Riley, Cal and Everett head downhill towards the scattering of outbuildings. The ground is covered in young clover and waving grass, knee deep. Something startles as they pass – a pair of jackrabbit ears bounces away above the nodding grass. There’s the sound of rushing water nearby. The sun is a fiery trace between two peaks above. It casts a narrow corridor of gold light all down the valley, a path to somewhere.
Riley can almost feel the woodland to the east, dark against the gold and green of the meadow. The giant spider of a house crouched among the trees, pulsing like a heart.
‘Is that Leaf—’ Riley asks.
Cal holds up his hand abruptly, cutting her off. He and Everett stop dead, grass waving about their knees, eyes trained on the ground at their feet.
They turn to the east, towards the house, not looking at it. Their gaze remains lowered. Both touch their hands to their mouths, andthen the two of them reach towards the house as if releasing something on the wind. They do it at exactly the same time, like it’s a dance they both know well. They stand tense and still, like they’re waiting for an answer. The breeze strokes the meadow. A hawk circles overhead on spread wings.
After a moment, Cal relaxes. He brings his chin up briskly and taps Everett on the shoulder. ‘It’s ok,’ he says and Everett nods.
Cal bends to look Riley in the eye. ‘We don’t say the name,’ he says quietly. ‘Come on.’
Riley nods. She has learned something else, now – that they are afraid of Leaf Winham, and that they think he’s still alive. Or maybe they’re scared of his ghost. But they think he’s listening, that they can summon him with his name. It’s a vulnerability, and it’s good to know where those lie in people.
As they walk, Riley pinches the delicate inner skin of her elbow between sharp nail tips. The pain needles down her arm, her eyes water. Good, she has learned something important. This is a dangerous place. It makes you forget things, like caution, and fear. For a moment back there she felt happy.
The stables sit by an orchard. They have most of their roof and the rest is patched with plywood, corrugated iron and a refrigerator door. Tumbledown but not weird. It doesn’t have a pulse, like the spider house Riley saw in the trees. The stable still smells faintly of long-ago hay and horses, their friendly warm breath, as if the building itself remembers them. As they go down the row of loose boxes, she peers over an open half-door. Inside the stall the floor is covered with bits of carpet like the samples you find in warehouses and showrooms. There’s a bedroll in the corner. Strings of lights run across the ceiling, glowing red. They’re shaped like chilli peppers. Pictures torn from magazines are Scotch-taped to the wooden walls.
‘They’re ok,’ Cal says, defensive. ‘They were for horses but they’re big bedrooms now.’
‘It’s great,’ Riley says, meaning it. ‘Everyone together.’
She hears the crying then, the unmistakable sound of pain. Oliver. Everything else goes from Riley’s head. She runs down the aisle towards the sound, flings a door open at the end of the stables.
Oliver lies on an old metal table. He’s tied down with climbing rope and Riley’s heart hammers; she can see where the rough plastic fibres cut into his legs and arms.
The girl in green, Noon, stands over him holding a needle and thread in a white-gloved hand. She starts as Riley crashes in. A smile spreads slow across her face.
‘I’m glad you made it,’ she says.
Riley goes to her quickly. She puts herself between Noon and her brother, making her body a shield. ‘What are you doing to him?’ Even though she can see what Noon is doing. But Riley can never think straight when Oliver’s hurt. She unties him, fingers trembling. Noon watches, her expression sympathetic.
Oliver clings to Riley. ‘Where did you go?’ His throat is dry with crying. ‘I woke up and you weren’t there!’ He sounds a lot younger than seven. Riley feels a terrible twist inside – he’s hurt and tired and little and he didn’t ask for any of this.
‘It’s ok, Oliver Olive,’ Riley says. ‘I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere ever again.’
Noon puts the needle down carefully in a metal kidney dish. She looks more normal in daylight but only a little. Riley finds it difficult to see what her face is really like because her expressions move so quickly, like there are lots of people in there all taking turns. She isn’t beautiful or anything. She looks like a stalk of wheat. Tall, hair almost the same colour as her tan skin. She wears a t-shirt and pants, both of faded green. Noon’s clothes may be old and fraying but Rileycan tell that she’s in charge. You learn to work stuff like that out quickly if you’ve been in the system.
‘How did that happen?’ Noon nods at Oliver’s leg.
‘Stray bullet from a hunter,’ Riley says. ‘It was bad luck.’ Oliver’s arms tighten on her. He hates it when she lies.
‘So, what do you want to do about it?’ Noon’s voice is neutral.
Riley takes a deep breath. She lets Oliver hold her a moment longer. She sees that one of his feet is shoved into his sneaker, bare. From the other ankle the Nana sock dog grins, its yellow face stained with blood. Riley wishes fiercely that he had two socks. She’s doing a bad job at caring for him. Riley takes a deep breath and looks Oliver firmly in the eye. ‘You let her sew you up,’ Riley tells him.
His face begins to collapse once more.
‘You’ve got to be fixed. Do it brave or do it crying, it has to be done.’
He hiccups, swallows his tears. ‘I’ll do it brave.’
Her heart hurts but it doesn’t matter. There’s no time for him to be a kid right now.
‘I’ll hold your hand and tell you a story,’ Riley says to Oliver. ‘You don’t look at the needle or at her. You look at me. It’ll hurt. You make as much noise as you like. But if you move we’ll have to tie you down again, you hear?’
He swallows again and nods, trusting her.
