She didn’t apologize or back off, and although I wouldn’t tell her so, I was glad I didn’t have to face what was down there alone.
Her flashlight slashed through the darkness, landing just about everywhere in spastic fits, combing the carved ground. Until it landed on the thing responsible for bringing us down there to begin with—the demanding mewls that had turned to full-blown wails, still muffled but unrelenting.
“Willow!”
A wave of emotions slammed into me, leaving me speechless and stunned and horrified.
Willow was here. Willow was alive. Willow had a rag stuffed in her mouth, and her hands and feet were bound.
But Willow was . . . here of all places. Buried in the hollow depths of this abandoned pile of rubble. And if we hadn’t heard her, if we hadn’t come to investigate . . . I shuddered. I didn’t want to think about it.
She didn’t look too bad, all things considered. She didn’t have a bullet hole in the center of her forehead, and right now, that was a major triumph.
In fact, she looked completely uninjured, the way any Returned should. That didn’t mean she hadn’t been hurt, it just meant enough time had passed that she’d already healed, and that was good enough for me.
Good enough because we’d found her. Somehow we’d found her.
“Jesus. Willow . . . ,” I repeated, yanking the gag out of her mouth. “What happened? Who did this to you? How long have you been down here?”
In the surreal light from Griffin’s flashlight, Willow grinned. She freaking grinned! “Good to see you too.”
I’d have hugged her—really, I considered it—but I liked my face the way it was, and Willow wasn’t what anyone would call the hugging type.
“Griffin,” Willow said, nodding toward the one person she’d always believed was responsible for getting her kicked out of Blackwater all those years ago. “Thanks for coming.” There wasn’t a trace of sarcasm in her voice.
Griffin was even less comfortable with displays of affection than Willow. “A little light deprivation and some gentle torture, and you go all soft on us?”
Willow shot Griffin a tolerant look—huge for Willow. If I didn’t know better, and if we weren’t holed up in some grimy underground dungeon, I’d swear I smelled a friendship brewing.
“We gotta get outta here before she comes back,” Willow insisted, when I finally managed to free her from the archaic straps that had held together long enough to restrain her.
“She . . . ?” I started, and then realized Willow was in the dark, literally. “Do you mean Natty and the others?”
Willow jumped to her feet and swayed slightly, looking like a drunken toddler. It took her legs a second to adjust as she flexed her wrists and her shoulders. “Natty and Eddie Ray,” she told me with an intensity that made it clear she had no idea what had happened just one floor above her.
I shook my head and said flatly, “Dead. All of ’em.”
“Is that what was happening up there?” She nodded at the ceiling. “I heard something. Did you at least question them first? Find out why she did this? What they wanted?”
“We were too late. They were like that when we got here,” Griffin answered. “What do you know? Did they tell you anything? Maybe you overheard something.”
Willow screwed up her face in concentration. “I didn’t. Nothing useful, at least that I know of. But Natty’s dead too, you’re sure?” Her eyes searched mine. When I nodded, she just shook her head. “Too bad. I would’ve liked a shot at her myself.” She frowned. “After I bailed camp I lost track of everyone, but I wanted to be careful not to draw attention to myself so I laid low . . . didn’t reach out to any other camps in case the No-Suchers were listening to chatter. I hitched rides, listened for word of anything interesting to see if I could pick up your trails, but nothing.” She stretched. “Then I heard about a group staying up at this place in Wyoming—kids, the locals called ’em. Apparently they weren’t too careful . . . stocked up on supplies in town. Made a lot of stupid mistakes. I waited, hoping to catch sight of one of them, and when I did I was shocked to lay eyes on Natty.”
“What did you say to her? Did you ask her about Thom?” Griffin interjected.
“’Course I did,” Willow said, making a face to let her know what a stupid question it was. “And she fed me this cock-and-bull story ’bout how Thom tricked her, and took her hostage as he left Blackwater, but how she’d escaped and found this new group of Returned and was up here, living with them.” She shook her head, raking her hand through her hair. “I fucked up, Sim. I fell for her bullshit, all of it. When I got here, that bitch drugged me with something.” She rubbed the side of her neck. “Next thing I knew I was down here, and that SOB Eddie Ray was breathing down my neck.”
“What about Kyra?” I asked. “Did they tell you why they took her?”
Willow dropped her hand, her attention captured. “Kyra? What’s she got to do with all this?”