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And that’s all I can make out. The wind-in-rushes sound around me rises in a cacophony. And then every whisper turns to silence, like they’ve been gathered in one fist and cut through with a knife.
The preacher is walking toward us. He carries the book against his chest. With every second step he raises his other hand and it strikes the leather cover—thump. One step, another,thump. The ribbons in the book are fat and fleshy like the petals of the flowers. He stops at the edge of the town square, in the middle of the road we have to follow.
“The toll is blood,” he says. “And the wicked must pay. It is your choice which of the wicked bleed, but bleed they must. Sunrise is nearly come, and the light lays bare many truths.” He stands, his hands folded over the thick book.
Their ranks close behind him. Fingers graze my wrist—a boy, maybe seven years old, reaching for me. I yank away. The crowd doesn’t move, but they seem closer than before.
“We push through,” I say.
“We’ll never make it,” Vanessa says. “They want one of us. One of us must have done something. One of us must be wicked, or they wouldn’t be asking.” Her voice is high and fearful, and I can feel that fear infecting the others, skittering over them. Trina’s eyes are wide, her whole body tensed.
“No,” I say. “We make a break for it and—”
“Seven times. That’s two more. And it’s getting worse every time,” Vanessa presses. She looks around between us, panicky. “Which of you is it? Which of you does he want? They’re going to kill all of us if you don’t—”
“Stop,” I say, at the same instant as Trina stumbles back a step. Away from Vanessa and what she’s saying.
Vanessa’s eyes snap to her. “Trina?” she says softly. Around us is the silence of a still forest. A silence of waiting.
“No,” Trina says. “No.”
“What did you do?” Vanessa asks. She steps forward. So do the townspeople, crowding us. Jeremy snarls as one gets too close.
“I didn’t—I don’t—” Trina’s voice is barely a whisper.
“Stop,” I say. They’re all watching her. Listening intently. “Trina, don’t say anything.” I look at Anthony, but he looks lost. We have to run. We have to make everyone run.
“They want you,” Vanessa says softly. “Don’t they?”
“Why would they want you?” asks Mel.
“Trina, don’t—” I say, but it’s too late.
“Chris,” she says.
“What are you talking about?” Kyle asks, panicky.
“Your stepdad?” I ask, bafflement in my voice as fresh whispers swell and break and swell around us.
“What did you do?” Kyle asks, his voice rising.
“Can we not talk about this here?” Jeremy says.
“It’s only going to get worse,” Vanessa says. “If we keep going, it will get worse.”
“No, stop, we’ll be fine,” I say. I’ll say anything to quiet the panic in Trina’s eyes.I did this, I think, not knowing what part ofthisI mean. “None of them have hurt us. We don’t have to—”
“He tried to stop me,” Trina says. Vanessa lets out a sharp hiss of breath between her teeth. “He tried to stop me from going.”
“Trina,what are you talking about?” Anthony demands.
“They smell the blood on her,” Vanessa says. “They smell the blood.What did youdo, Trina?”
“I think I killed him,” she whispers.
A hundred bodies surge. Kyle screams. Jeremy grabs him around the waist to hold him back from his sister as hands seize her, handing her to the next person and the next so that she’s carried away from us like being snatched by a riptide.
I thrash my way forward. They won’t die for me. They came for me, for Becca, and I won’t let any of them die for it. It burns in me, bright, a brilliant truth that I believe utterly, with the whole of my being. I must save them. I can. I will.
