Livia Lone (Livia Lone #1)(22)

“It’s not funny,” she said. “What’s going to happen?”

He waved a hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll take a picture and email it to the company. They’ll send a replacement. I’ve got the budget to cover it. No one has to know exactly what happened. Someone dropped a unit and a train ran over it, simple as that. I won’t even tell the lieutenant, okay?”

She offered him a small, worried smile. “Really?”

“Really. It’s not a big deal. I mean, it’s not like you threw it under a train on purpose, right?”

She laughed. “Now, why would anyone ever want to do that?”





14—THEN

Livia was riding an elephant through the jungle. Which was strange, because she had never ridden an elephant before. The sensation was pleasant—a rhythmic swaying as the beast lumbered forward, causing tree branches to brush past her cheeks. But the forest had such a strange smell to it—not the smell of trees and wet and earth she loved. Instead, something sharp and unnatural.

And then she realized with a weary sadness that there was no elephant, and there was no forest—it was another dream, like the last time. But she kept her eyes closed anyway, not wanting to be awake, wanting so badly to stay in the forest, even if it was only a dream.

But she couldn’t hold on to it. The sensation of riding an elephant faded, and she could feel that she was lying on her back. The ground under her was hard, and that swaying feeling and the smell she had thought were part of her dream, were something else. There was a vibration beneath her, and a distant, mechanical hum, the kind she’d first heard when the machine had moved the box onto the boat. But this vibration was stronger; the humming, louder. She heard hushed, unfamiliar voices speaking words she couldn’t understand. The dream broke into fragments, and everything came rushing back. She sat up and cried out in panic, “Nason?”

A woman was kneeling next to her and jerked back as Livia sat up. She was holding a cloth—had she been using it to stroke Livia’s cheek? Was that what had felt like branches in the dream? The woman’s skin was tea colored, and black hair flowed from beneath a colorful scarf, but her eyes were different. They weren’t round like those of the pasty white people—“trekkers”—who sometimes visited the village, but they weren’t long and narrow like those of the hill tribes or Thais, either. Livia had never seen a face quite like it—the cheeks broad, the forehead high, the nose long and narrow. The woman’s expression was concerned, even kind.

The woman said something in a soothing tone, but Livia couldn’t understand her. Everything here was different. The light was brighter, the air smelled cleaner, the tangy salt smell of the ocean was gone. She saw there were other people around, nine of them including Livia. But none she recognized. Who were these people? Where had the children gone? Where was Nason?

“Nason?” she said to the woman. “Nason!”

The woman shook her head, clearly not understanding. She said more words in her incomprehensible tongue. Livia shook her head in frustration and looked all around. She could see she was in a metal box again, but a different one. They’d moved her while she’d been sleeping. And all the children—Kai, the Yao boy, everyone . . . they were gone.

“Nason!” she shouted. “Nason!”

Most of the people were adults. About half looked Asian—Chinese, maybe. The other half looked like they came from the same strange tribe as the scarf woman. There were two children, both about Livia’s age. She thought they might be Indian, but wasn’t sure. She had only ever seen pictures in the textbooks at the village school.

Livia got to her feet. She swayed for a moment, feeling weak and thirsty. “Thai?” she said in Thai, looking from one face to another. “You speak Thai?”

They all stared at her, their expressions blank. No one responded.

Livia switched to Lahu, already knowing it would be useless. “Lahu?” she said. “Can any of you speak Lahu?”

The expressions didn’t change.

Livia jammed her fists against the sides of her head. What could she do? What could she do?

She noticed everyone was sitting in clusters, talking to the people nearest. So some of them spoke each other’s languages. But none spoke Livia’s. She had never so badly needed to talk to someone, just to be understood, even if they couldn’t answer her questions. But she was completely cut off.

She sank to her knees and covered her face in her hands, sobbing. The scarf woman stroked her hair and spoke more alien words. Her tone was soothing and she was obviously trying to help. But she wasn’t helping. No one could help. Nason was gone and Livia had no idea where she was, or how she was, or what had happened. She didn’t know where she herself was, or where she was going, or what would happen when she got there.

When she was too exhausted to cry anymore, she slumped against the wall. Maybe she could do what Nason had done—just go away. Just go away until things got better. Or maybe she could die. She knew she would die if she stopped eating. The thought was immediately appealing. Something she could do to make things better, something she could control. She would stop eating and drinking. If this was all a nightmare, eventually she would wake up. If it wasn’t, she would die. Either alternative was better than this.

But what if Nason needed her?

She squeezed her eyes shut and groaned through gritted teeth. She had to stay alive. No matter what, she had to do that. Until she found Nason, until she found out what had happened to her.