There was no food left in the cabin. Mattie wondered if the storehouse was unlocked as she’d suspected it was the day before.
She also wondered if it was safe to go outside.
No noise of any kind had disturbed her sleep the previous night. After the screaming, the roaring, the firing of William’s weapon there had been nothing. Mattie hoped that meant that both William and the creature were gone.
If we can only get a head start, she thought. The creature had to sleep sometime, and if they were lucky it had dragged William away somewhere.
The memory that had emerged while she slept prompted a fierce and burning hope that William had been ripped to shreds by the creature.
Mattie pulled on her coat and boots and went to the front door. She put her ear against it, listening for the sound of William leaning against the door. No matter how still he was he would make some noise, even if it was just the scrape of his jacket against the wood.
For a moment she thought she heard him breathing, heard the sound of his heart pulsing
（pulsing like the heart the creature gave us last night when I touched that thing it was still warm and I’ll never tell anyone that never）
but then she realized it was her own heartbeat thrumming against the wood. He wasn’t out there. He couldn’t be. If he was then he would be knocking on the door, demanding that Mattie open up and make his breakfast.
Her stomach rumbled. She was used to going without food, used to waiting for William to decide what they would eat and how much she should get. But the sandwich she’d eaten the night before—that decadent, buttered thing—had somehow made her hungrier than she’d ever been. She’d been full when she went to sleep, a feeling that she could not remember ever having since she came to live with William. And having felt full it seemed that she was greedy for that feeling again, the feeling of having eaten all she wanted and not needing any more.
“Are you going out?” C.P. asked.
Mattie started. She hadn’t heard him rise from the bed. She’d been listening through the door and then she’d gotten distracted, drifted away in her mind the way William always told her not to do.
William doesn’t have any say any longer. You don’t belong to him. You never did.
C.P. stood in the doorway to the bedroom, wearing his pants and shirt and socks. His very black hair was rumpled from sleep and he yawned.
“I was going to go out to the storehouse,” Mattie said, answering his question. She was very happy to hear that her voice was practically back to normal. It only sounded a little strained, and it didn’t hurt to talk—at least, it didn’t hurt as much as it had the day before. “There’s no food left here.”
“Do you think it’s safe to go out? Not to be crude or anything, but my back teeth are floating.”
Mattie tilted her head at him, confused. What did his teeth have to do with anything?
“I have to take a piss,” C.P. said.
“Oh,” Mattie said, and flushed. “Of course. The outhouse is behind the cabin.”
“Yeah, we saw it the other day,” he said. “Me and Griffin. I can’t believe you lived here for twelve years without a flush toilet.”
Mattie thought of telling him that the outhouse was hardly the worst indignity she’d suffered, but decided it wasn’t worth it. He only looked half-awake anyway. She wasn’t sure he’d understand anything she said.
“Look, I’ll get my jacket and the rifle,” he said. “And then we can go out and get some food from the storehouse and I can, erm . . .”
“Yes,” she said quickly, and turned away to get her own coat and boots.
A moment later C.P. emerged from the bedroom dressed for the cold and carrying the rifle. He stopped to check the ammunition before they went out.
“I’d feel like an ass if it wasn’t loaded,” he said. “Now, you get behind the door and open it slowly. If there’s anything outside I want to take care of it right away and I don’t want to shoot you by accident.”
Mattie positioned herself against the door while C.P. stood facing it, the rifle at his shoulder. She pulled the door open, using it as a shield, all the while thinking, He’s taking all the risk on himself. I shouldn’t let him do that. I should be ready to defend us, too.
But she didn’t know what she would defend herself with, or even how.
She felt an unbearable pitch of suspense in her throat, expected William to charge through the open doorway, expected C.P. to fire the rifle. Instead C.P. huffed out a long, relieved breath.