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“Hailey?” I ask now, reaching for the person nearest me, no matter who it is. “I think I’m . . . I might be . . . I think I’m dying.”

“Only kind of,” she says, then turns to Widow.

Widow carries the egg out into the dusk. Hailey pulls me to my feet, reaches into my pocket for my phone, throws it into a corner, and looks me in the eye.

“Ava, listen to me now,” she says. “We’re going to go outside, and you’re going to lie down, okay?”

Her gaze is steady, mine bouncing off it, frantic. She’s calm, grounded, completely present and totally with it. Everything about her is reassuring even though everything is clearly going to hell.

“Then what?” I ask.

“Are we telling her?” Hailey asks through the door. Widow appears, wiping her hands, finally looking at me.

“Yeah,” she says, nodding. “I’d like to.”

“Tell me what?” I ask, trying to yank free of Hailey’s grasp. But I can’t, I’m too weak, my heart barely doing any work at all as my vision fades again. I lean heavily on her as we head outside, the security light above the office coming on as the sun dies, covering everything with white light. Hailey takes me over to where the egg rests in the grass, rocking back and forth. I don’t have to be pushed; I go down on my knees next to it, press my face against the leathery surface.

“Typhus,” I whisper. “Typhus, please, I need—”

Hailey shoves me, and I go over onto my back. “This is when he takes what he needs from you.”

“What?” I ask, pulling myself onto my butt, backing away from Widow when she approaches, holding the shotgun again. My back hits a tree, and I feel a sob in my chest. It crawls through my throat and out through my teeth.

“What?” I cry, my head falling to the side. “What does he want?”

Widow crouches in front of me, gun across her knees. She reaches out, takes my chin in her hands, turns my face to look at her. “Kiddo,” she says. “We’re gonna have to take your soul.”

Forty-One

Micah

Nickel and Dime are pathetically happy to see me, tails wagging, tongues out. They haven’t been used as bait in a few days, so they don’t have fresh wounds. Nickel might even have a pep in his step as I approach with their food bowls, giving them way more than I’ve been told. I sit with them while they eat, running one hand down each of their knobby spines, holding my phone in the other.

Dime—the more beaten of the two—finishes his food and flops down next to me, pressing his weight against mine and heaving a big sigh. Nickel watches his buddy with one eye, then finishes off his own dinner, collapses on my other side, huge, boxy skull in my lap. I rest my hand on it, and his eyes flick to mine. Gauze and hydrogen peroxide can’t fix what’s been done to this dog. I can see it in his gaze, an animal that’s been shown the worst of the world and learned that humans are at the top of that particular pyramid.

“Sorry, buddy,” I say.

Next to me, Dime sighs again, eyes slipping shut, sleepy after eating. There’s a faint snore a minute later, and I wonder if the only time they feel safe is when I’m here. They never sleep, or even rest, when Ethan is around. Dime hunkers at the back of the cage, cowed and waiting for whatever is coming. Nickel stays at the front, eyes following Ethan’s every move, a constant, low growl in his chest.

“It’s okay, guys,” I tell them. “I’m here.”

I’m here now, but soon I won’t be, and what happens to them then . . . Dime kicks in his sleep, whimpers. I wonder if I do that, too. If sleep—my only refuge—is still haunted. I get up, open the cage, walk out . . . and leave it that way. Nickel and Dime come to their feet, approach the open gate, questioning. I crouch down, gesture to them.

“C’mon, boys,” I say. “I’m jailbreaking your asses.”

Nickel is the first to get it, stepping outside and coming to me. Dime is more hesitant, has learned that outside his cage is where bad things happen. But when he sees me scratch Nickel’s head he comes out, head low, belly to the ground. The fighters go nuts at the sight of their usual prey, and Dime is practically crawling on his elbows by the time he gets to me, head down, prepared to be attacked.

“Not today,” I tell him and walk to the door. They follow, Dime still skulking, Nickel with his head up, curious. I crack the door and walk outside, both of them follow, Dime lifting his head a little at the scent of fresh air. I walk to my car. Nickel gazes around at the trees, looks back at me.

“Get going, man,” I say. “Get on outta here.”

He snorts, and Dime joins him. Then Nickel takes off, seeming to suddenly understand, Dime on his heels. They crash through some brush and a bunch of irritated birds scream at them, which doesn’t slow them down a bit. They’ve been screamed at, and much worse. I get in my car and check the time, decide that I have waited long enough. I don’t text Ava, I don’t call her. I’m going to show up at Restoration Acres and hope that she’ll talk to me. I want to show her that I can be a nice boy who turns into a good man. I can actually be what people think I am.

And somehow, it feels like it’ll be a lot easier with Ava in my life.

Forty-Two

Ava