“Remember,” he says when we pull away, “this is the last time you can trust me until you find the cure.”
Because they’re fast, he doesn’t have to say. Because he’ll be compromised as soon as he turns himself over.
It is the perfect benediction. The Wolfpack has stolen everything from us. Now that I know it’s possible for me to trust another person again—now that I know there is another person alive who’s worth trusting—I refuse to let them take that, too.
Lonan’s been my defender today, the person who brought me back to myself every time I started to spiral. Now he’s about to risk his life to turn the tides of an entire war.
It’s time for me to return the favor.
FIFTY-NINE
OUR CANOE ZIPS along, now that the mass of one Lonan-sized person isn’t there to anchor it down. Alexa and I paddle like our lives depend on it—that could also have something to do with our speed.
When the canal bends out of the cave and back into the open air, the night is alive. A river of stars fills the clearing above us, as if this black water has somehow managed to reflect a sparkling, shimmering light on the canvas of the sky. The lodge’s yellow glow makes it easier to navigate: we’re not completely in the dark. Leaves and limbs toss and sway in the breeze.
I focus on carving my paddles into the water with everything I have. If anyone sees us, they’ll shoot us. It won’t change anything if we see them first—where is there to go? So we row, row, row with as much drive as we can muster.
Every snap, every swish, every shuffle sets me on edge. But no one comes for us. No one shoots.
We are slick with sweat by the time we reach the mouth of the tunnel-cave. Better sweat than blood, at least. Hope is still as death in the floor of our canoe, oblivious to our efforts to remain sensitive with her body as we heave it out and onto the cave floor.
“You good?” I ask. “Got the syringe?”
She nods. “Hopefully I won’t need to use it.”
“Just don’t let her near the water. She was fine in this cave before, and I don’t see anything obvious that might be a trigger, but I wasn’t paying attention to her arm.” I wouldn’t have been able to see it even if I had been paying attention—Hope had still been wearing my cardigan back then. I reposition her thin, limp limbs so I can better look for her hologram. It seems impossible that these arms nearly managed to drown me. “I don’t see anything, so you should be good—unless it only activates when she’s conscious. That seems overcomplicated, though, so let’s just hope for the best.”
There’s something unreadable in her face. It isn’t fear, and it certainly isn’t the narcissism that so often radiates out of her.
She catches me looking. “What?”
“You tell me.” I fold Hope’s arms across herself. She needs a hug as much as the rest of us.
But then Alexa doesn’t answer, and oh. Oh, no. This is why I don’t recognize the look: she is about to cry. “Do you—” she starts, her voice breaking. “Do you think Cass meant all those things he said about me?”
My body fights against itself. I don’t have time for a counseling session right now, don’t have energy for a counseling session. But it appears Alexa is in need of one, unfortunately. She’ll be more alert if she can stop replaying the worst two minutes of today on a loop. An alert Alexa is an alive Alexa.
“Yes.” I cringe as I say it, but it’s the truth. “I do.”
Two silent tears race down her cheeks. She doesn’t meet my eyes. “Do you think he’s right about me?”
I bite my lip, think about how much help she wasn’t when we sailed here, or when we arrived at our beach. “I think people change.” This is a delicate subject. “And I think Cass is having an extraordinarily bad day today. I haven’t lived his life, or known you as long, so I can’t say if he’s right. But I know what I see,” I say. “At times, you verge on self-absorbed”—this is true, but I didn’t mean for it to actually come out; to my relief, she doesn’t bat an eyelash—“but I’ve seen that less and less the longer we’ve been here.”
I think back to the dark and hungry water as Hope tried to flood out my breath, how hard it struck me that Alexa’s proven more trustworthy than either of the other two girls. Not that Hope or Finnley asked to be used against us—they will be angry and ashamed, no doubt, when they find out what they were forced to do. Hope will be, at least. It may be too late for Finnley.
“If you want to know the truth, Alexa, I’d trust you with my life. I mean it.”
Finally, she meets my eyes. “Yeah?”
I nod. “Yeah.” Hope looks so innocent between us. A broken angel, a princess in need of a good bath. “So do your best to stay alive, okay? I may need you.” I attempt a smile, but it falls flat. “And on top of that, I kind of just want you to live.”
SIXTY
A COMMOTION OUTSIDE pulls my guard back up in a heartbeat. I am taut as a bowstring, sinews and ligaments and determination all ready to snap.
I press up against the tunnel wall. Listen.
Voices collide, not weapons—and not as close as I thought. All of this is in my favor. I carefully slip out into the star-studded night, keeping myself tight against the wall in case I’m wrong about how close they are. I recognize Lonan’s voice in the midst of it all, amplified and escaping through whatever opening allowed Alexa and the others to see the lodge’s entrance earlier. The voices fly like crows from the far face of the lodge. One quick scan of the yellow-lit windows on this face: no silhouettes poised to kill me.
Time to go.
I dart out onto the boardwalk, run along it until it ends. I reach into the foliage until my hand meets rock, feel around. It is stony but smooth, not a crack or crevice anywhere I can find. Scaling this wall is not an option.
Back to the dark-water cave it is.
For as many canoes as there are lined up, I’m disappointed to find that none of them have paddles. Was it like this before? I didn’t pay attention—it’s possible Lonan chose our canoe because it was the only one that came fully equipped. Well, one of two that came fully equipped. I shouldn’t have taken those extra paddles earlier.
Two voices rise above the rest now, Lonan’s and another man’s. They are loud, but slightly more civil than before. I can’t make out their words, only the tone. It is the first time I’ve ever wished for voices to be less than civil.
Civil means Lonan will be compromised soon. Civil means the diversion he’s created could end at any second—that it won’t be long before my time runs out.
I am just about to run back toward the tunnel where I left Alexa, so I can grab a paddle from our canoe, when I hear a fresh set of voices.
These are close. Just-above-me close, on the balcony.
I back up into the foliage, as far as I can go, careful not to rustle the leaves any more than necessary. If I haven’t been noticed yet, it’s only because they’re looking in the wrong direction.
“No way she’s still alive,” one of them says. Male. “His grief is too raw.”