There was a loud pop, like an umbrella bursting open.
“Huh?—”
Shoko looked up at Shindo, eyes wide open.
Blood spread in a dark stain from the leg of Shoko’s sweatpants.
The bow and arrow fell out of her hands. She tumbled to her knees, crashing down into the ankle-deep water.
“Shoko!”
Shindo spun around. There was a pistol in Utagawa’s quivering hand. His mouth opened and closed, mouthing words without a voice.
Huge smile on his face.
“You—!”
Shindo exploded.
Charging toward him, she heard a huge crack overhead, and then another, like the sky was splitting open. Instinctively, she held her breath—but felt no pain in her entire body.
Piling up, the cracking sounds grew louder and more violent.
Everyone looked up: Utagawa, Shindo, Shoko, the men collapsed in the water. They all looked at the cracking sounds, coming from up the hill.
It was a landslide. Snapping trees in half.
A flume of muddy water coming down the hill.
The sky went on forever, the way it does in fall.
No cars were on the road along the shore. Waves crashed into a concrete seawall, shooting mist into the air. The few buildings were deserted. Hard wheels crunched over bits of rock and sand along the sidewalk, up the shore.
“Gonna be a hot one.”
Pushing a big metal shopping cart marked with the logo of the supermarket, Yoriko Shindo looked up at the sky. One step after the other. The salty air blew through her hair in bursts, like sheets of cloud. In front of a ruined pachinko parlor, she took her time crossing the street.
“I haven’t seen the ocean in a while,” said Shoko. She was seated in the cart, sweatpants smeared with mud, left leg splinted using strips of wood and electrical tape.
The gentle sound of waves enclosed the street. They had it to themselves.
“Where are we . . . going?” Shoko asked.
“Heading north,” said Yoriko.
“I thought we were going someplace warm.”
Seabirds made big circles in the blue. Like they weighed nothing, riding on air.
“Sho, remember that old story my gramma used to tell me, about Baba Yaga?”
“Of course I do—of course.”
“I’ve been thinking it’s about time we turned into Baba Yagas. The real thing.”
“That’s why we’re going north?”
“Yeah. We’ll cross the ocean to the place where Gramma was born. Hike through the woods until we find a house on chicken legs. Then cook some mushrooms in a giant pot, pick us some strawberries, and cast spells on the locals and their livestock. Oh, yeah, and we can get a dog. And a cat, too. More the merrier. Anyone without a place to go can live with us.”
Shoko let out a gravelly laugh.
“Sounds fun. I’m excited.”
“So am I. We’re gonna become Baba Yagas. Finally.”
Yoriko pushed the cart ahead. The road was long, stretching off into the distance. Across the water, all that could be seen was the horizon.
“I’ve always wondered why I had to be born with this body, all this energy to burn. I can try to be a normal person, let the years go by, but it never goes away. Burning inside of me. Pushing me to use it. Honestly, I’m a monster. But maybe that explains it. If I was born to be a Baba Yaga, everything makes sense. Trying to live life as a normal person—never worked for me. But this clears everything up. I’ve always been a Baba Yaga. That’s why we made it this far. So that you and me could be the Baba Yagas that we are.”
Shoko was quiet.
“Hey, Sho . . . Shoko . . .”
Yoriko said her name, in a voice muted by the waves.
