Lyla Brynn's Arc

Chapter 4 of 6

Wade packed their food before they left. He wrapped bread and dried fish in cloth and pushed it into a sack. Then he handed the sack to Henry. "You carry it," he said. "Keeps you honest about the pace." Henry took it and stood straighter. Clara watched Wade's hands the whole time, still not easy with him, but she said nothing. Lyla checked that her mother's dress was cinched tight for walking. Then they stepped off the porch into the water. The swamp fought them all day. Mud sucked at their boots. Branches tore at Clara's arms, and Henry stumbled twice into water up to his chest. Wade pulled him out both times without a word. He led them in a crooked path, never straight, steering wide of one dark stretch of trees. Lyla understood why. The man's shack sat somewhere in there. Wade kept them clear of it. By dusk her legs shook, but she kept Clara and Henry moving ahead of her. Night fell and the frogs started up loud. Then one sound cut through the rest, a deep wet croak close by. Wade stopped. "Don't move." A toad the size of a dog rose out of the reeds, green with bright blue spots across its back. Its throat swelled. Henry froze with the food sack clutched to his chest. The toad lunged for him. Wade threw himself between them. He swung his coat and caught the thing across the face. It struck his arm, and he grunted and shoved it down into the mud with both hands. "Go," he shouted. "Past it, now." Clara grabbed Henry and dragged him through the muck. Lyla followed, heart slamming. Behind her Wade pinned the toad until the siblings were clear, then backed away and left it croaking in the dark. They walked the rest of the night. Nobody spoke much. Wade held his bitten arm against his side. Lyla matched her steps to his and did not let herself think about her mother, only about the next patch of firm ground. Then the trees thinned. Gray light spread across the water, and Lyla saw solid earth rise ahead. Past it stood a road, and past the road, rooftops. A town. She stopped and stared. Clara came up beside her and gripped her hand hard. "I don't know this place," Clara said. "Neither do I," Lyla said. But she knew what it meant. Houses meant people. People meant someone who could point them home. Wade stayed at the swamp's edge. He would not step onto the firm ground. "This is as far as I go," he said. "From here you ask your way. Tell them your town. Somebody will know the road." He looked worn and gray in the dawn. "Keep moving. Don't look back at the marsh." Lyla wanted to thank him, but her throat closed. She nodded instead. Then she took Henry's hand and Clara's, and the three of them walked out of the swamp toward the strange town, one step closer to their mother.