The woman came into view and seated herself a few feet away. Most of her face was wreathed in shadow and she held something in one hand. “It’s good you know now—know our father’s legacy—but there’s still one more thing you’ve forgotten. You need to atone, and to atone you have to remember.” She set the object she held at Clare’s feet. She hadn’t noticed any details before in the low light, only that it was a softly rounded shape in one of her hands. Now, as it rolled over to face her with its dark button eyes and tattered fur, she saw what it was. Shanna’s stuffed animal, the one she carried almost everywhere. The one she called—
—Mrs. Mary, we forgot Mrs. Mary,” Shanna says, and Clare turns to shush her for the second time since sneaking out of the house. The Refuge’s grounds are dark and still, but that doesn’t mean anything. One of the grown-ups could be anywhere. And if they’re seen, their little escape act will be over. Clare pulls Shanna to the nearest tree trunk and grabs her by the shoulders. Even in the near dark she can see how scared her little sister is. But it’s necessary. Something bad’s happening, happening tonight. All they’ve got is in the bag over Clare’s shoulder, everything they’ll need to get away from their father’s influence. Aside from the money she pilfered from the desk in the master bedroom, a set of clothes for each of them, a little food and water—the only thing they have is time. And it’s running out.
“We can’t go back, not now. Do you understand me?” Clare says, glancing quickly around the tree trunk. Had she heard something? A door shutting near the worship hall? They have to be extra careful when passing the building, as it is the only place she’s seen any activity in the last twenty-four hours. Many of the adults and quite a few of the kids had gone inside, but none had come out. It gave her a sick feeling to think about why. “We have to keep moving. Remember I said we’d ride in a car?”
Shanna starts to cry, tears spilling delicately down her cheeks. “But . . . but Mrs. Mary is on my bed. I can’t leave her behind. I can’t, Clara.”
“Listen, do you trust me?” She waits until her sister gives the slightest of nods. “Then we have to go now. Something terrible is happening and if we don’t leave it’s going to happen to us. I’ll make you a new Mrs. Mary when we’re safe. Right now we have to go.”
She doesn’t wait for a reply, just grabs Shanna’s hand and peers around the tree quickly before hurrying past the darkened front of one of the houses. No lights come on, pinning them to the ground as they run past, and her stomach lurches again at the thought of why she hasn’t seen anyone since earlier that morning.
They stop behind one of the big rocks they’ve played king of the mountain on for years, then race behind a stand of pines on the edge of the clearing across from the worship hall. Ahead is the dark silhouette of Harold Rainier’s car on the side of the drive heading out of the commune. She checked to make sure the keys were in it the day before, and they were. Clare knows she must turn the keys until the engine starts, she’s seen it done, then pull the lever near the wheel, and the car will go. She’ll steer it and get them free of this place, free of their father’s fevered gaze, free of the fear hanging over them like a moldering sheet. But before she does, they’ll need a distraction.
She drags Shanna down behind the car’s rear fender, searching the darkness, but there’s no movement, no sound except the wind nudging the trees. “Okay, stay here. Don’t move from this spot, do you understand me? I have to do one more thing, then we’ll go for a ride.”
“B-b-but Clara, Mr. Rainier won’t let you drive his car.”
“He said it’s okay. Father and Charity will meet up with us later.” Clare avoids the doubtful crease forming between Shanna’s eyes and sidles up to the passenger door window to look inside the car. It’s dark but she manages to spot the shine of keys hanging from the ignition. Setting her bag on the ground, she laces its strap into Shanna’s hand. “Hold this and don’t let go. I’ll be back in two minutes.”
“Two minutes?”
“Yes. I promise. Count the seconds out.” She squeezes Shanna’s hand one last time and gives her a peck on the cheek before launching herself from behind the car.
She runs as quietly as she can but her footfalls sound like thunder in her ears. Or maybe it’s her heartbeat. She can’t tell, she’s so afraid. The only thing driving her onward is the greater fear of what will happen if they stay.
Past Abigail’s house, past the boulder, past their own home—the only house in the entire clearing that still has lights on inside. Behind the house and into the woods she runs. She runs until she nearly trips over the gasoline can and lighter she stowed there the night before. The two items are concealed behind a small log beneath several handfuls of dead leaves.
Just a small fire, she tells herself, dumping out a pungent stream of gas onto the dry ground. Enough to distract the grown-ups so they won’t notice one of the vehicles is gone. When the can is empty she holds the lighter down near the leaves and flicks it.
Once.
Twice.
The third time it catches and fire leaps from the lighter’s tip and doesn’t stop. It expands so quickly and brightly she lets out a startled cry and trips over her own feet. The ground is aflame in seconds and the wind rushing through the trees only pushes it faster, makes it leap higher. If she’d been on the opposite side of where she’d poured the gas, the flames would’ve engulfed her. Clare watches, transfixed and helpless as the fire rushes outward like something alive toward their house.
Someone will see it soon. She has to go.
She’s on her feet and running again, her lungs pulling in air tinged with smoke, but she doesn’t slow. Instead she runs faster, pushing herself to the brink of collapse because this is the moment of truth. If she can do this, if she can get them away from here, everything will be all right. She can feel it. It’s as close to faith as she’s ever come and she thinks of her mother breaking free of this place and runs faster.
The car looms ahead.
Ten more steps.
Five.
Two.
She skids around the side and stoops low, already whispering. “Okay, give me your hand, Shanna.”
Clare freezes, staring at the rumpled shape of the bag near the rear tire, but there is no little girl holding it. Shanna’s gone.
She spins in place, searching the darkness for her sister. “Shanna? Shanna?” Across the clearing the crackle of flames is louder, almost a roar. A loud whump comes from behind the house and the light grows exponentially. Clare tears her gaze away from the spectacle and scuttles along the ground around the car, then rises, relief blooming through her. Shanna must have gotten scared and climbed inside. But when she presses her face to the glass, first on the driver’s side, then on the passenger, her sister isn’t there. Her mind is filled with a high-pitched squeal of panic. Where could she be? She told her to stay here, to count the seconds. Why would she—
But then she knows. The certainty of it is a stone sinking fast through her center, all the way to the bottom of her stomach.
Mrs. Mary. She went back for her stuffed bear.
Clare sprints away from the car, a new fear carrying her faster than she’s ever ran before. The fire has spread arms of flame into the forest surrounding the commune. It climbs into the largest oak beside their house and flares through its topmost branches. To the left the face of the worship hall nears and she sees the main doors are open. Then she’s past, yelling Shanna’s name now because it’s the only thing that matters.