Wilder Girls(62)

It’s nothing, I tell myself. It’s what has to be done.

The ring of keys is clipped to her belt, and my hands shake as I work it free. There, the key to the gate, long and iron. There, the key to the barn even though we never lock it. And there, at the end, a key to her old classroom. Still on the ring, like she was hoping for those days again.

Enough. I hook the keys to my own belt and then bend over again, rest my hands on either side of the bloody slice in Welch’s chest. “On three.”

The first push gets her right to the edge, and Julia sits back, clenches her fists. She’s working up to it, but I can’t take any time, I can’t wait because the more I wait, the louder Carson’s crying gets, and it has to be now. I wedge my shoulder against Welch’s and shove against her hip. It’s slow and scraping, but finally, legs first, she tips off the pier.

A splash. Water clinging to my face, chill seeping into my skin. I wipe myself dry.

“Thanks,” Julia says quietly.

Welch floats. Hair drifting out, blood leaking.

I let myself feel it all—the hurting, and under it, a small part of me violent with satisfaction—and then I stand up and turn away. Sooner or later something will come from the woods to take the body. I’d rather not be watching when it does.

   After that there’s just the question of the canister. We gather around it, face resolutely away from the water.

“What the hell is in this thing?” I ask.

“I don’t care about that,” Julia says. “I care about what we’re doing with it. And I vote we toss it. Don’t mention it to anybody. It’ll just make a mess. I mean, look what it did to Welch.”

Carson flinches. I expect her to crack, crumble, but she draws herself up, sets her shoulders. “It’s coming with us.”

I watch Julia’s face go slack with surprise. I’ve never seen them disagree before.

“Why would we do that?” Julia snaps. “Why would we take it back?”

“We’ll bring it to Headmistress.” Carson shrugs. “She’ll know what to do.”

“We know what to do,” Julia insists. I nod, but they’re hardly paying attention to me. “It’s meant to kill us. Why would we want that in our house?”

“We can always get rid of it later. Without Welch,” Carson says, “Headmistress is all we have left. I don’t see sense in hiding things from her.”

Julia reaches for Carson’s hand. “I know you’re shaken up, but—”

“And what if Welch was wrong, huh?” This is the loudest I’ve ever heard Carson. Her eyes are glassy, and her bottom lip is trembling, but she’s holding her ground. “What if it’s the cure? Headmistress will know.” She swipes a stray tear from her cheek. “I’m so tired, Julia. We keep so many secrets, and we make decisions we shouldn’t have to, and I can’t do that right now. I had the knife in my hands, okay? Not you. We’re giving it to Headmistress.”

   Julia looks stricken. “Sorry,” she says roughly. “Of course. Yeah, we’ll take it back. Hetty, is that—”

“Whatever Carson wants,” I say. I’m tired, and if Carson starts crying again, I think I might too.

I look away, drift a little farther down the pier to give them a minute, but I still catch a glimpse of Carson slumped in Julia’s arms.

The box turns out to be too heavy for any of us to lift by ourselves, and nobody’s saying anything, but we’re all reluctant to take the canister out.

“We’ll take it,” Julia says to Carson. “You go on ahead.”

I crouch down, shut the box, and run my hand over its smooth surface. It’s cool to the touch, with tiny ridges I couldn’t see from farther away, and there’s a handle built into the side. Julia finds a matching one opposite. Together we lift it, Julia wincing as it knocks against her hip.

“When Headmistress asks,” she says as we start to walk, “Welch did it all herself. Carson was behind you.”

“Of course she was,” I answer.

My jeans are sticking, soaked through, and an ache is setting in behind my eye. The glare off the ocean’s making it work too hard. All I want is to be home again. Somewhere quiet, away from memories of Welch and Mr. Harker. Somewhere with Reese to tell me that everything will be okay.

   We’re only just into the trees when I feel it, a thrum in the ground, distant movement in the branches. Julia speeds up and I keep pace. Try not to look back. But there’s a bend in the road, and I see it, over my shoulder. The shape of something giant and void-dark, prowling through the trees in the opposite direction. It’s a bear, drawn by the blood, by the lure of the body in the water.

I’m too worn out to feel afraid. Too tired to do anything but keep moving. Face front, Hetty. Think about something else. But all that comes is yesterday, the way Mr. Harker’s skin flaked away under my touch. And before that, Mona in a body bag. And before that, and before that, and before that.

The things I’ve done here, the bodies I’ve felt under my hands. They’re for nothing if I don’t find Byatt. Welch can’t give me any answers now, but I’ll find them anyway.

We leave the pier behind. Since the Tox, calluses have grown thick on my hands, and I’m grateful now as we keep on, Carson in front of us, the box getting heavier and heavier. I wish we’d stuck the canister in one of our bags and left the case on the dock.