Lexie was clearly all right. Baz whirled in place, looking for the rest of his small clan. “Where are Fern and Declan?”
“Declan’s going full Schoolyard Rock over there.” Lexie pointed with the hammer, and Baz turned to see Declan up on a ladder, nail gun in one hand. Maybe he was going to fall? But he looked perfectly secure.
Baz spotted Fern a moment later. She was crouching on the boardwalk, pulling weeds into a bag to dispose of later, with wildflowers going into a carefully curated pile.
His clan were all fine. He turned again, surveying the street. Danger might be approaching them from any direction. But he saw nothing, not even storm clouds piling up above the mountains. The day was clear and bright, puffy clouds floating in the sky, absolutely idyllic.
And yet heknewsomething was wrong.
Lexie tapped his shoulder lightly with the hammer. “What is the matter with you?”
“I don’t know,” Baz said slowly. He was starting to relax with the visible evidence that his friends and cousins, his clan, were all safe. Maida, perhaps? But it didn’t feel distant. It felt urgent and now andhere.
Fern jumped up suddenly from the boardwalk. Dropping a handful of weeds, she ran to Baz.
“Something’s wrong,” she said, staring at him.
Baz took her by the shoulders. “Yes!” he said. “What is it, Fern? Can you tell me? Can you—see? I can’t feel anything beyond a sense that something bad is coming. Something dangerous.”
Fern gazed at him for a moment, then closed her eyes. Lexie looked worriedly at both of them.
When Fern opened her eyes again, there was a strange clarity in them.
“Her,” she said. “It’s not us. It’s her.”
“Her who?” Lexie demanded. “Maida? Is Maida okay?”
Fern shook her head. “Not Maida.” She looked into Baz’s eyes with her clear, strange green ones. “You know who, and you know where she is. Go find her.”
That was all it took. Something deep inside himdidknow, and Baz spun on his heel, and took off running, barely aware of Lexie’s exclaimed “What? Who?” fading behind him.
ARDEN
Arden wasup on the ridge above the town, painting wildflowers.
She had decided that spending the day away from the town was the best thing. She would be safe from discovery; even if the town’s new residents explored the woods and ran into her there, she could just tell them she was a passing hiker and quickly walk away. Once the sun set, she thought she might try to sneak away under the cover of darkness. Getting out of town with all her stuff, having to go right past all of them during the daylight hours, would be next to impossible.
She’d examined her door for a while that morning before she figured out how to lock it. There was a string, and after experimenting, she figured out how to get it to raise and lower the latch from outside. It wasn’t as secure as a real lock, probably intended more to keep animals out than people. But it gave her some measure of security while she was gone. She couldn’t bear the idea of spending the whole day huddled inside, fearful of discovery and listening to distant laughter, chatter, and hammering.
So she decided to make a nice day of it. She dug out her portable watercolor set and colored pencils from her pack, tucking them into a small day pack that she could easily carry.They were the only art tools she had with her, and she hadn’t even wanted to look at them for a long time. The fact that she wanted to paint now, for the first time in ages, made her feel as if something vital inside herself was starting to heal.
Planning to spend all day outside, she took sunscreen, a bottle of water, and a little food. She was worried to see how quickly her supplies were dwindling. She didn’t want to resort to having to steal food from Baz’s group, but when she left, she had no idea where she was going to go. She still had a little money, but not much. Her plan to spend a few days in the abandoned town deciding what to do next was quickly running into reality: she didn’t have anywhere to go, and she didn’t have any skills other than painting. It was possible she might be able to convince some local businesses to sell paintings for her, but first she needed something to sell.
That wasn’t what took her up to the ridge to paint, though. Not that it wasn’t a slight consideration. But mostly, she wanted to make art again. She wanted to get back in touch with that part of herself that used to want to reach out to the world, feeling her creativity flowing through her.
She had no particular destination when she left the cabin, except that she knew she couldn’t go into the town, where she could hear Baz’s group moving about and calling out to each other. She took off her shoes and waded the creek above the pool. On the other side, she found a path leading into the forest, and decided to see where it went.
After a steeper-than-expected climb, she emerged on a meadowy ridge with a gorgeous view of the town, the goat farm beyond it, and the highway. It was a lovely place to set up her watercolors and sketchbook, and soon she was happily painting flowers, with the mountains misty and gorgeous behind them. She sketched some bees with her pencils.
It was a lovely spot. Just a few days ago, she would have been idyllically happy to be here.
Now she couldn’t help thinking of Baz and his friends down there in the town, where she wanted to be.
She could hear distant music, like someone was blasting a radio. Arden sighed and laid her paintbrush down. She could only see the roofs of the houses, not the activities of individuals. She wondered what Baz was doing right now?—
“Who are you?”
The voice was rough and harsh. Arden nearly fumbled her paints, and she did upset her plastic cup of paint water, dumping it in the grass. She looked behind her.
