“He told us we could go back to normal,” Anika said. “People think you guys are either dead or that Mikey sent you into the Forms without even water. But I didn’t believe it.”
“Anika, put down the gun.” Cal stepped forward. “Frida and I can leave the Land tomorrow morning if that’s what you want.”
Anika turned to him. “Okay, go. But don’t expect us to help you like we did the Millers. We were protecting them. We cared about them.”
“Why didn’t you take Ogden somewhere on your own?” Frida asked. “What kept you here?”
“Frida,” Cal said. “Stop.”
Anika didn’t speak for a moment, just kept cradling the gun. She looked up. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to raise a child out here? Before Micah and the others arrived, we were barely living. It took everything I had to nurse Ogden. And after that he still had to be kept warm, and entertained, and I had to sing to him when he couldn’t sleep, and I had to make sure the water I drank wouldn’t kill me, or that a Pirate wouldn’t kill me. The list went on and on. All I had to offer my son was fear and exhaustion. Ogden didn’t deserve that.” She paused. “Sandy was born to be a mother, and she was brave. If Micah was going to protect only one family out there, it had to be the Millers. They’d live as we had always wanted to. Purely.”
Anika seemed to fall into thought, and Cal said, softly, “You don’t have to tell us anything more.” Frida wanted to smack him; he thought he was appeasing Anika, but Frida could tell that the woman wanted to unburden herself.
“You know,” Anika said, “Peter went to see the Millers not too long before they died. I’d asked him to do it. Go check on our friends, I said. Please. I missed Ogden, and I suppose missing him made we wonder about Janie. I wanted to make sure she was okay. August said she was, but I never trusted him. And I guess I can’t trust Peter now, either, because neither of them told me about Garrett. Their little happy family.”
She laughed.
“What’s funny?” Cal asked.
“You two are scared I’m going to shoot you when you could very well be poisoned in your beds. Give it three, four years.”
“The Millers poisoned themselves,” Cal said.
“Are you sure? Peter told me tonight that Micah went to see them before they died. Before that, Micah had never gone to visit the Millers—he preferred to act as if they didn’t exist.”
“I don’t believe that,” Frida said, though she did. Somehow, she knew Anika was telling the truth, but still she wanted to strangle her for speaking it aloud. There was only so much Frida could bear.
Anika cocked the gun. “Maybe I’m wrong. What do I know?” She looked at Cal. “How do I know you didn’t kill the Millers?”
“I’m not a murderer,” Cal said.
Anika raised an eyebrow. “How can I be sure?”
It was like Cal had been sucked into the air by some unnameable force, and Frida watched as his body swept the space between him and Anika. He grabbed the gun from her hands and slammed its handle against her face. Anika didn’t make a noise as she fell to the floor.
“Cal!” Frida cried out.
He was already pulling off Anika’s purse, yanking it so that the strap ripped free. “Take her flashlight, and wait for me at the bottom of the tree.”
She dropped the book and took the bag. She was crying as she picked up the flashlight.
22
For once, his wife listened to him. When he heard Frida’s feet hit the ground below, he turned back to Anika, who lay at his feet with a hand to her face. She was moaning softly.
“I told you to put down the gun,” he said. He didn’t know if she heard him. He still felt that clobbering rage. How dare she corner him and Frida and then suggest that he was the one to kill the Millers?
He was glad it was too dark to see her face clearly; if there was blood, he couldn’t make it out. He didn’t want to see what he’d done to her. She was moving a little, which meant she must be okay. He hadn’t knocked her unconscious.
“I didn’t kill anyone,” he said.
She groaned, this time more loudly. With one hand, she pushed herself upright.
“Stay where you are,” Cal said, but Anika wasn’t listening. She was trying to stand up. He couldn’t let her.
“Stop,” he said, and raised the gun at her.
Anika kept moving until she was upright. Cal knew she’d never do what he asked, not now, not ever. And even if he and Frida got away, Anika might yell for the others on the Land to go after them. He needed to stop her.
Cal swung the gun through the air, and it landed against Anika’s face for a second time. He thought he could hear the crunch of her cheek against the metal and, a second later, the crack of her head against the wooden floorboards. It was its own gunshot.
Cal felt his chest moving up and down, and he put his hand there, to still it. He waited to see if she would get up again, but she didn’t. He knelt down and found her wrist and waited for her pulse. There it was; she was still alive. He hurried down the ladder.