Free The Wicked We Have Done by Sarah Harian Page B

liberal pile of blankets peeking out. Even pillows.
    “The shack’s a pantry—lots of canned meat, vacuumed cheese, pots, pans, utensils, you name it. Found the tent and blankets in there too.”
    “How’d you find it?” Casey asks.
    The brightness in her eyes falters. “I was with Jace and Erity when we ran from the lodge. When I lost them in the woods, I wandered.”
    Jace. “She’s at the lake all by herself. We didn’t mean to leave her there. She probably thinks we’re dead.”
    “What happened? I mean, you two came out of the fucking
ground
.”
    The darkness is coming back—Meghan’s brains on the cave floor. The water, the cold.
    My violent shivers won’t stop. Valerie hands me a folded blanket from the tent, and I stare at it until she huffs, shakes it out, and drapes it over my shoulders.
    Casey explains it all, from the moment we ran from the house. Erity and the demon, Jace’s stab wound, the dissolving blade, the hunger, the crate. The tentacle, the cave.
    The entire time Valerie sits cross-legged, expressionless. As if she’s not surprised by any of this. When Casey’s finished, she says, “Found Blaise’s body.”
    My mouth hangs open. If the news is a shock to me, it’s completely unbelievable to Casey.
    “No,” he whispers. “That’s impossible.”
    “Bullet hole through the temple.” Valerie shakes her head. “Why so impossible?”
    Casey sits back in thought. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “I roomed with him back at the lodge. He . . . well, first, he tried to bring me to Jesus.”
    “Not all Christians are saints, but okay,” says Valerie.
    “It wasn’t just that. He . . . He seemed so sorry for what he’d done. That it was a mistake. I mean, he was blackout drunk when he killed those guys.”
    “I don’t know, Casey.” Valerie runs her fingers through her hair. “People lie. And I’m sure they lie here to try and make themselves seem more innocent than they are.”
    It’s my turn to speak up. “Tanner seemed to think the same of Blaise. He was pretty sure that Blaise was going to make it out of here.” Another thought comes to me. “How did Blaise kill those people?”
    “He was at a house party, got wasted, and found a loaded pistol in the master bedroom, I think,” explains Valerie. “Meaning that he died by the hand of his own crime.”
    “Like Erity and Salem.”
    “You know what this means, though, don’t you?” Valerie’s eyes flicker to mine. “You’re the only one to survive it.”
    She’s right. I should have died in that cave. When I saw the desk I told Casey to leave because I knew that my crime was going to re-create itself in some form, and it was going to kill me.
    But it didn’t. It doesn’t make any sense.
    “Maybe it was supposed to and somehow I beat it. Somehow I escaped.”
    “I can’t see that happening,” says Valerie. “This mode of justice is supposed to be pretty bulletproof. If it weren’t, then it wouldn’t have been approved to be used. They would have let all of us rot in prison.” She holds up two fingers. “I think there are two possible reasons why you’re still alive. One: they didn’t get an accurate enough reading and let you go—for now. Two: you aren’t as evil as everyone says you are, Ibarra.”
    I shake my head. It can’t be the latter.
    “Welp.” She stands. “You two simmer on that. I’m gonna follow this stream a bit and hopefully rescue Jace.” She pauses and glances over at her spoils, realizing that she’s leaving us alone with everything she needs to survive.
    “We’ll be here when you get back. Alliance, remember?”
    Valerie narrows her eyes. “Alliances are for idiots.”
    “You know what that makes me, then.”
    With swagger, she walks backward. “Whatever. They’ll probably kill us all anyway, right? You guys look like shit. Might as well rest and eat. Hey, maybe that’ll earn me some brownie points—being virtuous and all. I might get to live an extra