Lyla Brynn's Arc

Chapter 2 of 6

The light ahead was warm and yellow. For a moment Lyla thought it meant a town, a road, their mother. Then a hand closed around her arm and yanked her sideways into the reeds. She screamed. Henry and Clara spun toward the sound, but the dark had already swallowed her. "Hush now," the man said. His voice was low and tired. He was tall, with a scraggly beard and a long coat stained dark at the hem. A round gut pushed against his dirty shirt. He held Lyla's arm the way you hold something you don't want to drop. "You'll draw every gator in the marsh." Clara charged through the water. "Let her go!" She grabbed a broken branch and swung it at his head. The man caught it with one hand and tore it away. "Stop," he said. Not angry. Just firm. "My name's Wade. I'm not him." Lyla went still. "Not who?" "The one who kept you in that shack." Wade jerked his chin toward the yellow light. It came from a sagging cabin on wooden posts, its roof green with moss. "I've seen his place. I've seen kids come out of it before. Never seen three get this far." Henry crept closer, his thin shoulders shaking. "You're lying." "Maybe." Wade let go of Lyla's arm. He stepped back and raised both hands, empty. "But I've got dry wood and a pot of beans. And you three are about to walk into the deep part. Water goes over your heads thirty feet that way." He pointed into the black where the children had been headed. Lyla looked where he pointed. The reeds ended. The water turned flat and still and bottomless-looking. She had almost led them straight into it. She stared at Wade. His face was dirty and his eyes were red, but he wasn't reaching for her again. The man in the shack had never once let them go. "How do we know?" Lyla asked. "You don't." Wade turned and walked toward the lit cabin. He didn't look back. "Door's open. Stay in the swamp if you'd rather." Lyla's heart pounded. Clara gripped her hand hard. "Lyla, no." But Lyla thought of the cold water and the long dark and Henry's shaking hands. One night. One meal. Then they would ask this man which way led out of the marsh. Which way led home. "We go in," Lyla said. "But we watch him. All night." They followed Wade up the sagging steps. Inside, a fire burned in an iron stove. A pot steamed on top. Two narrow doors opened onto two small bedrooms. Wade handed Lyla a bowl. "Eat. We'll talk roads in the morning." Lyla took it. For the first time in weeks, a grown man had opened a door for her instead of locking it. She did not trust him. But she was no longer lost.