowmobile.

“Here.” Yana held up the keys, which glittered like jewelry. “You know how to ride?”

“Yes.” Keira rushed towards it.

“Take these.” Yana pulled hats and mittens out of her pockets and stuck them in my hands. She gave another set to Keira. “Go slow. The road was cleared but it might be slippery.”

“Thank you, Yana.” I stared at her, half-convinced Taylor would step out from behind her and laugh: another cruel game. But when Yana met my eyes, there was a determined set to her jaw.

“Just go.” She slipped out the door and was gone.

“Oh, hell yes,” Keira muttered, her voice tight with excitement. “Alex, help me pull it out.”

“Yeah.” I hurried behind the snowmobile, my foot kicking into something. It was a long object covered with a blanket. Something shiny peeked out. It took a second to process what I was seeing.

It was a silky, coiled chunk of Zoe’s hair.

“Oh my god.” My stomach dropped. I hadn’t even considered what they’d done with Zoe’s body. But here it was, a frigid object, no different from a frozen chicken or a pizza.

“What?” Keira peered beyond me. She too stopped. Then she tugged at the handlebars. “Come on. We have to go.”

We were able to pull the vehicle up and out onto the shelf of snow. Without hesitation, Keira jumped on and turned the key. The motor sounded like a bomb in the silence. I wanted to run back into the garage and hide.

Keira motioned behind her. “Get on.”

I hesitated.

Keira whipped around. She wore a pink hat with a pom-pom—Yana’s?

“I can’t.” The words were out before I could think them.

“Alex, come on,” she cried. “We have to go now.”

“But…”

I knew as clear as if Lamia were whispering in my ear: If you leave, Wren will die.

The knowledge was heavy and solid, a peach pit in my gut. And though I wanted nothing more than to leap on the snowmobile and get as far away from here as possible… I couldn’t leave her to be murdered.

“I have to help Wren,” I called over the engine.

“Alex.” Keira’s voice sharpened to a fine point. “We need to go get help.”

“I’m sorry. I have to stay.” The front door to the house opened, the creak as clear as a gunshot.

“You go,” I said. “Seriously, I’ll be okay.”

She gave me one last wide-eyed look of disbelief. Then, with an angry shake of her head, she gunned the engine and flew off, graceful in the waning light.

Heavy sadness pressed down on my shoulders, the top of my head. I knew what staying behind meant. I might never see Keira—or anyone—again.

Taylor had come out to the front porch: I heard her angry shouts. I turned and followed the trampled path back to the basement.

Roza would’ve expected me to leave Wren behind. She thought that she knew me, that we were similar in this way: the unending need to survive. Not just to survive, but to win.