THE COMPLICATIONS BEGIN at the end of the plank walkway.
It is a total dead end, and doesn’t lead anywhere significant—just to more foliage, and behind that, rock. The water, with its strange glassy-black surface, curves around to the far side of the lodge. Unless we go in blind with canoes or attempt to climb up and through the thick barrier of foliage, we won’t be able to get any closer.
Phoenix and Lonan have an entire conversation with their eyes. Finally, Phoenix says, “You want lead, or should I take it?”
“Go ahead,” Lonan says. He glances my way, which I take as an invitation to voice any objections. I decide to stay out of it, for now, unless Phoenix says something that makes absolutely no sense.
Phoenix nods, tightens the straps on his backpack. “Alexa, Cass—you’re with me. Eden and Hope will go with Lonan.”
Alexa, Cass, and Hope all start to protest, and I’m on the verge of joining in—it seems like a better idea to leave Cass behind altogether, given his HoloWolf complications—but Lonan’s voice overtakes them: “This is the best split, so please try to get over yourselves. A lot more than our own comfort is at stake here. We have a better shot at finding Finnley if we’re looking in more than one place.”
He conveniently leaves out the part about looking for the cure, as the girls don’t know about it, and he definitely doesn’t mention his secret mission for the Allied Forces.
We all have our secrets. Like the dread and hope fluttering within me, twin butterflies that chase each other in circles: Did the people here know my father? Are they the ones who sent me the vial, the book? Are they the ones who pried the ring from his cold, dead finger?
Are they the reason he’s gone?
“We good?” Phoenix says, glancing cautiously from Cass to Alexa, then to me.
If these people did take my father from me, there’s nothing I’d love more than to take something back in return. I have so many questions, though— What does the cure look like? How do we administer it? How will we know if it worked? Where is the science kept, and how do we plan to steal it, let alone lock the Wolves out of it?—but I’m guessing Lonan has exactly zero answers. At least I know what Envirotech’s old blueprints looked like. That’s a start.
“Yeah,” I say, finally. “We’re good.”
“Okay, then,” Phoenix goes on. “Lonan’s group will take the canoes. Everyone with me, get ready to force your way through the foliage.”
“Cass,” Hope says, “how’s your arm? Is your sling going to get in the way?”
The guys have another wordless exchange. Lonan appears to be the hesitant one of the group, but Phoenix speaks up: “It’s been a little while since you hurt it— Was it okay while we were in that last cave?”
I’m guessing this must be code for Well, you haven’t tried to kill anyone in a while, so maybe we’re past the trigger points.
Cass looks a little reluctant, but one glance at the foliage-heavy barrier says he thinks he’ll be useless without both arms. He certainly wouldn’t be much use in a canoe.
“Yeah,” he says. “I think I can manage without the sling.”
“Be sure and help him if it starts to hurt again, Phoenix,” Lonan says. More code, I assume.
“Anything else before we split?” I ask. I’m on board with their strategy, I decide. It’s obvious they’re not going at this thoughtlessly—Lonan would have considered leaving Cass behind, I’m sure of it. He must think we’ll be stronger this way, even with the added risk. “Are we planning to meet up after we’re finished here? How will we know everyone made it out okay?”
Phoenix fishes around in his backpack, then pulls out a pair of thin black devices. He keeps one and tosses the other to Lonan. “Two-way radios, so we can reconnect,” he explains. “Solar charged. Also, Hope, if you could please take off that blasted sweater, we’ll have a better shot at blending in.”
My cardigan is tattered and stained, hardly the bright yellow it once was, but it’s still an unnatural color amid all this green. Hope leaves it in a crumpled heap on the cave floor. It’s all I can do not to pick it up—but carrying a bright yellow cardigan isn’t all that different from wearing one, when it comes to blending in. If only Phoenix’s pack weren’t so full.
Lonan clips the small, sleek radio to his pants, just above his right hip. “Okay, everyone,” he says. “Do your best to stay out of sight, but be prepared to defend yourselves. And if all goes to hell, we’re aiming to accomplish two things: get what we’re looking for, and try not to die.”
Neither task will be without its challenges.
Hope, Lonan, and I choose our canoe arbitrarily. It’s an exact replica of the other four that bob idly against our dead-end walkway, except for a faded red stripe down its nose. I pray the red is paint, and not the dried remnants of someone else’s life.
I steal an extra pair of paddles from one of the other boats, and then all three of us pile into the same canoe. Even if we don’t use them, they may come in handy as weapons.
“You have experience with tandem paddling?” he asks.
“Only five summers’ worth at sleepaway camp.” Not that I asked for so much experience—it was a mandatory part of every camper’s schedule. “I’m good in either position. You?”
“Same.”
Just because I’m experienced in canoeing, it doesn’t mean I’ve ever enjoyed it. I had nightmares, all throughout my childhood, of snakes in dark water. So very many nights, Dad would check under my bed to reassure me that none were waiting to sink their fangs into me. He must have spent a fortune on flashlight bulbs.
The fiercest nightmare, the recurring one, was of water moccasins: at first, in the dream, there is only one. It slithers past my calf, coils itself around my ankle. And then the others come, a pair from each direction on the surface of the water, more than I can count underneath. They never strike, but instead kill me by squeezing all the air from my lungs.
I wake up every time with my heart pounding in my chest, trying to jump-start my lungs back into action and remind them to breathe.
Oceans full of sharks don’t scare me, and neither do clear-to-the-bottom streams.
It’s murky, stagnant water that’s hard. And being surrounded by it on all sides.
“Breathe, Eden.” Lonan has nearly perfected the art of calling me back to myself. I wish he hadn’t had so many chances to work on this art. “Your mind is stronger than your circumstances. Remember that.”
I nod. He’s had plenty of opportunities to perfect his strong mind, too, I remind myself. Cleaning his parents’ blood from their kitchen tile was likely a harsh way to begin.