After Alice Fell(79)

We careen into the wall and tumble to the floor, the wood splint slamming to her ribs. My vision goes white. I feel her twist under me, pushing against my shoulder as she gets to all fours and shoves me back to the wall. I gasp for air.

She clambers to her feet, clasping the bow again, bending down for the arrow that’s just outside her reach. But it’s inside my reach; I kick it away. When she turns for it, I scramble to my knees and ram my shoulder to her legs so she buckles. The scissors stab through the rug, but I don’t let them go. They’re all I have.

Her arms flail, and she kicks out, crawling backward and grabbing up the arrow. And it’s nocked again in the bow, the string pulled back. “I don’t lose,” she says, closing one eye and pulling the string tauter.

She cries out. The arrow corkscrews straight into the ceiling plaster. The bow clatters against the wall as her hands scrabble forward, clawing for the scissors I’ve buried in her thigh.

Run.

The moon slices bright through the woods, painting shadows that hide roots and stones, nettle and chokeberry. Something cuts my foot—a broken limb, a shard left over from the glass house and the bonfire. I don’t care. I wind through the trees, each limb silver in the light, the leaves copper and iron. Up a narrow path that twists and gives way to the graves. Mounds and shallows.

“Marion?”

I circle once to the sound, then peer in the forest for the path to the Sentinels. To Toby.

There. Just beyond Alice’s grave. I bolt across, crashing into the brush. The sling catches on a gnarled branch, snapping me around again. I give a tug to release it, then pull my arm free and let it hang loose. The fabric flutters against my chest when I spring forward again.

To my left, I catch glints of light from the pond, like a cat’s eyes winking. Soon I’ll be at the Sentinels. My breath slices in and out like a razor. I can’t feel my legs.

But I feel her. She’s coming.

Pine needles soften the thump of my feet as I grapple up a rise, digging my fingers into the rough of the rounded rocks. I slide down, scraping my face and shins.

“Marion.” Cathy’s voice bounces off the trees and stone; I can’t determine where she’s at. “I just want to talk. You’re safe, now.”

I clamp my hand to a sapling growing between two boulders and push my toes to the stone.

But I can’t pull myself up. Not with one arm. I dig my feet and knees to the rock to climb. All I need is enough purchase to hook my elbow.

“It wasn’t me, Marion.”

My hand can’t hold any longer. I slip down the stone and topple back to the ground.

“It was him. Lionel did it. Not me.” Dry leaves and empty cicada husks crackle under her feet. Slow steps. Stopping to listen.

I hold my breath. The katydid’s song ebbs and saws. Above, the topmost leaves rustle.

A snap of a branch. Right next to my head. I scramble back and hunch against the rock.

“Where’s the boy?” Amos hoists me up by my shoulders, then hangs on because I’m trembling too hard to stand.

“I won’t have anything happen to him.” He shakes me like a sack.

“What are you doing here?” Cathy steps from behind a tree.

He lets me go, turning to her. “I changed my—” His words are cut off, as if sliced by a scythe. His body doubles into itself. He grunts and staggers back before collapsing to his knees. He rolls forward, face to the dirt, his hair tumbled forward, arms slack, the shaft of Cathy’s arrow pierced so deep through his gut I can make out the fletch feathers along his spine. His ribs heave. Blood pulses and bubbles. One more heave. One more heartbeat. Then the hollow rattle of a final breath.

“Well.” Cathy moves her weight to one hip.

“Why, Cathy?”

She stares at Amos and flinches, then shakes her head and laughs. “Sniveling, sweet Lydia.” Her mouth curves down. “Do you know what it’s like to kill your best friend?” She sniffs. “It’s harder than you think.” She looks at something to her left. I follow her gaze and my heart drops.

Toby.

He holds the little derringer with both hands. The barrel wobbles as he cocks the trigger.

“Toby, you shouldn’t play with that.” Cathy smiles and taps her index finger to the grip of her bow. She lowers it. Takes a step forward.

“Don’t.” He clenches his teeth, then chatters them. “I’ll shoot you.”

“No, you won’t.”

In one quick move, she grabs his wrist and twists away the gun. She straightens her arm and aims.

“No.” I bowl into her, knocking her off her feet. The gun falls to the ground and discharges with a muffled bang.

She grabs onto the loose sling, twisting it around my neck, yanking me along. I clutch at the fabric, kicking my heels into the dirt to find purchase. She slows, loosening the fabric enough that I take in one huge breath and twist my torso so I am facedown. Then she pulls again, dragging me until the ground stops, dropping to the ink-black water below.

My ears thrum. Toby screams in the distance, as if he’s in a far tunnel. Cathy’s busy with the sling. It’s the pretty one she bought me. Peacocks and fairies printed on silk. The fairies’ wings quaver as she pulls the fabric taut, then tugs it over my face.

She’ll drown me, same as Lydia. Leave me blinded and suffocating, paddling in circles until my lungs burst.