Strays Page 16

  Your love forever,

  Carver]

  “Oh my God.” Besides thinking the letter was a passage of ancient clichés, she thought it could be useful to her. Before she could think about it, her middle finger went to her neck and she picked the scabs that had formed where Dakota had bitten her. Blood drew between her fingernails instantly.

  “Max,” Ginger’s soft voice came from the door. “We got to go.”

  “Just give me a second.”

  “Sunlight wastes in seconds,” Taddy said, sighing.

  “Hold! On!” With blood on her pointer finger, she highlighted the “go” in Marigold as carefully as she could. She had to be careful not to mark any letters she didn’t want him to pay attention to. Luckily, the cursive letters had been scribbled largely. With blood she marked the “to” in into and then “the.” She marked the “f” in feel and the “ra” in transported. The “y” in physical already had a yellow stain over it, but she marked it anyway. The “w” in was, the “e” in die, and the “wa” in warmth. Lastly, she marked the “I’ in like, the “t” in it and the “ed” in used. She read over it to make sure it was correct: “go to the f-ra-y w-e wa-i-t-ed.” Yes, it looked right. She used old pliers to keep the thin sheet of paper from flying away.

  “Max?”

  She stepped away, somewhat satisfied with her work. “Okay.” She wiped the blood from her finger onto her pants. “Okay, we can go.”

  Nodding, Curly held her backpack out to her. Most of what was in it had dried.

  “We’ll leave it for Dakota.”

  Curly sighed. “Come on, Max. Get the bag.”

  “We’ll leave it,” she repeated and walked past him.

  Curly shook his head. “Fine. Whatever.” He dropped the bag where he stood by the door. He took one final look at the messy interior of the shed. He hadn’t noticed the bending boards holding the roof up. He hoped, if Dakota was still alive—and on the off chance he found the place—they held up for him how they had held up for them. He closed the door as tightly as it could so that Strays couldn’t get in. Then he caught up with Max and the others.

  He grabbed her arm to keep her going in the right direction. She was still reluctant about going, so she kept looking over her shoulder.

  “It’s okay.”

  But it wasn’t okay. Max didn’t think it was okay to walk out on someone she cared about, someone who had helped her survive. It didn’t matter now. She had to keep moving. She had to keep moving because she didn’t want to wither away, like Curly had said. She had watched her parents die and she wasn’t going to do that to Eric. She wasn’t going to scar him again. Her hopes were these: Dakota was alive… and he was safe… and he would find the shed… and he would get the letter… and he would understand that she had waited. Because she had—they all had—waited. She hoped that before Curly decided to go off on some goose chase to where ever Alias Corp was, he got to see his brother again. And she hoped that they all found this Fray place because they deserved—whatever it was—to have help. And she hoped—God, she hoped—that if Dakota was dead, it had been instant and painless. She hoped he hadn’t suffered.

  I’m on a train. I sit between the seats, my knees up to my chest. I’m alone. I don’t know where I’m going, but the train is taking me far away from here. I’m alone. I want to close my eyes and just feel the motion, feel the train carry me away from this place… alone… and if I close my eyes… if I close my eyes… if I close them… the world is whole again.

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  Table of Contents

  Strays

  Midpoint