“No, he won’t,” I said. “He wants me alive, remember? He wants me to take Mom’s place. That’s the whole point.” I let him go and turned toward the slow and quiet swish of the front door opening.
It sounded, in this silent storm, like Mitch was just feet from us when he shouted, “Randy’s going to be fine,” startling us both. “I took him to the hospital in Leadville, and he’s in surgery right now. Where are you?”
I breathed slowly into my sleeve so the vapor cloud wouldn’t give away our position, and signaled for Dekker to do the same, but he was panting like a draft horse. I lifted his arm against his mouth.
Mitch was taking his time, because he knew these woods. He knew the snow and the altitude and the cold.
I got down to double--knot my running shoes and pull up my socks, then stood.
Dekker leaned into me. “I need to tell you something,” he whispered.
“Tell me later,” I said, making sure my knife was secure on my bra, my thoughts already elsewhere. “We don’t have time right now.”
He gripped my shoulders and drew me close.
“There might not be a later. I need to tell you right now. I stole your mom’s necklace because I wanted to be a hero and find it because I can’t do anything else for you. I’m sorry.”
In the midst of this wild crisis, his declaration filled me with joy. “There will be a later. That’s a promise. There will be.”
The terror in his eyes broke my heart. “But—-”
I drew his face to mine and kissed him on the lips. Then I pressed my forehead to his and looked in his eyes. “I need to tell you something too,” I said. “I’m not crazy. And I didn’t kill my dad.”
“I know,” he said.
“Thank you for everything,” I said. “Now go. This is not how it ends for you.”
I let go of him, pushed off and ran.
Making as much noise as possible, I purposely stepped on branches and panted loudly. My chest felt like it was in a vise, and the lack of oxygen made my leg muscles burn. But I ran as fast as I ever have in my life.
Look for a fixed point and memorize it.
Michael, my real dad, had told me this dozens of times when we practiced direction.
Mark it by the angle of the sun. Run to it then find your next point.
The sun was nearly gone now, but a fixed point loomed in the distance. I ran toward the barren and ruined mountain on which the Black Star mine sat. I knew if I ran straight, I would hit the mine, and hopefully a telephone. If there was no phone, I’d head east on the road, and then nothing could stop me. Except a gunshot.
The light faded, and suddenly, as if someone had dropped a curtain, it was night. But the snow had a glow all its own, and I could see. Which meant I could be seen.
The road was just a half mile in front of me. I couldn’t run as fast on this forest ground, but I was going to make it to the road. Some low branches wrenched hair from the side of my head. I felt the cold of air on blood. Another branch snagged my pants, and another struck me full in the face, stunning me for a moment. But on I ran.
Silently, I thanked my father for making me run.
I glanced back to see if Mitch was following me. No Mitch.
The fading thrum of a car’s engine—-likely Mitch’s Taurus—-told me the car was heading away from me, which meant east. Was it really, or was this landscape playing audio tricks on me? I stopped and listened. A squeal of brakes. A shout.
The road snaked away, a river of asphalt in the dim reflected light. Here came the Taurus. Mitch had reversed direction and was headed west now. I crouched and watched the car drive past.
Dekker was in the backseat, his face pressed grotesquely against the window. I couldn’t tell if it was the weird light, but his face appeared to be bloody.
Where was Mitch taking him?
But then I knew.
To the mine. To the tailings pond, one of the deepest in North America.
Chapter 29
I THOUGHT I must have the flu, my head hurt so much, and that my mom was driving me to the doctor in the middle of the night during a snowstorm. The cool of the window glass felt good, but it did nothing for the strain I felt in my shoulders and the sharp pain in my wrists. My nose itched. I tried to scratch it but found I couldn’t move my arms.
As my eyes focused, I knew I wasn’t going to wake up from this nightmare, safe and cozy in my own bed. This nightmare was real, and it was not going to end well.
I was in the backseat of Mitch Bellandini’s Ford Taurus.
And my head didn’t hurt because of the flu. It hurt because Mitch had hit me over the head then tied my hands together behind my back so tightly my fingers were numb and tingling.
Where was Mitch taking me? Where was Petty?
I tried to remember what had happened. I remembered running through the pines and out to the paved road, the relief I’d felt when I got there. I remembered hearing a car drive up behind me then swerving into my path on the shoulder. But that’s all I remembered.