She looked up at V, still at the sink, keeping busy with her dishes.

“Veronica?” she said. The woman turned. Nic started to ask the question that was dying to come out. But then she pulled it back, acutely aware now of where she was. Alone with this stranger in the middle of a forest. One way in and one way out. And no one knew she was here.

V turned around. “What? You find something?” she asked.

Nic got up and managed a warm smile.

“No. I just realized I’m late to meet someone.”

V stepped away from the sink, a look of doubt on her face.

“What did you find in there?” She took a step closer. Nic put the book back in the box.

“Nothing. I should go.”

Nic walked quickly to the door. V didn’t follow.

“Thanks,” Nic said, pulling it open, stepping outside.

She didn’t look back as she closed the door behind her. Then she walked to the car, quickly, sucking in the cool air, turning around, then driving through the woods, back to the main roads.

And thinking about the face she’d just seen in that book.

The face of Jared Reyes.

Chapter Forty-three

Day eighteen

It took most of the night to grind the seeds. The amygdalin is beneath the hard shell. Alice made soup for dinner. I slid the spoon under my leg when she went to the kitchen to get more crackers. When she returned, I drank the soup from the bowl, slurping it loudly. That’s bad manners! she scolded me, but it made her forget about the spoon when she cleared our dishes.

I still had the knife from when we made the sandwiches. Now I had one spoon, which I bent at the top. One spoon and over two hundred seeds. I lay them in the sink, ten or so at a time. I pressed both thumbs into the head of the spoon, twisting and pressing at once, into the seeds. Grinding them between the metal and the porcelain. I collected the mash in a cup, sifting out as many of the hard shells which broke into larger pieces but would not grind.

Thumbs aching, cramping. Arms begging for rest. I did not stop grinding those seeds, making the mash, until I had a small cupful.

I pray now, in the morning light, that it will be enough to make him sick. The amount of amygdalin, and then cyanide, depends on the type of apple and how much evaporates before it can be ingested. It depends on his weight and how quickly he consumes it. There are so many factors. It is not likely he will die. Not at all. But I don’t need him to die.

I hear the car on the gravel outside. I look at Alice and she looks at me. Maybe I am misreading her. We are soldiers about to enter a field of combat.