One Was Lost(33)

“Emily?” I ask.

She looks up at me, chin trembling. “I want to get help, Sera. He needs help. We all do.”

They disappear into the trees without another word. When I hear them break into a jog, my eyes drag up to Lucas’s face. He’s watching me with a blank expression, arms open and shoulders relaxed.

“It’s up to you, Spielberg,” he says, and I know from his tone he means it. I’m in control. I have been since we stood on that deck two months ago.

Lucas isn’t moving closer or touching my hair. He isn’t convincing me. He’s waiting.

Is this why my stomach is tumbling end over end? Is this why I don’t back away from the choice I know my mother would make? I swore to never be this girl, but here I am, so swept up in this boy that my insides are coiling tighter with every breath.

Lucas is all that I am not, shoulders relaxed and a smile in his eyes as he asks, quite suddenly, “Do you want to kiss me, Sera?”

The words sling into me like hot bullets. I swallow, and he touches me—just his hands on my hands, leading them to his shoulders.

“Because you can kiss me.” His eyes bind me to this moment. “And you can not kiss me. You’re in charge here.”

I shake my head. I’m just like her right now—all impulse, no thought. I’m not in charge of anything. And kissing him is an inevitability.

Lucas calls my name and drags me back. Nothing that happened on that deck should matter here. Hormones rage. Hearts lie. And I’m not stupid enough to fall for it because I am not my mother. Not even out here.

But what if here and now is all you have left?

“I don’t know what to do,” I say. Not about the engine we’re hearing or the kiss we shared or any of the rest of it. I never know with Lucas, do I? He blurs my world.

“We should go north,” he says. The tone that snapped and bit at me before is all softness now, like the time he taught me how to weld. Or tried. “We’re running out of water, and even if these people could help us, if they leave before we find them—”

“We can scream for help,” I say because even if I don’t know what’s best, I want to go to those engines. I want to sprint after Jude and Emily and find someone. I want to go home. “If we can hear them, they’ll hear us soon too.”

“It feels too easy,” he says. “Doesn’t it?”

I can’t read his tone or his expression, so I sigh and drop my head.

“You want to go,” he says. “Chase the noise.”

“Yes,” I say. What I don’t say is that I won’t go without him and Mr. Walker, but he knows it. He has to know, or I wouldn’t still be standing here.

He blows out a sigh and picks up the sled. I don’t wait for him to change his mind. I move out, and he follows, dragging our fallen teacher behind. We follow the noise and catch up to Emily and Jude sooner than I would have guessed. But I’m rushing. God, I’m rushing.

When the engine noise comes again, Jude and Emily shift direction, following the sound. It’s not hard because it never moves left or right. The rumble just keeps coming, dead ahead.

The forest is thicker here, thin saplings growing in clusters and tall, prickly plants sprouting up instead of the broad, sweet-smelling ferns around our campsite. The three of us push back the bushes we can’t avoid so Lucas can duck through. One branch whacks Mr. Walker in the face, and he groans, offering a slurred curse word before he’s out again.

My arms are scraped and my throat is dry, and none of that compares to the waves of dizziness rolling through me. I’m hungry, I think. My mouth waters at the idea of food. An image of Madison’s granola bar wrappers flashes through my mind, and it hurts.

We start calling for help when we catch snatches of other sounds between the engines. They’re indistinct, but they might be voices. So I lick my parched lips and join the others.

“Help! Can anyone hear us?”

“Hello!” Jude adds. “We need help!”

Mr. Walker groans again when we descend over a bumpy ridge. His eyes roll, and he slurs out something. Maybe, “Careful. Careful.”

“Just rest.” Lucas is panting hard, even though Jude is helping him again.

Mr. Walker groans after another awful jostle, and Emily looks back at him. “We’re going to get help now. It won’t be long.”

Mr. Walker tries to nod, but his head just rolls to the side, and I stare at the crimson thread of blood the bush left on his cheek. Red like strawberries. Cherries. My stomach gurgles. God, I’m so messed up.

“He’s getting better,” I say to Emily, mostly to distract myself. “Mr. Walker. He doesn’t seem so…out of it.”

She nods but keeps her focus ahead. I can’t blame her. The engine is clear as day now, but the sky is growing darker. We don’t have much light left. We’re getting closer though. Another murmur filters in through the drone of the engine.

I touch Lucas’s sleeve. “Did you hear that?”

“I hear it.” Emily this time. She looks at me, eyes bright and lips quirked. “Voices.”

That’s exactly what it is—a rambling murmur that pulls up at the end like a question sometimes. Other times, there’s a short sound that might be a laugh. My fingers curve over Lucas’s slightly sticky wrist.