***
Normally Mama wasn’t a hugger and that worked for Willadean just fine. She’d never seen the need for squeezing one’s body against another person’s. But when they came across Serena Jo and a bloody, battered-looking Otis half an hour later, Mama just about squished all the air out of her lungs.
“I’ve been so worried.” There was a catch in Mama’s voice Willa had never heard before. It made her sound less...formidable.
Willa didn’t like it.
She allowed the hugging for a half-minute, then wriggled out of her mother’s grasp. “We gotta go back for Pops and Mister Fergus,” Willa said. “And probably Mister Ray. I bet the witch has him in the basement by now.”
“They may not even be alive, Willa,” Cricket said. “That rifle shot we heard from the tree coulda been the end of Candy Man. The shots we heard from inside the cabin coulda been the end of your Pops, too.”
Harlan nodded, his eyes round as saucers.
Seeing the boys in cahoots pissed her off. “You don’t know diddly squat, Cricket. Now shut up and let the smart people figure out what we’re gonna do.”
Her friend’s normally smiling mouth turned down at the corners. The hazel eyes filled with tears.
Shit. “I’m sorry, Cricket. You’re smart too. That compass thing you did was impressive, and I want to hear all about it later.”
“Nobody is going anywhere but home,” Mama said, giving her a level-eyed stare.
“Pops is alive in the cabin, Mama. I know it. Maybe Mister Ray too, and definitely Mister Fergus. We have to rescue them.”
“That is not happening. Adults are expendable. You three are not. Now let’s go. Otis, you okay to lead or do you want the rear?”
Something was off. Serena Jo would never ask a subordinate for his preference during a scouting mission. She only ever dictated.
Willadean studied the man then. Otis was quiet and easy to overlook, the Harlan version of the twin brothers. After Everett had been murdered, he talked even less.
The man’s jaw tightened. “I’m not leaving. I’m going to kill that bitch.”
“Otis, be reasonable. You’re the walking wounded and we can’t take a chance with the kids. Let’s go back home and regroup. We’ll come up with a plan.”
Otis didn’t bother replying. He simply turned his back on the small group and took off in the direction Willadean and the boys had just come from.
“Damn it,” Mama muttered, watching him walk away.
Willadean pounced on the opportunity. She took Mama’s hand and arranged her face in that irresistible expression that worked well on most adults. “He’s the best tracker and the best shooter. We’re probably safer with him than going by ourselves to the village. Pops doesn’t have much time. The witch is going to kill him. Otis has an extra gun in his pack...he always does. Give that to me, and I’ll keep us kids safe. You know I can shoot. I scored top of the under-thirteens at the range.”
Mama’s eyes narrowed, just like Pops’ did when Willa taught him a new word. It usually meant she was thinking hard about something.
“Another reason to act now is the witch is tired and hurt. I saw her injecting herself with something called butorphanol. Saw it on the label. She started slurring right after. She’s got a bullet wound in her shoulder and some broken fingers. Now is the time, Mama. She’s only going to get better and when she does, it won’t end well for Pops.”
Mama loved Pops, but she loved her children fiercely. Willa knew that. Proper framing of the danger was critical now. That’s why she didn’t tell her about the second injection right before Mister Ray had started pounding on the door. The label on that bottle said epinephrine. She hadn’t heard of butorphanol, but she knew all about epinephrine from a suspense thriller she’d read. It worked like a long-lasting jolt of adrenaline.
“We’ll be extra careful. And we’ll be safer if we catch up with Otis before he gets too far away. The witch could be hiding, waiting for Otis to walk by. She might follow us instead. She’s real smart, Mama, like you. Isn’t that what you would do?”
Willa saw the moment Serena Jo made the decision.
“Stay behind me every second. Tight line, no more than two feet apart. Got it? And you’re not getting a gun, Willa. It’s one thing to hit a target during practice and quite another during a chaotic situation when your heart is pounding like crazy. Let’s go. No talking.”
Willa took a position directly behind Mama. She watched the long khaki-covered legs stride through the tall grass, navigating thorny, grasping vines like they were made of warm butter. Someday, Willa would have legs that long and would glide through life like a backwoods ballerina.
Otis had covered a lot of ground while Willa had been working Mama. It took twenty minutes to catch him. When they did, he was standing next to a corpse, casually contemplating it.
Then the corpse lifted its head off the ground.
The foursome joined Otis, who barely seemed to register their presence. Mama squatted next to Mister Ray — the corpse — then mutely began unbuttoning the blood-stained shirt, exposing the damage from the witch’s bullet. When her fingers pressed around the seeping hole, a hiss of air escaped the deathly pale lips. She tilted her head backward and gazed up at the sky for a few seconds. Willa knew then the prognosis was bleak.
Mama brushed a sweaty lock of dark hair from the man’s brow. His eyes fluttered open. A shaky hand lifted a few inches off the ground. Three of his fingers pressed together and circled about — the universal sign language for writing. She reached
