The Last Escape Page 5

  Things began normally enough—Bernard took inventory, inspected the vegetables, and jotted down his totals. When he was through, he gave Ella a number. She frowned. Ella had been counting at the same time, and his number didn't match hers. She respectfully asked for a recount.

  Bernard frowned and stared at her. Then his face changed. His eyes darkened, and he gnawed his lip.

  "I'm not sure I have enough silver," he said, frowning.

  "You don't?" she asked.

  "I'm not sure I can buy all of this." He waved his hand at the full pushcart.

  Ella's stomach dropped. Uncle Frederick entrusted her to bring back their silver. She couldn't come back without it. She'd already gotten a late start, and though there were other merchants who might take the vegetables, Frederick and Bernard had worked out an agreement.

  "But Uncle Frederick said I had to sell all of them. He said I—"

  "Wait a moment." Bernard scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I might have some more silver inside. Why don't we bring your pushcart in? I'll close the stand. It's getting late, anyway."

  "Okay," Ella said, her hope returning. She decided to collect the silver, then scurry home to avoid a scolding.

  Bernard looked back and forth around the street. Then he covered his wares and helped her wheel her belongings inside. Bernard's place was neat and well kept. A year earlier, the merchant's wife had been taken in The Cleansing, and he'd yet to remarry. Once inside, Bernard asked her if she wanted a drink. Ella declined as politely as she could speak it.

  "I have to be getting back," she said.

  Bernard retrieved a pouch of silver. He asked her to recount the vegetables out loud. She started tallying up the squash and eggplant, using the numbers that her uncle had taught her. Bernard stood next to her, watching. She continued on to the tomatoes. She was halfway through the vegetables in the cart when he put his hand on her shoulder. Ella didn't think much of it. She kept counting; her only thoughts were on completing the transaction. It wasn't until Bernard's hands roamed that she realized something was wrong.

  Ella backed up a step, putting her hands in the air. She glanced behind her. The door was shut. She hadn't even heard Bernard close it. She looked back at the man. The merchant's face—round and friendly—had taken on an ugly sheen.

  "It's all right," Bernard told her.

  His outstretched hands said otherwise.

  **

  "Ella! Why are you so late?" Uncle Frederick barked again.

  Ella stared up at her uncle's hardened face. She'd never seen him this upset.

  "I asked you a question," he said. "Were you playing with the other kids at the edge of town?"

  Ella's eyes welled up. She glanced at her uncle, barely able to meet his stare. She nodded. A trickle of blood worked its way down her leg. She prayed Frederick wouldn't notice. "Yes," she confirmed. "I was at the edge of town. I'm sorry, Uncle Frederick."

  "Wash up and get ready for dinner. You won't be going to the market alone for a while. Do you hear me?"

  Ella didn't argue. She bowed her head and walked carefully to the wash bucket. She stooped down, praying her uncle would leave. After a few moments of silence, he did. She heard Frederick's footsteps outside as he walked into the fields, presumably to tell Jean about her transgressions. Hastily, Ella had cleaned off, ignoring the pain between her legs, wanting nothing more than to forget what had happened.

  For the next few weeks, she immersed herself in her work, trying to move past the ugly incident. The few times she accompanied her aunt to the market, she avoided Bernard's eyes, terrified the merchant might relinquish their secret. Thankfully, her aunt and uncle didn't question her again, and she was able to keep the events of that day buried.

  Until a few months later, when her stomach grew too big to hide.

  Ella kept it covered as long as she could, praying each night before bed that the awful evidence would disappear. But it didn't. Six months after the incident, Jean finally lifted her dress. She gasped at what she found. She told Frederick.

  Her aunt and uncle scolded her, demanding answers.

  They assumed it was a boy from town.

  Reluctantly, Ella confessed what had happened. Uncle Frederick's eyes bulged when he heard the story, and he paced the house for the remainder of the evening. The next morning, he told Ella to wait outside while he and Jean spoke.

  When they called her back in, they told her what was to happen. The baby would be delivered at home, away from the eyes of others, and Ella was forbidden to set foot in town.

  Jean would claim the baby as her own.

  Jean had already had several miscarriages, but she still had her blood, and Frederick refused to give her up to The House of Barren Women.

  The child—Ella's child—would be described as a gift from God, a blessing for their devotion to The Word. Ella would have the baby in secret; when the time came, Ella would be married.

  Frederick explained his reasoning to a distraught, tear-ridden Ella. Eligible young men wouldn't want a woman that had been impregnated, he said, and they wouldn't want one that had been defiled. By raising Ella's baby as their own, Frederick and Jean would give her a chance at a normal life.

  The decision tore at her soul, but Ella heeded the words. She had no choice.

  And so Jean and Ella lived quietly for the next few months, avoiding the town's gossip. Frederick attributed Jean's absence to complications with her pregnancy, and he said Ella was helping her aunt. Thankfully, the spring Cleansing had already passed. When the baby was born, Aunt Jean took the lead in caring for her, but she allowed Ella to name her.

  Ella chose the name Melora. Her mother's name.

  When Ella finally returned to town, she noticed Bernard was missing. The townsfolk said he'd snuck out past the wall. That he'd borrowed more silver than he could pay off. Or that he'd fled the Cleansing.

  But Ella knew better.

  A year later, she married Ethan and moved to Brighton.

  Chapter 12: Ella

  After explaining to William, Ella hugged him. He hugged her back, but didn't speak. It took her a second to determine that William wasn't ignoring her, but studying the landscape. The hill they'd run up was covered in rocks and debris. A few flurries clung to the ground.

  "What're you looking at?" she asked, after several moments' silence.

  William sucked in a breath and pointed. "Someone else came through here."

  "How do you know?"

  Ella stared more intently, as if the rocky ground might give her a clue, but it seemed as common as any other patch of forest. William crouched and showed her.

  "See how the gravel was scraped away here? Someone was running uphill, and they dug their heels into the ground. You can tell by the snapped twigs and the compacted soil." William walked sideways, examining the ground. "There are more traces this way. I think several people came through here, actually."

  Ella glanced back at Bray.

  "What is it?" he asked. "What did you find?" He walked over to join them, analyzing the ground where William was pointing. "Those are probably just our track marks," he explained. "This is the way we ran up."

  "No." William shook his head. He pointed a few feet to the right. "Those are our track marks there. These are from another group."

  Bray hunched over and studied the ground, resting his sword in his lap. He scowled. He got to his feet and scanned the opposite side of the embankment.

  "Is he right?" Ella asked Bray. "Did others come through here?"

  "It looks like it," Bray admitted. "But it was probably just soldiers. We'll have to change direction."

  "But why were the soldiers running?" William asked. "I see no fresh demon tracks. It looks like someone was fleeing the same way we are. It looks like they were headed away from Davenport."

  William's face flashed with triumph. Ella watched her son. She'd never seen him pick up things so fast.

  "Could there be survivors?" Ella questioned Bray. "Is he right?" Her heart filled w
ith hope.

  Bray didn't answer. He strolled the ground, tracing a path over the small hill and to the other side. He returned a few moments later.

  "There are more scuffs on the other side. A few of them overlap. It looks like one person was leading and two were following."

  "What does that mean?" Ella asked.

  Bray paused. "The boy is right. Some people must have escaped the slaughter in Davenport. The tracks are fresh."

  "Survivors?" Ella gasped.

  "It looks like it."

  "We have to follow them!" Ella insisted. "What if it's…? It could be—"

  She held her tongue. She didn't want to give voice to the hope. Of the three hundred people living in Davenport village, what were the chances that the three escapees included her daughter?

  Bray stared into the distance. He held his sword at chest level. "If we follow them, we'll be making a larger target for ourselves. There'll be more evidence for the soldiers to follow. It wouldn't be smart."

  "We can't lose track of them," Ella said firmly. "If there are survivors, we have to find them."

  "I agree," William reiterated, stepping close to his mother. His eyes betrayed his hope.

  "I don't think this is a good idea," Bray warned. "We should go another way."

  William puffed his chest. "If you won't help us, we'll go by ourselves."

  Bray stared at them, his eyes wandering from one to the other. He lowered his sword. "If you're intent on catching up, we better get going."

  Chapter 13: Blackthorn

  Having finished his business with Captain Tenbrook much earlier that day, General Blackthorn watched a cohort of the militia practicing its drills in the square. Captain Swan, who'd been sent several days prior with his squadron of cavalry to deal with Davenport, climbed the steps up to the dais. He crossed the empty expanse of the stage and came to a stop next to the General.

  "Speak," said Blackthorn without looking away from the clumsy lines of militiamen.

  "I have just returned from the village of Davenport, General. As you instructed, not a single man or woman was left alive."

  "All were complicit," said Blackthorn. "All were guilty."

  "All were guilty," Swan repeated. "We spared Fathers Decker and Towsend until the end. We persuaded them to identify each of the townsfolk from a list provided by Minister Beck's census takers. Many children were among the dead who were not on the list."

  "As expected," said Blackthorn. "I presume some of the younger ones were not accounted for. Were Ella and William Barrow present?"

  "No they were not."

  "Do you have cause to believe they were present when you arrived and managed to escape?"

  Swan's jaw clenched. "I believe they were in Davenport prior to our arrival. Whether they escaped as we cleansed the abettors, or through good fortune, stole away before we arrived, I am not certain."

  "Besides the obvious family connection and the fact that Davenport was Ella Barrow's home, why do you draw that conclusion?"

  "Three other villagers were missing—two young boys and a girl, a cousin of Ella Barrow's. I don't like the coincidence of the matter. My belief is that Ella Barrow spirited her young cousin out of Davenport before we got there."

  "Did any of the residents of Davenport see Ella or her boy?"

  "No," Swan said. "We went to great lengths to convince them to tell us the truth of the matter. None, not even her aunt and uncle, would admit to seeing her. Either they are all strong people, or Ella made her way into the town and out again, collecting her cousin before anyone else had knowledge of her visit."

  Blackthorn nodded. "Your squadron is still in the field, searching for them?"

  "They are," Swan confirmed. "I brought five riders with me to report to you. I'll return to my men as soon as you dismiss me."

  "Do you have any guess as to where Ella Barrow went?"

  "We have obtained the services of a Warden who claims to be a good tracker. We are searching the area now, looking for a sign of their trail. With luck, we'll pick it up. Short of that, we are purging the unsanctioned settlements in the area. None have yet provided information about Ella Barrow, but they are all in violation of our law by being out in the forest where the spore will turn them into twisted men. All so far have been slain and burned."

  "Good." Blackthorn nodded again. "What of the traitorous Fathers Decker and Towsend?"

  "They have been sent to meet their God."

  Chapter 14: Ella

  Ella stuck close to William and Bray as they followed the tracks. For the past few days, she'd been running or chased, subsisting on meager meals and very few hours of sleep. Her mind was rejuvenated by the prospect of survivors.

  On the way to Davenport, she'd been driven by a destination, but now she had a new mission: to find the people who survived the ugly massacre. She prayed the people they were following were survivors, and not soldiers, Wardens, or someone else.

  She prayed one of the survivors was Melora.

  She kept a wary eye on the forest as they walked. Her mind conjured beasts in every direction, and she questioned everything she saw. She blinked away a few snowflakes that landed on her eyelashes.

  William chatted excitedly with Bray, each new piece of evidence akin to cherished treasure for the hopeful boy. Broken branches were expensive metals; disturbed rocks were pieces of silver. Their pace was slower than before, but the mood had changed to optimism. The prospect of survivors gave them something to strive for, a goal where there had previously been none. It allowed Ella to forget the home she'd left behind, and that she and William were orphans of the wild.

  Their mission kept her from dwelling on the horrors they'd seen.

  They wove through miles of thick forest, navigating between tree trunks, over hills, and through ravines. The snow continued to fall through the trees. Several times, they backtracked when William or Bray was thrown off the trail, or when they questioned the origin of the tracks they were following. When they deviated, Bray always explained his reasoning and William absorbed the words. A few times, William provided an opposing view. To Ella's surprise, Bray listened.

  "You're getting good at this," Bray told William. "You might as well be a Warden."

  The boy kept his eyes rooted to the ground, but Ella saw him smile. They'd gone a few more miles when the tracks became impressions in the grass. Bray and William halted, pointing at the bent blades.

  "Someone was hunched down, hiding in the tall grass," Bray said, stroking his chin.

  "There are more tracks!" William hissed excitedly, pointing next to them.

  "These tracks aren't from grown men," Bray said. "Adolescents, maybe."

  "Teenagers?" Ella stared at the crushed leaves and grass, trying to visualize the people crouched there. Melora? Imagining her daughter was almost as difficult as imagining demons, before she'd seen one with her own eyes. Why had the survivors stopped? The impressions deepened her anxiety.

  "Are they injured?" she asked, afraid of the answer.

  Bray shook his head. "It looks like they stopped to rest. They got a little farther than us, probably because they have more energy. They haven't been running for as many days as we have."

  "I don't see any blood," William affirmed. "I've been looking."

  Ella sighed and stared at the ground. Bray and William's words made her feel better, but she longed for proof that someone was alive.

  "Keep on the lookout for full boot prints," Bray suggested. "That'll give us more insight. The ground in this area was dry when they passed through it, but up ahead, there's a stream. We might get lucky and find some clear boot impressions in the mud on the banks. I hate to say it, but if we got enough snow to cool the ground, it might collect instead of melting, making the tracking easy."

  "I hope so," Ella whispered.

  Her eyes grazed the ground, and she pictured her daughter resting there, hair long and black like Ella's. The image brought tears to Ella's eyes.

  Until they caught up with th
e group, everything was speculation.

  "Come on," Bray said.

  They continued for another mile. Soon, the rush of water tickled Ella's ears, whispering promises of clues. Her heart pounded at the noise. When she squinted, she made out the stream through the trees. The foaming water curled around rocks, dividing the land in half. William darted ahead, leaving Bray and Ella behind.

  "Get back here, William!" she called.

  Bray chuckled. When she looked over, she caught him smiling.

  "He's adventurous," Bray said. "Like I was, as a boy."

  "He needs to listen," Ella countered. "It isn't safe out here."

  She jogged ahead, closing the gap between her and William. Bray followed alongside her. They cleared the remaining trees, catching a glimpse of William kneeling by the bank of the stream. His neck was bent. He was staring intently at something. A second later he cried out and scooted away from the water.

  "What is it, William?"

  Ella's heart leapt in her chest. She tore to his side and grabbed his arm, ready to protect him from whatever it was. She recoiled when she saw the source of his shock. A demon was floating in the water, caught in a cluster of rocks. Its eyes stared at the sky; its head bobbed with the current. Its lips were blue. It took her a moment to determine it was dead.

  Bray lowered his sword.

  "Is it drowned?" William asked the Warden.

  "Yes."

  "I didn't know they could drown," William admitted. "I thought you had to kill them with a sword."

  "If they swallow enough water, they'll die, same as you or me," Bray said.

  Ella stared at the creature, entranced by its movement on the water ripples. She kept her sword ready, as if the demon would somehow spring to life and clamber to shore. Its body was even more gruesome in death: wart-covered, bloated, and pale.

  "It came from there," William said, motioning further up the banks.

  William scrambled to his feet. He kept walking. She noticed he was more cautious than he'd been moments earlier. She and Bray followed. They continued for a half a mile, until the trickle of the stream became a roar. The land sloped upward. Ella followed the contour of the land until she saw what was at the top.