“No,” said Zoe, in answer to her question. “I’m not scared.” She swung high and fast, the sky a dazzling blue and white above her, her red sneakers reaching for it. “Not anymore.”
When Penny woke up and looked under her bed for Zoe, her friend was gone. And Penny knew that Zoe wouldn’t be back. She wasn’t sad, even though she knew she’d miss Zoe. And she wasn’t scared anymore either.
*
The air had grown colder, and Penny’s ankle had stopped aching in a way. It was more like a strange tingling, growing numb. She dropped back a bit, and Momma didn’t seem to notice, so Penny dropped back a little farther. She looked around for Bobo, but he was gone. She hadn’t seen him since the graveyard. Maybe he had gone back to the house. He didn’t like the graveyard; she knew that. He didn’t like it when Momma went to see Real Penny. The moon was hidden by clouds and the woods around her were just shadows, those black doorways that could be the way home, or the way to something even worse. She could hear the frantic and chaotic whispering of voices.
She dropped back a little more and watched as Momma turned the bend, lost in her own grief, certain that Penny was right behind her. It took a second for Penny to realize that she was alone. Momma was far ahead, and Bobo was nowhere to be seen. The voice was quiet. It had told her that she couldn’t leave until she convinced Momma to let Real Penny go. It was the same voice that told her to show herself, and then the clean man got shot. Her mommy told her that she didn’t have to listen to anyone except her family and her teachers, and the parents of her friends. The voice wasn’t any of those.
Maybe it was one of those other voices—like those of people who told you to keep secrets from your mommy, or who told you they had candy or lost a puppy and could you help, or who wanted you to try something that was very bad for you but would make you feel good at first. Maybe the voice was one of those. How were you supposed to know the difference? If there’s a little noise inside you that tells you something is wrong or bad or that your mommy wouldn’t like it, listen. That’s called your instinct. Always follow your instincts. There were too many voices. It was so much easier when your mommy or daddy just told you what to do.
Those tall, dark doorways, they called to her. What could the shadows hold that was worse than being chained in a room, alone, afraid, hurt? Were any monsters that lived in the woods worse than Poppa? The people she saw in the graveyard, they never hurt her. Zoe had not been afraid when it was her time to leave. And Real Penny wanted so badly to cross over that she begged her Momma to let go.
Penny moved slowly at first away from the footpath, waiting for Momma to come back. Then she moved a little faster, her heart a bird in the fragile cage of her chest. She had nothing—no water or food or even shoes. She didn’t have a coat. The most important step in survival happens long before you leave the comfort of your home, her daddy had told her. It’s all in the preparations you make for your journey.
Then she was in the trees. Then she was running, even though she was in pain. Something about the excitement of being away made everything hurt less, even the cold.
She had only made it a little way before she heard Momma screaming, her voice cutting through the night like the cry of a bird. Penny ran faster, rocks cutting at the bottoms of her feet and branches whipping at her face. But Penny didn’t stop.
She remembered, her body remembered, that she was the fastest girl in her PE class. That all the other kids, even the boys, dropped behind her when she ran, huffing and puffing. She dug deep the way her coach had told her, even though she was weaker than she had ever been, not wearing the bright orange sneakers that her brother said looked like flames when she ran.
All around her the trees were monsters, reaching high up into the sky. The ground was damp, full of debris—rocks and sticks cutting at the soles of her feet.
Penny! Penny! Momma was calling a frantic, desperate wail. The ground was a downward slope beneath her, and she let gravity pull her, making her faster, even as she knocked into trees, sliver branches slicing at her face. Twice she almost tripped and fell to the ground.
Breathe! Her coach would yell, let your breath carry you.
Penny liked him. He talked to her like an athlete, someone who knew her body could do amazing things, if only she could just tap into the strength inside. If only she believed that she was made of wind and air and sky, that she could fly, that she was lighter, brighter, faster than everyone else unlucky enough to be made from bone and muscle and thick heavy blood inside their veins.
The whispers were all around her, laughing, crying, jeering, cheering, a million voices, all saying something different. Penny ran even though it seemed like Momma was getting closer. She could hear the old woman rushing through the branches, hear her screaming.