Lucas finally emerges from the thicker part of the trees, hair damp with sweat and face red. I can see Mr. Walker squirming on the sled behind him, looking bleary. Lucas looks at the fire, the water, me. Whatever he finds in my expression drains the color from his face.
“We need to find the speaker,” I say, but I don’t know if anyone hears me. I can barely hear myself.
The speaker isn’t hidden. It’s sitting on a fallen tree maybe twenty feet to the right of the fire, a little black box that scares me more than the letters on my arm.
I bend forward so I don’t fall over, propping my hands on my knees for a second. I’m the only one who seems able to move, so I force myself to keep going. When I reach it, my hands tremble around the plastic box. Wireless. I turn it this way and that. Find the switch on the back and flip it off. We are plunged into silence.
My chest curls in tight, a flower closing out the night. The quiet is much worse than the noise. I drop to my butt and listen to my fast breathing and roaring blood. Emily is still sobbing, soft hitches of her shoulders that shake me to the bone.
I look at the fire like it’s under the spotlight. The rest of the stage is set—the water, the cooler, finally the speaker. Lucas was right. This is a trap, a carefully constructed production. And we played our parts to perfection.
Chapter 14
When I was ten, I had a hamster in one of those big cages with the tubes that led to different levels and little play areas. My dad was so proud when he set that thing up. I used to spend hours watching the hamster scamper down the curving slides and up the brightly colored ladders. Mom called it Plastic Alcatraz. Dad and I argued that the hamster wouldn’t survive on its own, but Mom always said dead is better than caged. At least it would be free.
Mom loved saying freedom almost as much as she loved to say follow your heart. I probably should have had some sort of spidey tingle, some internal alarm when Mr. Walker peppered the word freedom into every speech about this camping trip.
“Someone should check the cooler,” Jude says without moving to do it himself.
Lucas’s nostrils flare, the sudden friendliness between them straining. “Were you expecting one of us to play support staff for you?”
“I was just putting it out there,” Jude says, but apparently, he can’t resist either because his smile tightens. “Though support staff is a job title you should get used to.”
I lumber to my feet, feeling shaky. “Don’t start up again. I’ll check the cooler.”
“Sera…” Emily’s cheeks are pale.
She’s afraid of what’s inside, and suddenly, I am too. I catch a glimpse of the black letters on Jude’s arm and think of Ms. Brighton’s detached finger. I really don’t want to find the rest of her in here.
“I can check it,” Lucas offers.
“I’m fine. Just give me a second.”
I press my fingers to the top of the cooler and wait, assessing. I’ve seen coolers like this at garage sales and picnics. It’s older, olive green with a yellowed plastic handle. Nothing special or particularly ominous.
OK. On with it. I pull my chin back even as I push the lid open.
My shoulders relax instantly. “No fingers, so that’s a plus.”
“What’s in it?” Jude asks.
“Cups of grapefruit. Greek yogurt.” My hands shake as I move the tubs aside, then my spine stiffens. “Packets of SunButter and crackers. It’s food.”
“What the hell is SunButter?” Lucas asks.
“Sunflower seed butter,” Jude says. “People with nut allergies use it.”
I stare at the packets, at the little tubs lined up, exactly like the ones in my fridge at home. I tip back a familiar-looking Greek yogurt. Blueberry. I snap the cooler lid closed with a shudder.
Emily shifts on the ground. “You’re allergic to nuts, right, Sera?”
“Yes.” I pick at a cuticle on my thumbnail and feel the weight of three gazes settling on my shoulders like a yoke. The seven letters on my arm feel like the numbers underneath a mugshot. I’m guilty. Guilty because I’m Darling. Which means I’m somehow chosen. Trouble is, I don’t know what I’m chosen for.
“The SunButter is for you,” Emily says softly.
I shrug. “Anyone can eat it.” It sounds pathetic, even to me. This was left for me like an offering. A present. The hunger pangs that have haunted me all day vanish.
“Shit,” Jude says softly.
“Don’t,” Lucas warns. “Sera?”
I can’t look at him. I can’t look at any of them. I shove to my feet because sitting here isn’t possible now.
“I need to use the restroom.” I say it like we’re in the middle of chemistry class and not lost in Notown, Nowhere, with a psycho stalker cutting off fingers and packing me custom-made lunches.
“Alone?” Emily asks. “It’s dark.”
“It’s not that dark.” My voice cracks. I’m going to cry. I shake my head.