The children said the thing is behind them.
If there’s one thing she can lean on in the new world, it’s that she has trained them well.
She trusts them.
She has to.
Now they are level with Tom’s voice. It sounds like he is in the boat with them.
She swallows hard.
She wipes tears from her lips.
She breathes deep.
Then she feels it. Just like when they let Tom and Jules back into the house. Just like when they thought they were letting Gary out.
The Moment Between.
Between deciding to open her eyes and doing it.
Malorie turns to face the channels and opens her eyes.
At first, she has to squint. Not from the sunlight, but from the colors.
She gasps, bringing a hand to her mouth.
Her mind is emptied of thoughts, worries, anxieties, and hopes. She knows no words to explain what she sees.
It’s kaleidoscopic. Endless. Magnificent.
Look, Shannon! That cloud looks like Angela Markle from class!
In the old world, she could have looked at a world twice as bright and not had to squint. But now, the beauty hurts her.
She could look forever. Surely another few seconds. But Tom’s voice urges her on.
As if in slow motion, she leans toward where his voice comes from, savoring his every word. It’s like he’s standing there. Telling her she’s so close. Malorie understands that she cannot keep the colors she sees. She must close her eyes again. She must cut herself off from all this wonder, this world.
She closes her eyes.
She returns to the darkness she knows so well now.
She begins rowing.
As she approaches the second channel from the right, it feels like she is rowing with the years. The memories. She rows with the self she was when she found out she was pregnant, when she found Shannon dead, when she answered the ad in the newspaper. She rows with the self she was when she arrived at the house, met the housemates for the first time, and agreed to let Olympia in. She rows with the person she was when Gary arrived. She rows with herself, on a towel in the attic, as Don pulled the blankets from the windows downstairs.
She is stronger now. She is braver. By herself, she has raised two children in this world.
Malorie has changed.
The boat rocks suddenly as it touches one of the banks of the channel. Malorie understands they have entered it.
From here, she rows as the person she was when she had the children alone. Four years. Training them. Raising them. Keeping them safe from an outside world that must have grown more dangerous each day. She rows with Tom, too, and the dozens of things he said, the countless things he did and the hope that inspired her, encouraged her, and made her believe that it’s better to face madness with a plan than to sit still and let it take you in pieces.
The boat is moving fast now. Rick said it was only a hundred yards to the trigger.
She rows with the person she was when she awoke today. The person who thought a fog might hide her and the children from someone like Gary, who could still be out there, still watching them move down the river. She rows with the self she was when the wolf struck. When the man in the boat went mad. When the birds went mad. And when the creature, the thing she fears above all things, toyed with her only form of protection.
The blindfold.
With the thought of the cloth, and all it’s meant to her, Malorie hears what sounds like a loud metallic explosion.
The rowboat crashes into something. Malorie quickly checks the children.
It’s the fence, she knows. They have triggered Rick’s alarm.
Malorie, her heart pounding, no longer needing to row, turns her head toward the sky and yells. It is relief. It is anger. It is everything.
“We’re here,” she calls loudly. “We’re here!”
From the banks, they hear movement. Something is coming fast toward them.
Malorie is gripping the paddles. It feels like her hands will always be in this position.
As she coils something touches her arm.
“It’s all right!” a voice says. “My name is Constance. It’s okay. I’m with Rick.”
“Are your eyes open?!”
“No. I’m wearing a blindfold.”
Malorie’s mind is flooded with distantly familiar sounds.
This is what a woman sounds like. She hasn’t heard another female voice since Olympia went mad.
“I have two children with me. It’s just the three of us.”
“Children?” Constance says, suddenly excited. “Grab my hand, let’s get you out of the boat. I’ll take you to Tucker.”
“Tucker?” Malorie pauses.
“Yes, I’ll show you—it’s where we live. Our facility.”
Constance helps Malorie grab the children first. Their hands are clasped together as Malorie is pulled out of the boat.
“You’ll have to excuse me for carrying a gun,” Constance says timidly.
“A gun?”
“You can only imagine the sorts of animals that have triggered our fence. Are you hurt?” Constance asks.
“I am. Yes.”
“We have medicine. We have doctors.”