We couldn’t save Cassie, and so we’ll save him. Jasper doesn’t say that, but that’s what he means. It’s what he wants to believe. Except he doesn’t, not really. I can feel that he doesn’t. Jasper is afraid that my dad is walking into a trap, that maybe he already has. And so am I. I’m terrified, actually. But I am trying so hard to stay above it, not to let my panic overwhelm me. Because my dad needs me right now. He needs me not to be afraid.
Jasper and I are still holding hands when there’s a sound at the back of the trailer, the lock being flipped open. A second later, the door rolls up loudly.
Dark still. I was hoping for light, even though I know that would be impossible. We’re still hours from dawn, a whole nighttime stretching between here and tomorrow. But morning would have felt like such proof everything was going to be okay. Even if another part of me knows that it’s already too late for okay. Cassie is dead. Nothing can change that.
“Now get your asses out of there before somebody sees you,” the driver says, waving us out. At least we are at a truck stop like we asked. “And you better not have taken any goddamn crackers.”
I climb out of the truck to the ordinary hum of the nearby, late evening, highway traffic. The parking lot is mostly quiet. A few drivers are filling up their cars, truckers chatting with coffee in hand. Businesspeople, a few families in and out of the building. Life. As if nothing has changed. And I wonder for a second whether it really has, whether we might have imagined everything.
No, I shouldn’t let myself do that. Pretend that Cassie is alive. It will be worse to have to remember that she really is gone. That all of it really did happen. I know that. Cassie and my mom are both gone and I am all alone. I don’t know what I will do without them. Can’t imagine how I will survive. But I have to focus on the here and the now: my dad. We need to warn him. Need to make sure that he doesn’t go to Camp Colestah. Doesn’t go where his supposedly dear old friend Dr. Simons has convinced him he needs to be. Because maybe I should be angry enough not to care what happens to him, but all I can think about is how badly I need for him to survive.
Inside the rest stop, there’s a woman at a table near a McDonald’s holding a sleeping baby in her arms while trying to get the tired little girl across from her to eat some more of her chicken nuggets. She looks right up at me when I step inside. Like I’ve tripped some kind of alarm. Concerned in that motherly way. For her own children. For me. It’s hard to tell.
But she will say yes about the phone. I feel sure of it. She will do her best to help. Still, she grips her baby a little tighter when I head her way. Leans in closer to the little girl. It’s hard to blame her. I can only imagine what I look like. Exhausted, filthy, covered in soot. Like a liar. Because that’s the reality: my truth has become the sum of so many lies.
“Do you think I could borrow your phone?” I ask her. “It’s an emergency. I lost my cell phone and I need to call my dad.”
“Um, sure,” she says. Definitely nervous, though, as she pushes her phone quickly across the table to me, flicks her eyes toward her daughter, who is sitting just inches away from me.
“Thank you.” I step away, which seems to make the woman relax a little. “I’ll be quick.”
I hope she doesn’t notice my hands, trembling as I dial my dad’s cell phone number. I take a couple more steps. Not so far that she thinks I’m taking her phone, but far enough that she won’t overhear every insane word I’m about to say. But my heart catches when the call goes straight to my dad’s voice mail. Not even a single ring. Is he close to the camp? Is he already on borrowed time?
“Are you okay?” the woman asks, so much like Lexi. “Do you need help?”
When I look up, she’s staring at me. Yes, I want to say. I need so much help.
“Can I just make one more call?” I ask, moving back to her. “To my house. My dad’s cell phone is off.”
“Sure.” She shifts the baby to her other leg, glances in the direction of Jasper, and then over to a security guard near the door. She knows there’s a lot I’m not saying. She can tell. Maybe because she’s just a nice person. Or maybe because she’s an Outlier. And maybe she’ll never even know. “Go ahead.”
I’ve only got one more chance—one more call before she’ll at least insist on getting “help.” Gideon is my only option. My face feels hot as I dial his cell number, hope that I can get through to him. Hope that he’ll do exactly what needs to be done.
“Hello?” Gideon answers before I can move out of earshot again.