The hairy arm retreated and the woods went unnaturally quiet.
But Miriam was too frightened to move.
“It was just a raccoon," she whispered to Beatrix. “What else could it have been?”
Beatrix offered no other ideas.
Clutching her little hatchet in one hand and her doll in the other, the girl balanced her flashlight on her knees, shaking like a feather in a storm.
They kept vigil through the night, even as the mosquitoes found the much bigger hole, forcing Miriam to pull up her hood and tug the drawstrings tight. Even as her eyes grew heavy. Even as the electric light dimmed, growing fainter till it sputtered from white to orange to red.
And then all was black again.
Miriam woke to a chilly twilight and the sound of hushed voices.
“I told you, it’s a human pup. I won’t have nuthin to do with it.”
“No. I seen it! It’s full grown,” said another, more gravelly voice.
“And besides,” said a third, “it’s lost. You know the rules. We only got till sunrise.”
“It’s lost because YOU covered up the trail,” came the first voice again.
“So what?”
“I don’t like it. This ain’t what I signed up for. HE wouldn’t like it.”
“HE ain’t here. But I am. So you does as I says.”
The whispering grew louder. Miriam’s elbow brushed against a zipper in the tent flap. Perhaps she could sneak away, but would need a free hand. She would have to choose between the hatchet and Beatrix.
Miriam bit her lip and begged the stars to let her open the tent quietly. The stars refused with a loud zzzziiiiip.
“What’s that?” came the second voice. Or was it the third?
And then Miriam was running, crashing through the low brush with Beatrix clutched to her chest. The sounds of pursuit came up quickly behind her, war cries and bellows that seemed, to her, rather small.
The sleeve of Miriam’s hoodie caught on a tree branch. She spun, ripping it free and slashing the branch across her arm. She felt blood trickle down her wrist.
She risked a backward glance to look for her pursuers.
Nothing!
But there, a dozen steps behind, a palmetto rattled in the twilight as though something had crashed through it. A pointed shape poked above the line of bushes. Was it a... hat?
She dared not slow down.
If only I can make it to the service road, she thought. I’ll be a good girl. I’ll stop doing things that make Dad angry and I’ll welcome Elisa into our home and even sweep up after her terrible little dog.
The sun burst through the treeline, blinding her with golden rays. She held up a hand against the light.
Is that the sound of the river? she wondered.
There might be other campers! Someone who could save her.
The rushing water grew louder. Everything would be okay as long as she kept running.
Miriam blinked away the glare, just in time to see the edge of a bluff where she skidded to a halt. It was the river! How had she missed it before? A group of tents surrounded a smoldering fire. Other campers! She would be safe!
She just needed a way down. But the cliff was steep and she could not catch her breath. She looked behind her. Had her pursuers given up?
She leaned against a tree, smearing blood on a branch. Heaving, her breath still would not come.
She turned back.
There! That shape in the scrub. It was a hat.
The hat was red. Like her hooded jacket. Like the blood on the tree.
Roots wound down the side of the bluff. Perhaps she could climb.
Miriam leaned toward the edge, reaching out a hand.
And tripped. Or was she pushed?
Either way, she and Beatrix tumbled like baby birds from the nest.
This is not part of the BIG PLAN, she thought as she fell.
And then, quite suddenly, the falling stopped.
Miriam’s final living thought was a wish.
Not for her father to catch her or for the chance to tell her mother goodbye. She didn’t wish for nicer friends or cleaner clothes or a bigger trailer to live in.
In that moment, the girl wished to know what the hell had torn into her tent, chased her to the edge of a cliff, and pushed her to her death.
Miriam Lockhart wished for revenge.
And because it was her dying wish, there was magic in it.