I really want to hate him. For being shirtless and annoying and most of all because he’s right. We are lucky he’s here because I don’t think we could have gotten Mr. Walker out of camp without him.
Emily and I disassemble the final tent while the boys work to secure Mr. Walker to the sled. It’s all a sloppy mess. We’re not good at this survival crap. We don’t have backpacks, and we’re running low on water again. The only thing that’s going right is that the cut on my leg is managing to not get infected. Still, I can’t shake the feeling we’re not alone.
As we’re heading out, I hear something snap behind us. I’ve been hearing breaking branches and crackling leaves all day long. But then a bird flies overhead, shrieking an alarm—a blue jay warning us that something is out there. The jay is gone soon enough, but the tingling at the base of my skull remains.
“Come on,” Lucas says, leading the way out of camp with the awkward, heavy sled behind him.
It’s Jude who finds the number first, maybe forty feet outside of our tents, forty feet from the place where we’ve talked and laughed and tied knots all day. Lucas starts swearing when he sees it; Jude too. But I don’t scream because if I do, I’m not sure I’ll stop.
A dead tree stands, a skeleton sentry with no arms or flesh left to cover the bleached white core of its trunk. Is this what the jay was warning me about? That someone was here, right here, carving a number two into this tree while we worked on, oblivious?
I swallow the rock that has grown in my throat. It scrapes its way down as Lucas clenches his jaw and marches on.
No one says a word. We all know what this means. Yesterday, it was three, but now it is two. It is a countdown.
We are running out of time.
Chapter 12
There is no easy way to drag a two-hundred-pound man up a hill. We’d probably make better time climbing this mountain on greased roller skates than we are with this sled. Lucas and Jude aren’t bad at it, but they’re taller and stronger, and I can still see the dark sweat stains between their shoulder blades.
I’m pretty sure they expect to have to handle it the entire time, but we’re all shaky and hungry, so after maybe half a mile heading north, Emily and I offer to take a turn. Lucas doesn’t seem inclined to drop the heavy work on two exhausted girls, but Jude is ready for a break. They watch in quiet disapproval as we shift back and forth, trying to find a way to hold the branches that form the sled’s handles. Emily’s lucky. Her half has a piece broken off, a nub she can hook her thumb over. For me, it’s just sheer force of will. I’m sure my hands will burn for days from gripping this stupid thing.
We start out dragging it behind us. At the first hill, we try a few ways before deciding we’ll have better leverage climbing backward. Bent over, we inch our way slowly, slowly up, pulling the sled as we go.
“I can help,” Lucas offers.
“We’ll at least get him up the hill,” I say.
Four steps later, Lucas staggers left and then snorts. “This is ridiculous. I could fireman carry him faster than this.”
“Lay off,” Jude says. “They’re helping.”
“I’ll be sure to get their participation medals ready.”
I’d like nothing more than to kill him really dead, but all four of my limbs are shaking so badly, I can’t expend the energy to even snap at him. I’m going to collapse or maybe burst into flames because my muscles are burning hotter with every foot we climb. And my hands—I can’t even think about them.
The forest around us mocks my misery on every level. It’s like the whole place has gone Disney. Birds trill softly, and sunbeams slant through leaves just this side of golden. Everything smells fresh and earthy and warm. Well, everything but us. I’ve met hockey bags that smell better than we do.
I glance over my shoulder. Oh thank God. We’re almost there. This was bad enough on the straight path, but we’ve been heading uphill for four hundred miles. Or forty feet. Whatever. My hands slip on my handle, so I tighten my grip, even though my left palm is scraped raw. It feels way worse than the cut on my leg, and it hasn’t had a day to really get nasty.
We reach a clearing at the top, and sweat trickles down my brow, stinging my eyes. I blink and keep pulling until the sled is on level ground. Then we ease Mr. Walker down, and I look at Emily. I think she might want to cry. If she does, I’m joining in.
“We need a break,” I say.
I’m surprised when Lucas doesn’t taunt us. He just takes the sled and hands me my half-empty water bottle. We move into the shade of an enormous maple. There’s a gnarled root jutting up from the ground. Lucas leans the sled against it so Mr. Walker isn’t flat on his back.
We split up the last bottles of the water, which worries me.
“We’re low on water,” I say. “How long until we hit the road?”
“Hard to tell,” Lucas says. “I know we’ll cross the intersection way before we reach the end point on the trail. But we’re obviously not at full speed.”