And the thought threatens to break me open. Drop me to the ground.
But Noah returns, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. “Found a deer trail heading north, merged my trail with it—hopefully their tracker will follow it for a while.”
Cricket nods, swift, not meeting his eyes either.
Without another word, we start down a shallow point into the ravine. There might have been a path here once, an animal track that’s been washed away with the rain. But we follow it where we can, holding on to trees growing along the sheer wall, sliding across loose shale, sending rocks down to the water below. Cricket scrambles down the slope, sure-footed, while I slip and lose my balance, uncertain of the steep ground. Noah stops, holding a hand out to me, butI shake my head. Back in the valley, I scaled the steep walls picking wild blackberries and yarrow; I would skip across the slick rocks over the river, never missing a stone, never losing my balance. But out here, in this strange terrain, I feel clumsy and heavy-limbed, like I’m not in my own body. Maybe it’s the steep drop below us, down to nothing but foaming water and pointed rocks.A quick death.
Or maybe it’s the adrenaline, the lack of sleep, the thirst and hunger, the fear that those men might not be far behind. All of it. But I keep scrambling down the wall, following Cricket’s path, refusing to slow down.
The sun is high overhead when we finally reach the bottom of the ravine. And Cricket was right: A cave slopes back into the rock wall. It’s not large, no taller than our heads, and as wide as two arms stretched out. We explore the inside and find signs that Cricket—and maybe others—have been here recently. A ring of burnt logs from a campfire sits near the opening of the cave; a half-singed wool blanket lies crumpled at the back corner, along with a single shoe, left behind for reasons unknown.
Cricket sinks onto the ground at the mouth of the cave, rubbing at her eyes, her temples. The last couple of days finally catching up to her.
Noah stares down at the river below, listening. But it’s hard to hear anything over the roaring flow of water. If those men came down the ravine, we might not hear them until they were too close. But the sound of the river will mask our voices too. And the cave is tucked back enough—I doubt they’d be able to see us from above. It’s as good a place as any to rest. For now.
Cricket closes her eyes, resting her forehead on her knees.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Fine,” she answers sharply, turning away from me. “Just a headache.”
We haven’t eaten in a whole day, and only managed a few hours of sleep in the barn. We’re all exhausted. Nerves rattled, fear and grief and anger stewing inside us, and even now, we can’t rest for long. We have to be ready to leave, to climb down to the river and keep going if we hear even a hint of those men.
Inside the pocket of my coat, I feel for the bottle and pull it out. “Here,” I say, unscrewing the cap and shaking out two pills.
Her head lifts from her knees, eyes gaping at my palm. “Where did you get those?” She takes them from me quickly, as if I might change my mind.
“From my pa,” I answer truthfully.
“Does he have more?” Her voice is anxious now, an edge to it that I don’t like.
I stare down at the nearly full bottle in my hand, withAspirinprinted on the side. “Not anymore. This is the last one.”
Her mouth tugs up into a smile. “That’s how you bought that bottle of booze back at the Buffalo.”
I nod at her, sliding the bottle back into my pocket, beside the worthless, creased postcard I still carry.
But then her eyes dim; she shakes her head and looks up at Noah. “We could buy a lot with these pills.”
“It’ll also take away your pain,” I say.
She closes her eyes, rubbing a hand across her ear, as though a pulsing ache is battering her eardrums, then swallows down both pills without any water.
The sun settles low on the horizon, turning the air cool in the shadow of the cave.
Cricket folds herself into a small coil, like a woodland animal tucked into the leaves and dirt, and she sleeps. Deep and twitching. Mumbling from time to time.
I hope it’s just exhaustion, and not something else.
“We need supplies,” Noah says, still standing at the entrance to the cave, turning over the unknown silver object in his hand—something he does when he’s thinking, considering, making a plan. We fled the barn with nothing, no food, no way to carry water, no blankets. He runs a hand through his short, dark hair, then turns to looks at me. Again there is something in his gaze—like he doesn’t know what to make of me. Like he doesn’t trust me, not yet. His temples pull tight, jaw tensed. “I’m going to hike up the far ridge, see what’s over there.” He nods at the steep, uneven ridgeline across the river.
“I’ll go with you.” I move to the edge of the cave, hunger swelling in my stomach, needing something to eat. But also—not wanting him to go alone. To risk being separated.
But his eyes swing back to Cricket, a small form in the dark of the cave. “No, stay with Cricket.” He turns, peering down at the river, his eyes reflecting a cool bottle-green in the waning light. A softness in him I haven’t seen until now. Maybe it’s worry I see in the shape of his mouth—he’s worried about Cricket, worried we don’t have enough supplies to survive, worried thatImight not be worth it. Any of it. But he settles his shoulders back, clenching his jaw, thesoftness gone. “If I don’t return,” he tells me, his breathing heavy, “don’t come after me.”
I lift both eyebrows. “What if those men find us?”
“Then run. Get into the river if you have to. It’ll carry you out of the ravine, and almost all the way to Mill City.”
