WILLOW

My fingers idly ran through Eve's hair. She was asleep on my chest, her breaths slow and even. Eric was the same, curled up in Croc's arms.

Neither of us slept. Neither of us spoke. We sat with it, reliving it, drowning in it.

Take me instead. Please, just undo this. This one time, let it be a bad dream.

I wasn't sure who I was praying to. I'd never believed in a higher being or power. Not that it mattered. Black pines swallowed the water; moonlight darkened the shadows. There was no one to barter with. There was nothing to trade. The world was a vast void, uncontrollable, and I was heading nowhere and everywhere at once. Powerless. I was powerless. It didn't matter how much I changed, if I could swim, or if I could climb. It didn't matter if I could fight. Julia was gone, and I was a kitten caught in the current, sniffling and pitiful, being whisked away on the debris of our broken home.

I took a deep breath and looked down at Eve's face. So young. So fragile. So dependent. With Julia gone, the weight of responsibility rested on my shoulders alone. All at once, I understood so much more about her. Julia hadn't been invincible; she just hadn't had a choice. It was either be strong or give up, and how could I give up when they needed me? How could I do anything other than everything? That's what it meant to be a mother. It was fear and worry and selflessness. Mothers weren't allowed to stop, and whether I was pregnant or not didn't matter. I was a mother. I was the closest thing they had.

"We have to find a better place to sleep," I whispered. While the boat wasn't exactly solitude, it was mainly full of supplies—the majority of the men with Tex on the other.

"I'll take care of it," Croc said.

He took Eric with him, balancing the sleeping boy on one shoulder. He grabbed a thin, yellow blanket and headed toward the stockpile of clothes. Whoever had grabbed them hadn't cared to keep them folded, and the mismatched mountain of colors, sizes, and styles told a story all its own. How many had worn them? How many were gone? And here we were, the survivors, settling down on the echo of what used to be.

Croc spread the blanket over top then lowered Eric onto the center of it before returning to collect Eve. I followed, watching as he placed her down beside her brother. I envied their exhaustion. What I wouldn't have given to sleep so soundly. We stretched out on either side of them, and Croc took my hand. Our eyes held in the darkness, expressing more than words could accomplish. There was nothing to say. There was only what came next, and neither of us had the answer. The world kept spinning. The sun rose like it always did. The birds woke with a song. And we kept going because we had to.

But weeks passed, and life on the water was Hell. There was nowhere to go to escape the suffering. Sickness set in on the other boat. All day and night, I could hear men moaning, coughing, retching. Fern moved like a wisp, weaving in and out on rounds as she fought to care for them all. Many cursed her efforts, too wrapped up in pain to show gratitude.

It was wrong not to help her, but the kids wouldn't let me out of their sight. They clung to me as if convinced I'd disappear if they didn't. I went through the motions, forcing as much normalcy into their days as I could. I smiled. I joked. I played with our food at meals. That's what it meant to be Julia—light in the darkness. That's what she'd been for me so many times before. But I was under no illusion it was working. The kids could tell it was an act. They saw right through me.

Tex, Merle, Cecil, and a group of uninjured constantly poured over the map, speaking in rough tones, planning. I could never hear what they were saying, but whatever it was set my teeth on edge. Uncertainty thickened like toxic fog, each moment more suffocating than the last. I didn't want to run toward the danger. I was sick of trying to change the world. All I wanted was to disappear, find somewhere we could live, or keep running until our legs went out. But I didn't dare say it out loud, not when every other person onboard was thirsting for blood.

Croc kept himself busy, though he tried to be supportive. He was normal with the children. He was attentive with me. But he was dark no matter the time of day. I caught him listening in on the men several times when he was supposed to be fishing. That's what he did all day, every day: catch fish, clean fish, cook fish, deliver fish. But the fish outside of the swamp were easier, and I knew he was taking more time than needed. I didn't complain. I didn't blame him.

As if he'd sensed my thoughts, Croc climbed on deck. Water rolled and dripped from his skin as if it sensed his mood and couldn't get away from him fast enough. His hands were full of his latest catch, and he headed toward the front of the boat, giving me a quick kiss on my cheek as he passed. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes." A lie. I hadn't been hungry once since she left this world, but I was overly aware that it may not be just me who needed to eat. I pressed a hand to my stomach, unable to deny the slight curve beginning to form. There was no denying what was coming anymore, and I'd never had less stability.

Croc swung his cleaver to the deck with a thwack, chopping off the first fish head.

I quickly looked away, left him to the food, and returned to Eve and Eric. They'd been drawing for an hour, but Eric had fallen asleep with the crayon still in his hand. Eve was bent over her sheet of paper, her hair a curtain shielding her work.

"Can I see?" I asked as I took the seat beside her.

She stilled but didn't answer.

"Everything okay?"

Slowly, she rose, giving me a view of what she'd created.

Black. That's all there was. No figure or shape, just a waxy void so thick the paper had started to tear. Her crayon was short and flattened, its label in pieces beside her leg.

I swallowed. I needed to say something, but I didn't know what. Silence stretched as I stared at the page, at her pain, totally unequipped to help. I didn't even know how to cope with my own; how could I expect to help her?

"It's my fault," Eve whispered.

A hard knot formed in the pit of my stomach. It was one thing to pretend when everyone else was too. But being strong while talking about it was a different story. I wasn't ready for this conversation. I wasn't sure I'd ever be. "What's your fault?"

She looked up. Her eyes were red-rimmed and hollow. "The witch."

I blinked. Of all the horrible things I'd imagined she would say, that hadn't been one of them. "What?"

"Her spell. I took the candy, and she promised good luck. But it wasn't good luck. It was a curse, just like Maurice said, and if I hadn't taken the candy, if I'd just listened—" Her voice broke; her face crumbled. Quiet sobs broke free, so strong her whole body quaked beneath the force of them.

I pulled her into my arms, rocking her, shushing her. "That isn't true. That was all pretend. There's no such thing as curses."

Eve jerked away, and the sudden fire in her eyes evaporated her tears. "That's not true."

"Eve. . ." I reached for her.

She pulled back. "Eric doesn't even remember her. He just remembers the lady on the floor. But Mama took care of us too, until she didn't. Before she got too tired. Then she was gone, and Granny Julia took her place. Now, she's gone, and you'll go too. Anyone who loves us dies. That's our curse."

"No." The word emerged more forcefully than I'd intended. She was like a mirror, showing me an image of myself from the past. A little girl, destined to be abandoned. I took her hand and leaned forward, leveling my eyes with hers. "You are not cursed, and nothing is your fault."

"Then why?" she whimpered.

I swallowed. A curse would have been better than the truth. What could I say? How could I explain just how senseless the reality was. "There are bad people that do bad things, and I don't know why. But you're not one of them. You're the sweetest, strongest girl I know, and none of this is your fault. It's the world that's cursed, baby. Not you."

She stared at me as if she'd say more, but in the end, she simply threw herself back into my arms with a force that almost knocked me backward. I caught myself and held her tight, rocking her again as she sobbed into my shoulder.

Then, all at once, I knew exactly what words to say. The words I'd longed to hear so many times as a child. The words I'd never gotten. "You are loved." I whispered them again and again, heart swelling as purpose balmed my pain. As if every moment had been leading me to this one, preparing me to be the person I'd needed. For her.

By the time Croc arrived with our dinner, Eve had cried herself to sleep. I laid her back beside Eric.

"Everything alright," Croc murmured as he eyed her tear stained cheeks.

I nodded and stood, motioning for him to follow me. We walked far enough away we wouldn't wake them and took a seat by the rail. Croc passed me my plate, then sat his own in his lap. Cooking fish and woodsmoke filled the air. A couple of the men on the other boat worked hard to finish feeding the masses. We ate in silence, watching them. Many were already done with their share, while others were just sitting down.

As usual, Tex, Merle, and an even larger group of men were clustered together on deck, talking even more animatedly than usual. I caught snippets of what was being said. Not enough guns. Not enough men.

Then one word rose above the rest: Savannah.

My stomach dropped, heart stopped. His audience froze. My hand lowered back to the plate as my eyes locked on Tex's form. That couldn't be where we were headed. It would be like running off the side of a cliff.

"Willow?" Croc gently touched my hair. "What is it?"

"We can't go with them." I turned to face him. It was one thing to avenge. What Tex wanted to do was suicide, and we had to think of the kids. My mind spun, fighting to come up with another solution, anything that would keep us safe. "We need to get off this boat."