His eyes, again, catch on the inside of her head and go hunting around in there, and it feels like someone is watching her through a dark window of night. He sits there, tied down, like an Egyptian statue at the entrance of some ancient underworld cave.

She doesnt want her secrets to be his secrets. She stands and takes the gun from the coffee table.

Well, she says, you aint done nothin yet but be a pest to me. And I dont reckon I can kill you for that.

You got a righteous honour to you, girl. You and me, well sweep a little more of the dust away from the earth before we settle down to cuttin throats.

*

Upstairs she sits on the bed next to the man with the slow grey eyes and the pan-shaped face. She thinks about how similar in stature he is to Moses Todd, except this man paws at the air and drifts without thought of creation or the hand of God. She rubs her hand back and forth over his shaved head and feels the bristly hair coming in. He cranes his neck and looks questioningly at her hand, and she shows it to him, palm up, fingers splayed. He covers it with his own giant mitt.

All right, dummy, she says. I guess this is where we part ways.

He plays gently with her fingers.

Be good now. They gonna be surprised to find you still here in the morning and me gone, but theyll treat you good. Just dont let em feed you to that daddy of theirs, and youll be okay.

She smiles at him, and he continues to toy with her fingers.

Just kiddin with you, dummy. They aint gonna hurt you, theyre good folk.

Her plan is to tell James Grierson to watch over Moses Todd while she makes her getaway. Hell be too distracted to notice what she left behind.

The Griersons, theyll take care of the dummy. Better than she can. Shes no wet nurse, no righteous saviour of meek men. She knows where she belongs with the cannibals and the madmen, with the eaters of flesh and the walkers of a blight land, with the abominations. Shes done things that mark her for ever, as good as a brand on her forehead and her denial of them would be fruitless. It would be vanity.

*

Where are you going to go? James Grierson asks.

North, I was thinking. She shrugs.