Homecoming

Glass crossed to Luke and gently roused him. “Luke,” she whispered in his ear. “I’m going to move you, okay? We need to get back to camp.” He didn’t respond. Glass slid her hands under his arms, crossed her arms over his chest, and, with a grunt, eased him onto the floor. He flinched as his injured leg moved, but didn’t wake up. She pulled him onto the sled and fastened the sheet around him. Glass squatted down, grabbed the rope and looped it around her hands, and rose to a standing position. She took a few steps forward, and Luke moved along the floor behind her. It had worked.

Glass grabbed Luke’s gun—though she wasn’t sure she had the nerve to use it—and lumbered toward the door. At the last second, she turned back and snatched a pack of matches off the table in case she’d need to start a fire during their journey. The weight behind her was awkward and threw her off-center, but she would have to get the hang of it. Without a backward glance, she stepped out of the cabin, dragging the sled behind her into the narrow clearing that circled the house.

Thwack! Glass spun her head around, searching for the source of the sound. Thwack! It came again.

She glanced at the forest. In the twilight, every shadow looked like it could be an enemy.

She lunged back toward the cabin, yanking Luke behind her. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and felt something whiz by her ear.

Glass strained against the weight of the sled and heard Luke groan in pain. She yanked open the door and charged through it as an arrow smacked in the door frame, quivering where her head had been only a split second before.

The sled slid in after her, and Glass dropped the harness and slammed the door shut, just as two more arrows thudded into it. She leaned against the closed door, gripping the gun in her suddenly clammy hand. She looked around the cabin. Could she barricade the door? Would they break in through one of the windows?

She latched the door and tentatively lifted Luke’s gun, steeling herself. If one of the Earthborns broke in through the window, could she fight them? Could she bring herself to fire a gun at another living person? Even if she did, there was clearly more than one of them. One girl who had never before fired a gun was no match for a group of murderous Earthborns.

From the sled, Luke groaned.

“It’s going to be all right. I’ll figure something out,” she said, wincing at the lie. How could she escape a cabin that was surrounded by angry Earthborns?

She peered through the corner of a window. The graying light played tricks with the shadows, but there was movement out there. Figures darted between the trees, their hands gripping bows and axes.

Glass leaned against the door and closed her eyes. This was it. This time, they would finish off Luke and kill her too.

She listened for the sound of footsteps, the crash of windows, the feel of the door being smashed open behind her.

No sound came but the wind, and the rush of the river. They were expecting her to come out. Had they been outside the entire time, waiting for her to emerge so they could get a clean shot?

They had her cornered. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do but hope that they’d get tired of waiting and batter down the door or crash in through the windows. Her mind raced, searching for any way out.

Even if she was able to distract them long enough to get away from the cabin without being riddled with arrows, what then?

Frantic, she cast her eyes around the room, desperate for something—anything—she could use as a distraction, to buy them some time. Nothing. She was about to let out a scream of frustration when she realized there was something in her hand. She’d been clutching it so tightly she’d almost forgotten about it. Glass uncurled her fingers, and there, squashed in her palm, were the matches she’d grabbed on her way out the door.

A desperate, foolish plan formed in her mind. If she couldn’t outrun them to the river, she would need to find a way to escape that didn’t call for running. Before she had time to think better of it, she set to work.

Glass crawled across the floor and sat under the window by the front door. She wrapped a strand of the ripped bed sheet around the end of a piece of firewood and struck a match. She lit the sheet, and a few seconds later, she was gripping a burning torch.

As the flame flickered and grew, Glass took a deep breath and counted down. “Three, two, one…” She jumped up and with a quick glance out the open window, aimed for the pile of dried firewood Luke had stacked up against the wall of the cabin before he’d gotten hurt.

She dropped back down to the floor and waited. There was silence, and for a painful moment, she thought her plan had already failed. Then she heard it: a sharp crackling, followed by a soft whoosh as the pile of wood caught fire. The cabin began to glow as the flames caught on the brush and spread outward toward the woods—just as she’d hoped.