CROC

I'd been poisoned; that was the only way to describe it. Vomit sloshed from my gut to my throat each time we took a step. My nose and throat were charred, my lungs raw and coated in dust. Fresh blood trickled from my nose, like a leaky faucet I couldn't manage to turn off.

Merle and Cecil hobbled as they carried me forward, inch by torturous inch. I needed to sit. My leg felt ready to snap. But I clenched my jaw and pushed through, supporting as much of my weight as I could to keep the burden off of them.

The scenery changed in never-ending slow motion. The prisoners made our pace even slower. They scooted like zombies, further strengthening my suspicion that none of this was real. That none of us had made it. Gator and his voodoo stories kept swimming through my brain. Most of all, his talk of Guinee, the murky plane he said spirits must pass through to get to the deep waters, where they would be reunited with their ancestors. But Guinee wasn't a place of punishment, and I couldn't imagine anything worse than this. No. This was torture, like the Hell Julia had talked about wanting the Officials to go to. Maybe I was there, condemned to limp down trash littered streets, into the dense wood, through the brush, and over the roots on a constant loop, never getting anywhere.

My head pounded, vision blurred, and I was ready to fall over by the time we finally stopped. Merle and Cecil lowered me against a tree, then flopped down on either side of it. People collapsed wherever they'd stood, and canteens of water were passed around the group. The prisoners drank greedily, forcing a few of the least injured to venture off in search of more.

"We should have been back by now," Tex said. His jaw was tight, his fingers fidgeting, snapping pieces off a stray twig he'd picked up off the ground. He looked at Sergio. "How long before they give up and take off without us?"

"Nightfall," Sergio said.

Everyone fell quiet, taking in the waning light filtering through the trees. We were running out of time, and if the ship left without us, we'd never make it. Willow and the babies would be gone, and I was in no shape to chase them. What if I never found them again?

Fern and two prisoners were the only ones not sitting. They were too busy moving through the masses, bandaging wounds. Fern's eyes landed on me, and she hurried over. "Where are you hurt?" she asked, dropping to her knees beside me.

I swallowed. My throat was dry. "My left leg."

She pulled out a knife and cut my pant leg, revealing the break I'd been trying to ignore. The bone hadn't torn through the swollen, bruised skin, but it looked like it was trying to. No wonder it felt ready to snap—it was.

Fern shook her head and focused on Merle and Cecil. "Can you two hold him? I'll have to set it back into place."

They twisted, gripping my arms on either side.

Fern looked over her shoulder and called, "Daddy!" Then one of the prisoners rushed over to us.

My brow furrowed. "Daddy?"

"Yes, and lucky for you, because he's way better at this than I am." Fern placed a stick between my teeth. "Bite down."

I did, craning my head back against the tree. My hands fisted, my body tensing, waiting for the agony I knew was coming. Fern's father crouched beside her, inspecting the injury. I breathed hard through my nose as he prodded and poked. "It's a bad break," he murmured. "He needs a surgeon." His eyes met mine, his expression grim. "I'm gonna try my best to set it, but I can't make any guarantees. Fern baby, grab some sticks and cloth we can use to build a brace, and see if Sergio has any more of that rum."

She nodded and rushed away, returning a few moments later with the things he'd asked for.

"My name is Joseph—" He removed the stick from my mouth and lifted the flask to my lips. "Drink this. You're gonna need it."

Liquid fire slid down my throat. I spluttered.

"That's it," Joseph said. "You're alright." He had me drink a little more, then placed the stick back between my teeth. "Hold him tight."

The grip on my arms strengthened. My chest heaved. My eyes screwed shut tight. Joseph gripped my leg and forced it straight with a sickening crack. The stick fell from my mouth, as a strangled roar erupted from my lungs, then the world fell black.

* * *

WILLOW

Ella and I waited until the sun had fully risen, then we could wait no longer. There were children to feed, things to do. I caught enough fish for everyone on board, a meager amount compared to what Croc had needed to supply. Our army was gone. They'd sprinted off a cliff, while the rest of us watched, praying they'd sprout wings.

"Are Croc and Papa Merle eating with us?" Eve asked as I sat their plates down in front of them.

My chest tightened, and I shook my head. "Not today."

Not tomorrow. Not next week or next year. Never again would Merle do something silly to make them laugh, and Croc wouldn't be there to wipe Eric's face. Today was the first day of the rest of our days, and life suddenly felt cruel and endless.

Eve focused on her food, but I caught her checking the shore, and when breakfast was over, none of the children played. They waited, like their mothers had waited, sitting in a tidy row, voices hushed as they watched the horizon for their fathers.

I let them because I didn't have the heart to tell them the truth. I didn't have the strength to admit it to myself. Telling them would be too final, and I wasn't ready to admit it was over. But the longer the day drew on, the slimmer our chances for a happy ending became.

We ate our lunch in silence. Victor, Sergio's brother, stood beside the heavy chain connected to the anchor. He was too old to fight, and the ship was useless without a crew. As it stood, we had no captain, and our crew consisted of him, his cousin Anton, and a handful of women and children who knew nothing about sailing. Sergio was meant to be here, but he'd left in the night with Fern. I wasn't surprised she'd refused to stay behind. If it wasn't for the children and the baby, I would have gone too. Better to die with them than live the rest of my days without.

But if they didn't make it back soon, that's what we would have to do.

I tracked the sun's progress across the sky, my tension growing with each minute that passed. My head throbbed at my temples, and I was in a constant state of about-to-vomit. I was trying so hard to be strong, to compartmentalize and push forward, but the closer we got to leaving, the more my resolve slipped.

Please. I repeated the word inside my head, over and over again, staring at the shore, searching the woods, begging, begging. Please.

The sun turned dark orange as it hid behind the trees. Sinking. I was sinking. I was about to drown.

"Anton," Victor called, his voice solemn, and I knew immediately what it was he planned to do. Anton stepped over to him, and the pair strained as they worked together to raise the anchor.

"Wait." It was a whisper. In my mind, I knew they were right, that this was the plan, and we needed to go. But I couldn't do it. Not yet. "Wait!" Louder this time.

The pair dropped the chain and scanned the distance, then, finding nothing, they focused on me.

"What is it?" Anton barked.

I swallowed. Everyone was looking at me now. The other mothers. The fatherless children. "Not yet," I breathed.

Anton's annoyance faded, and he shook his head. "It isn't safe here. We have to think about the children."

He was right. I knew he was right, but I just. . . "Not yet."

"Maybe she's right," Ella said. "If they were injured, it would take them longer, right?"

Anton blew a breath out his nose and looked back at Victor.

Victor stared at me, his eyes seeming ancient as he rumbled a long stream of Russian.

I shook my head and looked to Anton for help.

"He says those who wait for the dead are condemned to join them."

"He doesn't know that," Ella argued.

Anton ignored her. "And if we want to have a future, we have to go there, because it isn't here."

"But what if—" His look made me stop short. There was no more what ifs. There was only what was. They were gone. They hadn't come back. And I'd known from the very beginning, from the moment they mentioned going to Savannah, before they ever even stepped foot off the boat. I'd known it was impossible. I'd known it was suicide. I'd known.

My heart shriveled, shrinking like a grape slowly becoming a raisin. I nodded once, then I turned away, tears blurring my vision as I fought to breathe. The chain rattled behind me as they went back to work. We would leave.

And I was never going to see them again.