save her? Not that Hannah
or Jayden or Eli were so horrible, but Ellie just couldn’t shake the
idea that things would never be right again until they were all back
together. Which had led to the whistle. Giving Alex’s whistle to
Tobe had been partly impulse, partly design. Tobe was so sick and
scared about being left behind. She’d hoped the whistle—that Alex ,
she guessed—would cheer him up, make him strong the same way it
made her feel both better and really sad at the same time. You’ll give it
back when you get well , she’d said.
But in the back of her mind, a place she didn’t visit often because
it hurt too much, she’d also nursed another idea. The night before
Harlan and Marjorie and Brett, Tom and Alex had talked about Rule.
She remembered the rustle of maps and Tom’s voice. She’d tried
going there after Harlan, only she’d gotten so lost. It was just luck
that Jayden found her. So, maybe, when the boy from Rule came and
took Tobe to get better, someone would find the whistle and then
show Alex. (Why anyone would , she didn’t know. It was stupid. But
it was something, like a message in a bottle.) Then Alex would know
where to find her, and she’d tell Tom—because, of course, Alex
would’ve saved him—and they would come for her . . . just like that.
If Tom was really okay, too. If he was still alive. If he wasn’t like
poor Chris, the boy from Rule who had only tried to help.
Until Hannah had gone and done what she’d done and couldn’t
take it back.
From the sky came more hard, mournful cries as a trio of crows
arrowed left to right, west to east, followed by six more. Even higher,
she spotted the telltale glide of several seagulls. Frowning now, she
craned a look behind her, toward shore. That gull was still there, but
the crows had vanished. Even deeper in the trees, something flickered—a flash of light green—and then a cedar swayed with a sudden
shake and shiver, spilling a fine curtain of snow.
“Well, that’s weird,” Ellie said. Crows loved fish guts or just about anything dead or dying. (Well, except the people-eaters.) This was
something Jayden said, too: if you want to know where that deer you
clipped had got to, don’t follow the blood. Look for the crows.
But they’re all gone now. She jumped her eyes over low-hanging
branches and snow-laden evergreens. That still-billowing cloud of
fine snow. Where there’d been plenty of birds before, now there was
only that one gull. Which was a little strange.
Shouldering the auger over her left and a .22 on the right, she
grabbed up her primer bucket again and resumed her slow trudge
toward shore. The gun, a Savage, was what Jayden called a plinker ,
meaning it didn’t do squat and only added weight, but it made her feel
better. While her hand auger wasn’t a thirty-pounder like Grandpa
Jack’s, it was long and unwieldy—essentially a spear tipped with two
incredibly sharp, stainless-steel blades.
Ahead, she could see Mina squirting after that one gull. With an
alarmed cry, the gull lifted from its perch, circled, and let go of a long,
drippy streamer. Mina skidded at the last second but not fast enough.
A stringer of green-white goo splashed her muzzle, and then the gull
was winging higher, shrieking gull-laughs: Ah-hah-hah-hah!
“Serves you right,” she said, while Mina only snorted and groveled
in the snow. As they passed into the woods, she saw the gull, back on
its rock, and could swear it was still laughing.
This particular farm was huge, once probably two farms or even
three, with a gazillion acres and lots of outbuildings. Eli had gone
left, following a wooded path back to the farmhouse. She peeled off
right on her horse, a poky, muddy brown mare named Bella, down a
meandering trail through oaks and tall tamaracks. Ahead, in a crescent-shaped clearing, the trail elbowed right and left. One look at that
fork and Bella spooked, prancing and shaking her head in a clatter
or Jayden or Eli were so horrible, but Ellie just couldn’t shake the
idea that things would never be right again until they were all back
together. Which had led to the whistle. Giving Alex’s whistle to
Tobe had been partly impulse, partly design. Tobe was so sick and
scared about being left behind. She’d hoped the whistle—that Alex ,
she guessed—would cheer him up, make him strong the same way it
made her feel both better and really sad at the same time. You’ll give it
back when you get well , she’d said.
But in the back of her mind, a place she didn’t visit often because
it hurt too much, she’d also nursed another idea. The night before
Harlan and Marjorie and Brett, Tom and Alex had talked about Rule.
She remembered the rustle of maps and Tom’s voice. She’d tried
going there after Harlan, only she’d gotten so lost. It was just luck
that Jayden found her. So, maybe, when the boy from Rule came and
took Tobe to get better, someone would find the whistle and then
show Alex. (Why anyone would , she didn’t know. It was stupid. But
it was something, like a message in a bottle.) Then Alex would know
where to find her, and she’d tell Tom—because, of course, Alex
would’ve saved him—and they would come for her . . . just like that.
If Tom was really okay, too. If he was still alive. If he wasn’t like
poor Chris, the boy from Rule who had only tried to help.
Until Hannah had gone and done what she’d done and couldn’t
take it back.
From the sky came more hard, mournful cries as a trio of crows
arrowed left to right, west to east, followed by six more. Even higher,
she spotted the telltale glide of several seagulls. Frowning now, she
craned a look behind her, toward shore. That gull was still there, but
the crows had vanished. Even deeper in the trees, something flickered—a flash of light green—and then a cedar swayed with a sudden
shake and shiver, spilling a fine curtain of snow.
“Well, that’s weird,” Ellie said. Crows loved fish guts or just about anything dead or dying. (Well, except the people-eaters.) This was
something Jayden said, too: if you want to know where that deer you
clipped had got to, don’t follow the blood. Look for the crows.
But they’re all gone now. She jumped her eyes over low-hanging
branches and snow-laden evergreens. That still-billowing cloud of
fine snow. Where there’d been plenty of birds before, now there was
only that one gull. Which was a little strange.
Shouldering the auger over her left and a .22 on the right, she
grabbed up her primer bucket again and resumed her slow trudge
toward shore. The gun, a Savage, was what Jayden called a plinker ,
meaning it didn’t do squat and only added weight, but it made her feel
better. While her hand auger wasn’t a thirty-pounder like Grandpa
Jack’s, it was long and unwieldy—essentially a spear tipped with two
incredibly sharp, stainless-steel blades.
Ahead, she could see Mina squirting after that one gull. With an
alarmed cry, the gull lifted from its perch, circled, and let go of a long,
drippy streamer. Mina skidded at the last second but not fast enough.
A stringer of green-white goo splashed her muzzle, and then the gull
was winging higher, shrieking gull-laughs: Ah-hah-hah-hah!
“Serves you right,” she said, while Mina only snorted and groveled
in the snow. As they passed into the woods, she saw the gull, back on
its rock, and could swear it was still laughing.
This particular farm was huge, once probably two farms or even
three, with a gazillion acres and lots of outbuildings. Eli had gone
left, following a wooded path back to the farmhouse. She peeled off
right on her horse, a poky, muddy brown mare named Bella, down a
meandering trail through oaks and tall tamaracks. Ahead, in a crescent-shaped clearing, the trail elbowed right and left. One look at that
fork and Bella spooked, prancing and shaking her head in a clatter
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