From up on the bow, Reggie called back to them, “How much longer?”
“It isn’t far,” Astrid said. “Can’t be too careful in this fog.” Then she dropped her voice again. She looked from Natalie to Hank. “How bad is it, with them?”
“Bad,” Hank said.
Astrid squinted through the rain shield. She reached out and folded a strand of Natalie’s hair behind her ear. Rather than reassure her, it made Natalie light-headed. She was so very frightened.
“They’re going to want to take us?” Astrid asked.
“Just the baby,” Hank said. “They were discussing it last night.”
“Makes sense,” Astrid said, nodding to herself.
“Easier to bring Eva back alive. And they know Natalie would give them trouble.”
“They’re damn right she would,” Astrid said, turning the wheel ever further. In the fog, it was impossible to tell that they’d changed direction. For all anyone knew, they might as well have been traveling backward.
“For Natalie, they’re going to take samples,” Hank said. “Blood and . . . well. Samples. I assume they’ll want to do the same with you.”
Again Natalie saw the woman’s hollow head placed neatly upon the wooden table. How long would this image haunt her? Someone would have to scoop out her own skull just to get rid of it.
“Ah” was all Astrid said. Then she leaned in to nuzzle her baby, kissing her on the cheeks and scalp. Eva writhed, pulled halfway out of her sleep. “You did so good,” Astrid said. She was talking to both Natalie and Eva. “You did so, so good.”
“Don’t cry,” Hank whispered to her. “Don’t give it away.”
“I’m not about to,” Astrid said, rubbing her cheeks with the back of her free hand. The water collecting in her eyes sparkled with purple light. “How long do you think it’ll be?” she asked. “Before they turn sour?”
“Not long,” Hank said. “But it won’t happen just yet. These people are . . . They’re thorough. They’re going to want to inspect the island. See what you’ve been eating. Maybe ask permission to run some blood tests. They’ll want you to feel relaxed, and cooperative, for as long as possible.”
“Well, then.” Astrid adjusted the wheel again. “We’d better keep our smiles on.”
“What are you thinking?” Hank asked. “The grocery?”
“No. We could get trapped in there. There’s no way out if they follow us. I was thinking the quiet room. Plaza side.”
These words—“grocery,” “plaza,” “quiet room”—were all familiar to Natalie. Her mother’s plan dawned on her in an instant.
“Do you think it’s still standing?” her father asked.
“I’m not sure,” Astrid said. “I don’t think it got hit in the attack. But who knows what’s happened since then.”
“Can you run?” Hank asked.
“I can barely walk.”
“Okay.”
Natalie watched her father’s face as he took this information in. His expression hardened. She could almost see her dad willing his own fear away. But before he had a chance to say anything further, Miranda hollered into their little shelter, “Hank! Would it be too much trouble for you to join us?”
“Of course,” he yelped, ducking his head out of the wheelhouse and joining the other searchers in the back. Miranda shot them both a commiserating look.
“Sorry if he was bothering you,” she called out over the engine. “He’s a bit of an odd one, our Hank.”
Astrid only laughed and waved her off. The searchers returned to their conversation, and Astrid stepped up next to her daughter, so close that their hips were touching.
“We’re going to Goldsport,” Natalie said.
“Yes,” her mother said. “Going back home.”
“What about the wicked? Won’t they try to . . . ?”
“We’d better hope so,” Astrid said. “We can’t get through this without them.”
• • •
In the distance, they heard bells. Soon the rocking shapes of buoys became visible in the fog.
“Not long now!” Astrid announced.
Miranda stepped back into the wheelhouse, her ponytail and shirt saturated with the wet sea air. “Is it safe to land in all this fog?”
“Don’t worry,” Astrid said. “I’ve done it a thousand times.”
She passed Eva back to Natalie and took over the wheel. Meanwhile, Hank began to fumble around by the bulkhead. Pretending to lose his balance, he yanked on the pull cord to the air horn. The horn blasted, booming out into the still morning. Natalie heard it echo back off of the approaching shore. Ringing the dinner bell for the wicked. Miranda looked like she could kill him.
“Whoops,” he said, all sheepish. “I am so sorry.”
“Maybe you’d better go up front with Reggie and help look for rocks,” she snapped at him.
“Yes, ma’am,” Hank said, climbing out onto the bow. “Sorry!” He got down on his belly and inched toward the stem, joining Reggie there.
“Idiot,” Miranda grumbled.
“Not a problem,” Astrid said, revving the engine. “The worst he could have done is scare the puffins.”
“You know, I’ve never actually seen a puffin,” Miranda said.
“No? They’re cute, but they stink.”
“And um . . . your daughter tells us that you don’t have singers out here, either?”
Astrid winced, almost imperceptibly. Natalie did too—she wished she’d never let that detail slip. “That’s right,” her mother said brightly. “Too windy and too small. They’ve got no place to breed.”
“Cute birds, no singers, and the whole family is vexed . . . ,” Miranda mused, a half smile on her face. “Some people have all the luck.”
Astrid didn’t argue the point.
A few moments later a large dock exploded out of the fog, looming right over them. The pilings were as big around as full-grown trees. To one side of the dock sat a ramshackle boathouse with rotting walls and a caved-in roof. Natalie gawked up at it.
“Wow!” Reggie called from up on the bow. “You guys don’t mess around. Who the hell built this?”
“No idea,” Astrid said. “It was here when we arrived.”
She reversed throttle as they closed the final distance, causing the engine to groan and hiss. Then, as the lobster boat kissed the edge of the dock, Hank and Reggie jumped ashore. They guided the boat into its moorings, tying it off as Astrid cut the engine.
“Here we are,” she said, limping out of the wheelhouse. Natalie could detect the faintest quaver in her voice.
Still using the oar as a crutch, Astrid climbed out of the boat and headed down the warped wooden planks into the fog. Miranda and the rest of the searchers followed. Natalie knew that somewhere ahead of them lay the ruins of the greenway. The moment they arrived at that shattered heap of glass, or came upon a swarm of singers, the searchers would surely realize they’d been tricked. When that happened, Natalie’s family would be done for.
We should probably get ready to run, Eva said. Or, I mean you guys should.
“I’m not sure exactly what you’d like to see first.” Astrid spoke up, allowing her voice to carry over the silent shore. “But why don’t we begin with our—”
Suddenly Natalie’s mom stopped in her tracks. The rest of the group did too. Natalie peered around their backs, examining the white wall of fog ahead. There was a dark shape out there. Two dark shapes.
“I thought I heard you coming,” one of the shapes said.
The sound of his voice made Hank go rigid. The searchers were also uneasy, tensing up and exchanging glances.
“Who is that?” Miranda asked.
“It’s—oh. It’s our neighbors,” Astrid said. She must not have expected to come upon the wicked so soon. “It’s not just my family who lives on the island. Did I not mention that?”
“No,” Reggie said crisply. “You didn’t.”
“Oh? I’m sorry,” Astrid said. “Let me intr
oduce you.”
She limped forward another few paces, gasping in pain with each step. The dark shapes resolved into two tremendously old men, seated in a pair of wooden dining room chairs that they’d dragged outside and jammed into the wet sand. The men were dressed in open shirts, tattered pants, and shiny black shoes. One of them was on the fat side, with folds of his body spilling out over the chair. The other was tiny and withered. Between the men was a chessboard set upon a rotten ottoman. Most of the pieces were gone, replaced with buttons and seashells. The men were in the middle of a game.
“Everybody, this is Henry Bushkirk and . . .” Natalie’s mother trailed off. She seemed to be having some trouble recognizing the man on the left.
“I’m Mr. Gregory.” The smaller man came to her rescue. “But everybody calls me Chipper. You can call me that too, if you want.”
“Henry, Chipper—it’s a pleasure to meet you both.” Miranda stepped forward and made to shake their hands. The two old men only looked at her offered palm. Then they looked at each other. They seemed not to know what to do.
“You’ll have to forgive them,” Astrid said. “They’re both a little, um . . . They have good days, and they have bad ones.”
Miranda nodded. “Well. You certainly have your hands full, Astrid!” she said admiringly. When she addressed the old men again, she spoke loudly and slowly. “My friends and I are here to help you all.”
“Help us with what?” Mr. Gregory asked.
“Don’t be stupid—help us with them obviously.” Mr. Bushkirk reached over and pinched his friend.
“Don’t pinch me,” Mr. Gregory said.
“Stop me,” Mr. Bushkirk said, pinching him again.
The two old men giggled.
It lasted a while.
“So . . .” Miranda turned back to face Astrid, eyebrows arched. “How many people live out here with you?”
“Not so many of us, these days,” Mr. Bushkirk answered for her. “We’re all pretty old. Well, I guess not all of us. I see you in there, Junior. Don’t think I don’t see you.”
At this there was an uneasy commotion among the people in yellow suits. Miranda and Reggie exchanged wary looks. Almost casually, Reggie dipped his hand into the compartment of his suit—the one that contained his pistol.
“Sorry, what?” Miranda asked.
Henry Bushkirk ignored her. “I always knew this would happen,” he said, hoisting his round self up off of the dining room chair with a labored grunt. “I always knew you’d come back home, Junior.”
“Come on now, Henry . . . ,” Astrid said. “You know Junior has been dead for a long time.” She gave Miranda a shrug, stretching the lie as far as it would go. “Like I said—good days and bad days.”
Mr. Bushkirk smiled at them both. “I don’t have bad days. For me every day is a good day. And today, I think, is a best day.” Then, without any warning whatsoever, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called out into the fog. “Everybody, listen to me! Junior has finally come home to us! Come down to the docks so we can say hello!”
Reggie had finally had enough. He took a quick step forward and yanked Mr. Bushkirk’s hands away from his face. “Take it easy, old man,” he said.
“You don’t need to remind me that I’m old!” Mr. Bushkirk laughed. “I feel it in these knees every day.”
“Who is Junior?” Miranda asked, turning on Astrid.
“He’s my son!” Mr. Bushkirk said.
“I told you to take it easy.” Reggie took him by the shirt collar and pushed him back down onto the fancy dining chair. He landed with an oomph.
“I’m taking it super easy,” Mr. Bushkirk said, winded.
“Astrid, you need to tell us exactly what is going on,” Miranda said.
“I can explain,” Mr. Bushkirk offered, still regaining his breath. “Let me!”
“Buddy.” Reggie grabbed Mr. Bushkirk by the chin with his bare hand and leaned in close. He had no idea yet, but he might as well have just walked naked into a swarm of singers. The wickedness was already on him, worming desperately through his skin and down into his blood. “What are you not understanding about this? Be quiet, or I’m going to hurt you.”
“I’m actually understanding all of that,” Mr. Bushkirk said, beaming up at him. “I’m old, but I’ve still got my marbles.”
“You think I’m kidding?”
With that Reggie finally pulled the pistol out of his suit. The two old men gazed down at it like they were in love. Their eyes widened. Natalie could guess what was going through their minds at that moment. Guns. Guns are lovely, lovely things.
“I’ve got one of those,” Mr. Bushkirk said wistfully.
It was at this point that they began to hear sounds in the fog. Approaching footsteps and the tittering of soft voices. Natalie caught flashes of color in the cloudy air—turquoise and orange, deep black and daisy yellow. The colors drew closer. They grew legs and arms and weathered faces with inviting smiles. Natalie had heard about these people in her parents’ stories. The Pratt family, the Whites, Abigail Lee. And, of course, Mr. Gregory and Henry Bushkirk—her other wicked grandfather. At the sight of the approaching strangers, Miranda became truly upset.
“Astrid, if you don’t tell us right now what is—”
Hank sprang into action before she could finish. Natalie had never seen her dad move so fast. In one movement he lurched toward Astrid, grabbed the oar that she’d been using as a crutch, spun around on Reggie, and brought the oar down hard on his outstretched arm. Natalie could hear the bone snap. Reggie’s pistol spun away across the gravelly beach as he howled. The gathered crowd of wicked men and women showed their appreciation with a smattering of applause. Mr. Bushkirk actually cheered.
“I always knew you had it in you, son!”
For a moment the searchers seemed too stunned to react. Hank launched the oar at Miranda and scooped Astrid up into his arms. “Follow us,” he said, sprinting off into the fog. Natalie was right on his heels, Eva bouncing and bawling in her arms.
Behind them there was pandemonium. Natalie didn’t look back, but she could hear Reggie still shrieking in agony. One of the searchers fired a shot, and it ripped through the fog above their heads. But then Miranda screamed, “No! We can’t risk hitting the girls.” Moments later they could hear more footfalls behind them, heavy and hard. The searchers, giving chase.
The greenway emerged ahead of them—great slabs of glass slick as melting ice. Natalie’s father headed right for the quiet room. The curtains had long since rotted away, leaving nothing but a little transparent box that sat adjacent to the shattered plaza. He opened the hatch, and the four of them dove inside. No sooner had he closed the hatch behind them than one of the men in yellow suits crashed into it.
Miranda and her searchers stood beyond the glass, panting and puzzled and furious beyond words. Reggie was still doubled over in pain. He tipped his head up to give Hank a deadly look.
“I’m going to kill you,” Reggie said. “I should have. Months ago.”
“I’m glad you didn’t!” Mr. Bushkirk’s voice rang out from behind them. “I’m glad I got to see him again.”
They weren’t as fast as the searchers, but within a few moments the wicked people of Goldsport had caught up. They approached, pinning the searchers against the outside of the greenway. Miranda and the rest of her searchers all drew their pistols. The wicked looked at the guns with hungry, blazing joy.
“I see,” Mr. Gregory said, excitedly searching his own pockets. “So that’s what we’re doing.”
“Everybody just needs to relax,” Miranda said. Her group was surrounded by now. Everywhere Natalie looked, she saw grinning wicked people in evening dresses, pin-striped blazers, and swimming costumes. “If you all just stay calm, then I promise nothing is going to happen.”
“Oh, I don’t think I can agree with that,” Mr. Bushkirk said, shaking his head. “I think everything is going to happen.”
And then the wicked fell upon them.
CHAPTER 34
Under the Wall
BEFORE SAILING AWAY FROM PUFFIN Island, Astrid had done what she could for her dad. She’d limped out of the lighthouse while he slept, leaving the iron door wide open so that he could return to the tower if he wanted to. She tightened the taps on all of the rain barrels, righted the overturned plants in their greenhouse, and even took the fishing gear out of the toolshed for him. It wasn’t a lot, but if the wicked folks in Goldsport had managed all these years on their own, then surely Amblin could fend for himself on the island for as long as he needed to. Natalie and Eva had already been gone for three days, and Astrid had no idea how long it would take to find them. If anything had happened to her girls, then she might not return at all.
But she couldn’t leave without saying good-bye. After loading up the lobster boat with some water and food, and topping it off with fuel from the storage tank, Astrid slipped into the bunkhouse. She found Amblin Gold asleep in his granddaughter’s bed, the blanket pulled snug up to his chin. He stirred as she entered the room, blinking as though he’d just emerged from a pleasant dream.
“I see you,” he said.
“Hi, Dad.”
“That’s me.” Amblin writhed beneath his blanket, stretching. He rubbed his eyes and dug a finger into his ear. “I don’t know about that foot,” he said.
“It’s getting better.”
“I bet it hurts.”
“Less than it did yesterday,” Astrid said. She kept one hand on the doorframe to steady herself. “I’m going to go for a little while. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“I’ll come with you,” Amblin said.
“Sure.” There was a sudden rising in her chest, and the word came out broken into chunks. Astrid felt almost dizzy with sadness. But her father took in none of this. The emotions on her face were written in a language forever lost to him. He might not even have realized that she was real.
“Maybe in another hour, though,” Astrid said.
“Sounds good to me.” Her dad grinned and stretched again. “As long as we go in time for The First Voice. I’d hate to miss that.”
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