Chapter Thirty-One
WILLA'S ARMS ARE TIRED, HEReyelids heavy. Even though Destiny always told her not to, she can't help herself; she sucks her thumb and rubs the sleeping bag between her fingers. The fabric is cool and soft. It makes her feel better.
Ever since Destiny left, Willa has been sad—even sadder than usual, and lonely. She huddles deeper into the covers. Her feet are cold. If Destiny were here, she'd rub them. She used to like it when Destiny would use her thumbs on her big toes and arches. She would always say that it helped the nightmares stay away. It is a kind of magic, she remembers Destiny saying.
Now, the door creaks, the lock clicks, and Willa scrunches her eyes shut. It might be him. He is called David, but she calls him the boogeyman in her head.
She hasn't seen him that much since Destiny left, but he comes to check in on her every so often. She hates it when he looks at her; it makes her feel itchy inside.
Now, a hand skirts over the sleeping bag and cups her shoulder. "Hey there, Sleeping Beauty." Willa wiggles from the safety of her nest. It's Destiny! She's back!
Willa grins and leaps, wrapping her arms around Destiny's waist. Destiny jerks and throws her head back, laughing. Willa rubs her cheek against Destiny's abdomen. She is real. She is real. She is real. Then, Willa feels Destiny's body tremble, feels a kiss drop into her hair, tears too. Destiny pulls away and cups Willa's cheeks with both hands, her touch warm and reassuring. "Destiny," Willa says. Happy. She is so happy. Everything will be okay now.
"My name isn't Destiny, it's Ellie, and yours isn't Grace. It's Willa."
Willa feels light, and she smiles. "My mom called me Willy. She thought it was funny." She stills. She should not have talked about her mom. She waits to be shushed.
But Destiny—Ellie, she tells herself—smiles and kisses her forehead. "It suits you." She leans down so they are almost nose to nose. "Listen," she says, and she is serious. As serious as when Willa gets too close to the fire. "We don't have very much time. We need to get out of here. You need to stay close to me and do everything I say. Got it?"
Willa nods, a little frightened. "Where are we going?"
"I'm going to… I'm going to try to take you home."
Home. "Yes," says Willa. "I want to go home. Can I take my rock collection?" This morning, she found a white stone by the creek. It is smooth with tiny black marks, like a ribbon is woven through. It is her new favorite. She pretends it is a zebra.
"No, there isn't any time," Ellie says. "We have to go now." And already she is shoving Willa's feet into shoes, a sweatshirt over her head. "C'mon." They grasp hands, and Ellie pulls Willa into the dank hallway that is more like a cave. Willa does not like the way it smells, like bad food.
"I'm so glad you came back," Willa says.
"Hush," Ellie says. "Quiet voices now."
Willa drops her voice. "I'm so glad you're back," she repeats. "Charity never plays with me, and she doesn't share her food."
Ellie stops short, and Willa nearly runs into her. They are almost at the entrance now, near the steps that lead up into the compound. Ellie grips Willa by the shoulders. "Charity is here? I thought she was dead."
Willa nods at the room farthest down the hall. You can't see the door in the pitch black. Willa hates how it is always night in the bunker. "She cries a lot. I can't sleep sometimes."
Ellie reverses course and walks so fast that Willa needs to jog to catch up. "Where are you going? I thought we were leaving?" She peers up at Ellie.
Willa does not hear the first thing Ellie says, but she does catch the end. "Not without her."
An hour after sunset has always been Hannah's favorite time of day. It is the prologue to night, the beginning of endless possibilities. She used to dance. She'd go to the underage clubs and loved how the bodies pressed against hers, all writhing together—a hot sticky mess. It made her feel less lonely. Even here, dusk is still her favorite time of day. She does not dance anymore, but she does know one hour of peace when David retreats to his room to watch television. This is her sixty minutes without fear. It is what she lives for now. And she is alive. Barely.
Here is the thing about Hannah: She grew up in the system. One of her foster moms used to call her "little wolf" because of the way she skulked around the kitchen and table right before meals. Hannah is accustomed to not having things. She has gone without food. Without clothes. Without bedding. She is a survivor.
After she pulled a gun on David, Michael dragged her into the woods and held her there until David came. He spouted off some bullshit about loving her. She wobbled. Something wasn't right with her left leg—it hurt to put weight on it. She spat at his feet. Red slashed his cheeks, and he throttled her again. She opened her mouth to speak. He shook her and pressed harder, crushing her windpipe. You wish to beg, David said, and he released her. She fell down, gasping. Beg me, he had said, inordinately pleased. David's favorite thing was women at his feet. I'm… she started, unsure what to say. How to save her life. Then two words came, squeezing through the folds of her subconscious. I'm pregnant. It is what David wants more than anything. A child.
He'd thrown her back in the bus but fed her. Then brought her back, and Ellie was gone. Hannah assumes Ellie is dead. Soon, Hannah will be dead, too. Because she is not really pregnant. She has played a trick on the devil, and he will collect twofold when he learns of it. David will not abide being made a fool.
Now, there is movement outside of her room, and Hannah throws herself back against the stone wall. Coldness bleeds into her clothing as the metal door opens. And because she was just thinking of it, she imagines David has learned the truth. That instead of strangling her, he has something far more insidious planned. Fear makes her vision hazy, and she is unsure what she sees. Two figures before her, small and hunched… Grace? Destiny?
"Hannah." Hearing Destiny speak jolts Hannah from her trance.
Hannah crawls to the edge of the bed. "Destiny? Is it really you? How—"
"Ellie. My name is Ellie." Destiny—no, Ellie swipes under her nose. "I could ask you the same thing." She shakes her head. "But there's no time. Can you walk?" She eyes Hannah, her stiff movements, the way she drags her left leg behind her.
Hannah nods eagerly. "I can. I mean, I will. David—"
"I don't know where he is." Ellie moves forward and loops Hannah's arm over her shoulders. They glance at each other, and Ellie's eyes are wide and white, like a frightened horse. What is lurking out there? Michael. David. Serendipity. The woods seem just as hostile. Cold sweat breaks out along Hannah's hairline as they shuffle into the hall. Hannah leans against Ellie, and Grace comes around to grip Hannah's hand. "My name isn't Grace. It's Willa," she states.
"That's good, kid," Hannah grinds out. They are in the hall now. Water trickles down the walls.
"A mile or two from here, I have a car parked," Ellie whispers, the effort of supporting Hannah clear in her voice. "If we get separated… follow the creek north. You remember how to find north?"
"Polaris. The North Star," Hannah says, sagging against Ellie. When she'd first arrived at the compound, Ellie had taught her.
As they continue on, a sharp pain shoots through Hannah's leg, and bile rises in her throat. She might be sick. God, the pain. She tries not to think about the odds against them. What they'll have to accomplish. How a mile might as well be twenty. She won't focus on that. One foot in front of the other, she decides, that's what she'll concentrate on. Keep moving until you cannot anymore. Because she is a survivor. This will not beat her.
"That's right," Ellie says. "Follow Polaris and stay along the creek. I left the keys on the tire. You know how to drive?"
Hannah nods. She does not have a license. David snatched her before she could get one. But she'll figure it out. It's the least of her worries.
They trod along and stop at the bottom of the stairs. Hannah's eyes travel up. There are fifteen steps in total. Sometimes David skips down them, two at a time. Hannah shakes, and Ellie grips her tighter. Does she remember it, too? Gazing at the stars with Hope. Mending woolen socks. Rabbit meat. Hauling cinder blocks. Fists. Blood. Betrayals. "What about the dogs?" Hannah asks.
"They're in their kennels. But… I let one out. Star," Ellie whispers. Hannah remembers Ellie feeding the puppy. "Ready?"
"Ready," Hannah replies.
"No more talking," Ellie says to Willa, and Willa mimes zipping her lips shut.
Hannah ducks from Ellie's hold and uses the wall as support. But Ellie catches her hand. Willa takes Ellie's other hand. Together they embark. Each step, their breaths grow shallower—out of fear, out of pain. But they are together again. That is all that matters. Hannah knows after a life of nothing, it is the small things that count. At the top, Ellie smiles at Hannah, half encouraging, half victorious. Hannah listens and scans the compound—empty, the whir of the generator, Michael's blue station wagon, but then she notices David's window is dark. Did he go to sleep? No, it is too early. They need to move. And quickly.
"Well, well, well," a voice says.
Slowly Hannah turns, bringing Ellie and Willa with her. David is behind them, hands balled into fists. They huddle together. The three girls wrap their arms around one another.
David sticks his fingers in his mouth, and a high-pitched whistle splits the air. Michael follows close behind, a gun in his hand, venom in his eyes. The two men stand over the shaking trio, rising like giants from the dry grass and dirt.
If this were a movie, Hannah might strike at David and tell Ellie and Willa to run. But this is real life, and she doesn't have the strength. The girls hold tighter to one another, cowering. Because no matter what Hannah believes, what she thinks… she is not a survivor. She is just a girl. A wolf without teeth.