I wonder where Whit is. Probably back at the car, letting his henchmen do his dirty work. Where did he even meet these people? What happened to the peace-loving dependable man I’ve known my whole life? For what possible reason would he have my entire clan kidnapped and imprisoned? And why can’t he just leave it at that? Why does he need me?
Acid rage burns inside my chest. I want to scream but clench my fists instead, so hard that my fingernails dig painfully into my palms.
I stay in the hole for as long as I can. Finally, when I get to the point where I am so chilled and in pain that I’d prefer capture to staying another minute in the ground, I lift my hand and sweep my cover away.
I sit up. Look around. No one is here but me and a surprised-looking squirrel, who begins chittering wildly as I lift myself up—scolding me for scaring him. I brush off the dirt and leaves and test my foot. It is painful, but I can put a tiny bit of pressure on it. I press gingerly around my ankle. The flesh is swollen, but not enormous like Nome’s when she got it caught in the emergency shelter’s trapdoor. “A light sprain,” Esther, our clan doctor, had said. But Nome couldn’t walk on hers, and I am at least able to hobble my way through the grasslands.
My eyes have adjusted so well to the darkness that I easily locate a large branch on the ground and strip its limbs, trimming it to armpit height with the knife from my pack, rounding off the top so that it doesn’t poke me. I try out my crutch and find I can put enough weight on the stick to walk at a reasonable pace.
I look ahead and see a mountain range emerge abruptly out of the pastureland in the near distance, just a few miles away. I can hide there until I’m sure they’ve finished looking for me, I think, and set off in the direction of the towering peaks.
40
MILES
IT LOOKS LIKE JUNEAU GOT DESPERATE ENOUGH for gas to venture off the tiny side roads to the interstate. But why would she abandon my car? The only explanation I can fathom is that Whit caught up with her while she was getting gas. Either he captured her, or she took off on foot to get away from him.
A nagging thought claws at my heart. Everyone she knows has betrayed her. Her mentor, her parents, and now me. I can’t imagine how it would feel to be completely on your own, with no one you can trust. She opened up to me. Told me all about her bizarre past. And what did I do? Turned her over to my dad.
But . . . (1) it’s not like he’s going to do anything bad to her. He’s a businessman, not a thug.
And (2) she freaking used me last night. She tricked me into kissing her and drugged me. All for her hocus-pocus Yara delusions. I wonder what I even said to her while I was “under the influence.” Something about Whit following her and catching her. And another tidbit about serpents and city near unpotable water. Which she handily interpreted as the Snake River and Salt Lake City.
That was kind of clever, actually, I think. She is a smart girl. She just has her crazy alternate universe mixed up with reality, which is kind of sad.
What’s wrong with me? I get kicked out of school just before graduation, I botch up my one chance to earn some respect from my dad, and I’m falling for a lunatic. I wish I could just wipe the slate clean and start back at square one. If I hadn’t cheated on the test, I would be graduating and getting ready for my freshman year at Yale.
I have to prove myself. I know how Juneau thinks better than these play-it-by-the-rule subservient goons of Dad’s do. As soon as I can get away from them, I’ll continue the search for her on my own.
I ride the rest of the way in silence, trying not to think about her honey-colored eyes.
41
JUNEAU
I’VE PACED MYSELF AT A FAST HOBBLE ACROSS THE pastureland and stay as close as I can to the clumps of trees so that I’m not an easily spottable lone figure wading through the seas of knee-high grass. I see up ahead that at the base of the mountain there is a curtain of trees. Hiding will be easier once I am among them.
I look up at the position of the moon and find the constellations. It’s around midnight.
Setting my sights on a small stream that flows out of the wooded mountainside, I do my hop-limp-hop toward the water. When I reach it, I follow it just past the tree line, and, once hidden among the evergreens, slump to the ground and scoop several handfuls of water to my lips. It is ice-cold and delicious. Filling my canteen, I allow myself a few minutes to recover but know I can’t stay here for long.
I lie back, nesting my head in a pillow of leaves, and close my eyes. I am deep-breathing, trying to restore myself enough to be able to trek for a few hours, when I hear the crunching of boots on twigs. I shoot up into a sitting position, grab my bag, rifle through it, and in three seconds am on one knee, pointing my crossbow in the direction of the light that bobs toward me through the woods.
How did Whit’s men manage to get so far in front of me? I didn’t see anyone else on the pastureland leading up to the mountain. I kneel there, one eye closed, the other peering through my crossbow’s metal sight, when I hear a woman’s voice.