Page 79 of Give the Dark My Love

I stood up straighter and realized that my body felt like my own again. “I’ve never tried to take away someone’s pain without a creature to funnel it into.”

Ernesta’s face was sunken, her eyes red-rimmed and dark.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Papa.”

She didn’t have to say anything else.

He was gone.

I took his pain, but he died anyway.

“Come on,” Ernesta said, and it wasn’t until she spoke that I realized I had sort of sunk into myself, my body collapsing to mimic the way my soul felt.

I turned to the sheet on my bed. I grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the cloth quickly, fashioning masks for myself, Ernesta, and Mama.

“First things first,” I said, showing Ernesta how to put the mask on, then tying one for myself. I didn’t meet her eyes when I added, “For the smell.”

“I’ll take this to Mama,” Ernesta said, picking up the third cloth. “She put some bread in the oven before going to take a nap. It’s probably done now.”

I suddenly realized I was starving.I headed to the kitchen, opening the oven door and pulling out the loaf of crusty bread baking in the center. I rapped my knuckles on the top of the loaf, listening for the hollow sound inside to tell me it was done.

No one baked bread like Mama. It was perfect. I sank my teeth into the first steaming slice, and for just one moment, I let myself believe the lie that being home meant being safe.

Ernesta entered the kitchen and sat down at the table. The cloth mask for Mama was still in her hands. She didn’t meet my eyes. Tears fell from her cheeks and plopped onto the cloth.

“No,” I whispered, my head shaking, my body shaking.

I dropped the slice of bread onto the floor and ran to the front room.

She was sleeping. She was just sleeping.

“Mama,” I said.

Just sleeping.

I dropped to my knees beside the couch, feeling her wrist for a pulse. There wasn’t one. I leaned over her body, reaching for her neck, and Mama’s loose shirt fell open a little. And I saw the shadow. I ripped the cloth more, exposing her chest. A black stain swirled over her heart, creeping through her veins up and down her torso. How long had she been infected? Since Papa? When she kneaded the bread, when she sprinkled salt across the top of the loaf? Was she dying as she baked for her daughters? Did she know?

I gagged, still tasting the warm, buttery goodness. My stomach heaved in protest, and I choked down the vomit burning up my throat.

I stumbled up. I had to get out. Get away. I couldn’t stand it. The fire, still blazing, stifling, making it hard to breathe. Mama, there on the couch. I couldn’t be here. I couldn’t be in this house. This wasn’t my home. My home couldn’t exist without them. It wasn’t right. Everything was wrong, bad, off. I had to get out. My heart was thudding, pounding. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t feel my feet, my hands. Maybe the plague was in me, too, blackness creeping through my blood, sucking away my life. I kicked my shoes off and stared at my toes, then looked down at my fingertips. Nothing but the shadows from the fire.

But my heart wouldn’t stop racing.

We had to get out of here. As far away as possible.

I stumbled to the door, ripping it open. Something hit me in the shoulder, knocking me back. I didn’t stop. Another rock, hitting me in the head. I kept moving. Blood leaked down my face. I touched it. Red. Not black.Red.

Dimly, I was aware of the gathering crowd of children holding stones. Of Ernesta, calling for me to return.

A shot rang through the air, the sound cutting through my panicked thoughts, ricocheting through my ears, silencing the chaotic pulsing in my brain.

I stopped.

“Not one step further.” Elder Gryff stood in front of our yard gate, a gun leveled at my chest. He wore a heavy cloth mask over his face, and his eyes were wide with terror. Behind him, people clutched stones. Not just children—neighbors. Friends. Kyln, the boy Ernesta thought was handsome. The Petrasens, whose son I had cared for when the mother was laid up in bed with her second child. There wasLorrina, the butcher. Tears streamed down her face, but she gripped her heavy rock.

“They’redead,” I said, my voice pleading. I turned to the house and saw Nessie in the door, afraid to step out onto the porch. “Please, let me and my sister leave. We’re not infected. My parents... they’re already gone.”

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