Page 64 of Backwoods
“We’ve gotta be really careful now,” Raven said.
Nick didn’t ask why.He’s here, he thought with a shudder.It’s his time now.
Night creatures were singing. Nick heard the hoot of an owl, and sensed a fluttering of leathery wings above them in the treetops.
“We have enough of these,” Nick said. He had hand-crafted five firecrackers, each one trailed by a narrow fuse. “Here, you take two of them, and some matches.”
Raven stuffed the homemade explosives into her small, battered purse. They had taken several books of matches from the storehouse, and she kept one of those, too. As she filled her bag, she surveyed the night with a hooded gaze.
“We’ve got to get back to Westbrook,” Nick said. “Is there a safe route back? Does he stick to the roads?”
“Nowhere is safe,” she said. “But we stay away from the roads, for sure. He’ll be out on his horse.”
Nick remembered the horse, from his dream in the barn. How much of that feverish dream, as fantastical as it had been, might actually be real?
“And forget about this.” Raven blew out their candle; darkness encroached in their space. “We’ve got to find our way without it.”
“I can barely see my hand in front of my face,” Nick said.
“I know the general direction.” Raven grasped his hand. Her fingers were clammy with cool perspiration. “Once we start getting closer . . . you’ll see what I mean.”
They left behind their temporary refuge. Nick had put his own flash-bangs in his pockets along with matches; he carried the shotgun over his shoulder. He had only three shotgun shellsremaining since he’d used the gunpowder in a few of them as fuel for his explosives. Every shot he had left needed to count.
Raven had Grandpa Lee’s rifle, but only a handful of ammo, too.
Nick thought about his grandfather as they crept together through the woods. Had Grandpa Lee continued his strange nightly ritual of hunkering down in his house at nightfall, locking every window and door and waiting with a gun in his hands? His practice had seemed so nuts before, the eccentricity of an isolated old man—but Nick knew better, now. If he’d been forced to live on this land, with all its dark, terrible secrets, he would have done the same thing.
It ends tonight, Nick thought.
Raven stopped, and he nearly ran into her. His eyes had adjusted to the gloom; he saw her put her finger to her lips.
And then, she pointed.
He turned in the direction she indicated. At first, he didn’t see anything: only trees wrapped in darkness. As he continued to stare, however, he made out a soft, orange glow, like the faint shimmer of a cigarette, floating slowly along on waves of blackness.
“His marker,” Raven said in a tight whisper. Her mouth was right next to Nick’s ear. “Always glowing. Remember that.”
Nick swallowed. Although the glow came from perhaps a hundred yards away, he was afraid to speak for fear of being overheard. His heart boomed at a rapid clip, and he had the crazy notion that the Overseer might hear that, too.
“Looking for us, you think?” Nick dared to ask. His voice was so low he barely heard his own words.
“He’s looking for anyone who isn’t marked,” Raven said. “That’s all he does, all night long ’til dawn. He searches. I try to stay far, far away from that glow. So should you.”
He was about to tell her,I can’t; I have to kill him, but kept quiet.He would have sounded like a frightened child claiming he was going to rip open the closet door and kill the bogeyman. A raw, superstitious fear had taken hold of him, and he wasn’t sure how he would overcome it and perform the task that he knew in his heart waited in store for him.
They watched, still and silent, until the light drifted out of sight.
43
The magical restoration of the estate and its residents continued to dazzle Amiya. As Miss Lula led her back downstairs, Amiya took in the sights and sounds of the transformed world.
Every floorboard, every piece of wooden wall paneling, every chandelier, every curtain . . . all had been restored to glittering, lavish perfection. The air smelled not of ash and cinder, but of fine scents: richly carved wood, sumptuous food, sweet summer roses.
Amiya noticed details that had not been present on her earlier tour through the home—items that must have been destroyed by the fire. Vases, for one. There were so many crystal vases, of all colors and sizes, arrayed on tables and standing throughout candlelit rooms, and each of them housed the freshly cut roses that scented the air.
“Like what you see, lady?” Miss Lula asked. She wore a self-satisfied smile, as if she herself were responsible for the splendor surrounding them. “Who would ever want to leave such a wonderful place?”
They passed the parlor, from which the piano chords floated. A young man attired in a tuxedo sat at the keyboard of the grand piano. Amiya did a double take: it was Ossie.
