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“We’re not leaving you behind,” Ash says. She has her determined face on, a little crinkle between her brows, her mouth drawn tight.
Bishop glances at Caleb. “I mean it. If they catch us, you two aren’t going to be able to do anything but get yourselves killed if you stick around. Find a way and get out.”
Caleb’s and Bishop’s gazes lock for a moment. Caleb nods. “We will,” he says. He slides the ring of keys into his pocket and lays a hand on Ash’s arm when she opens her mouth to protest. “If it comes to that, we will.”
“Okay,” Bishop says, and I can see some of the tension in his face ease, the same way I feel my own shoulders relax. Caleb is here for us, but Ash will always come first for him. If he has to leave us behind to save her, then he will. Strangely enough, the thought comforts more than it stings.
The woods we travel don’t seem familiar at all, although I walked them more than once with Bishop in the months we were married. Instead of a humid green canopy above our heads, the bare branches stretch gray and gnarled into the equally gray sky, making it impossible for me to get my bearings. Even the river is quieter now, the surface most likely choked with muting ice. But Bishop knows these woods better than anyone, could probably navigate them blindfolded and with both arms tied behind his back.
It’s the smell of fire that first tells me we’re getting close to the populated sections of town. Bishop doesn’t speak, just points a finger toward the sky where plumes of black smoke are rising. When we finally emerge from the winter-bare trees, we’re on the gravel road I recognize from the times Bishop and I made the trek to the fence. We are the only people in sight, which eases the tightness in my chest just a little.
Even with no one else around, Bishop keeps his voice pitched low. “When we get closer to town, I’m going to move fast. Stay with me.”
“Do you know where Victoria lives?” I ask him, because I have no idea, other than somewhere on Bishop’s side of town.
He nods, and we set off at a brisk pace, facing into the biting wind. The acrid smell gets stronger the closer we get to town, smoke burning the lining of my nostrils. My eyes sting, but I don’t know if it’s from the wind or the remnants of fire. Bishop doesn’t slow when we step off the gravel onto the regular paved road, the first houses visible in front of us. I keep my head down, shielding my face, and keep pace with his footfalls in front of me. From the corner of my eye, I can see that three houses have burned on this street alone, their blackened frames still smoldering. I don’t see any people, but I can feel eyes on us, have to fight the urge to take off at a dead run.
“How far?” I whisper.
“Not far,” Bishop whispers back, but I can hear the tension in his voice, his words pulled taut. Caleb and Ash have bunched up beside me, doing their best to protect me from curious eyes.
“We’ve got company,” Caleb says, voice low, and I glance up, see the way Bishop’s back stiffens. He doesn’t turn around.
“Where?” Bishop asks.
“Behind,” Caleb says. “To our right. Coming fast.”
It’s too early to engage, not if we can find any way to avoid it. If someone recognizes me at this stage, then even if we escape, they will know why I’m here and we’ll never get to Callie, with or without Victoria’s help.
“Get ready to move,” Bishop says. He veers left, three steps to take off and he’s running, weaving between houses, long legs jumping over the debris from a fire. I’m right on his heels, can hear Ash and Caleb behind me.
“Hey!” a man yells behind us. “Stop! Get back here! Where’d you get those weapons?”
Bishop vaults over a low chain-link fence and I don’t stop to think about it, just grasp the top with my mittened hand and leap. I don’t land as gracefully as he did, rolling onto my side, but adrenaline has me bouncing up to my feet like a spring and Bishop grins at me. I’m terrified, but I grin back. There is power in what we’re doing, in taking control, in making our own choices, even if they’re dangerous or maybe even foolish.
“Let’s go,” Caleb hisses as soon as Ash hits the ground, and we take off again, following Bishop through an alley between two brick buildings and out onto a residential street. In the near distance, I can see the remains of President Lattimer’s house, but Bishop doesn’t even spare it a glance, just leads us across the street and down the driveway between two small bungalows. The house on the left is dark blue, with a lopsided back stoop. Bishop leaps up the stairs and tries the doorknob. Locked. The top half of the back door is a series of small glass panes and Bishop uses his elbow to smash in the one closest to the doorknob, reaches in and turns the lock.
“Go, go, go!” he says to us. I can hear the sound of footsteps pounding down the driveway. We slip inside and Bishop closes the door, all four of us pressed up against the wall of the narrow hallway.
From outside the sound of men’s voices, at least two of them, maybe three. They pause in the backyard and I hold my breath, willing them to keep moving. After a few endless seconds, they do, the crash of bushes as they cross into the neighboring yard. A relieved breath gusts out of me, and Bishop leans forward, his hands on his knees.
“Are you okay?” I ask, one hand on his elbow. “Did the glass cut you?”
“I’m fine,” he says, twisting his head to look at me. There’s a noise from the end of the hall, a sharp, sudden inhale and we all spin, our bodies crowding out the light coming from the door and throwing the far end of the hallway into shadow. Even so, I can see that it’s Victoria standing there, frozen.
“Victoria,” I manage around my heartbeat in my throat, my fear-choked voice.
Her mouth opens, a wide O of shock.
From beside me, Caleb moves, brings his crossbow up, and points it right at Victoria’s head. “Don’t scream,” he says.
Chapter Seventeen
Victoria doesn’t scream. I didn’t think she would. She’s too practical for that, too levelheaded. In fact, she barely seems to notice Caleb at all. Her eyes bounce back and forth between Bishop and me.
“Ivy?” she says finally, taking a step closer.
Caleb’s arm tightens and I put a hand on it, pushing lightly. “It’s okay,” I tell him. “She’s okay.”
