One Was Lost(34)

“There are people,” I say, bubble-light with hope. “I can hear them.”

“I smell fire,” Jude says. “Am I crazy? Is that crazy?”

I take a deep breath through my nose, closing my eyes. No, it’s not crazy. It’s there—a faint hint of smoke that makes me think of hot dogs and cheeseburgers, a bratwurst so juicy it bursts, blistering hot against my lip. I barely hold in my groan.

Lucas inhales deeply, and his face lights up. He readjusts his grip on the sled and nods forward. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

Hope gives us strength. Even the forest seems to turn in our favor, the trees thinning and the grade trending downward, the miserable thorns giving way to soft ferns and patches of moss. Soon enough, the smoke is easier to follow than the engine noise. I’m surprised we didn’t notice it before. Maybe they just built it? Maybe it’s time for dinner?

I don’t care. I don’t care. I just want to get there.

I don’t know who starts shouting for help again first. We should be close enough now, but they might not be able to hear us over the dirt bikes. Or is it one dirt bike? It sounds the same. And it still doesn’t seem like it’s moving much.

Emily and I are ahead of the boys now, but I can’t make myself stop. I stumble toward the smoke as fast as my legs will go, shouting out with a voice that sticks in my throat and cracks on my teeth.

No one answers, but I can hear the voices between the engine more clearly now. They are laughing. Whooping. Happy.

“Help! Help us please!” I scream it over and over, but they don’t answer. They have to hear us. They have to by now!

My lungs are burning when I see the first orange glow of the fire. I break into a run anyway, half tripping, half racing. Emily has already seen it, and she’s ahead of me. I’m dizzy again, so dizzy that my vision’s going gray and everything is spinning, but the smoke is right there. The fire.

We’re here.

We made it.

I spin around and around, looking for the dirt bike, the people, for the source of all this noise and laughter and fun. It’s so noisy. Even with my heart still thumping wildly behind my ears, I know we should see them. They have to be right here, so what am I missing?

Where is everyone?

Wait—

The next laugh is like a scream, and when the engine rises, the sound slices through the air and drills into my ears. My hands clamp over them instinctively, head ducking. It’s too loud. It’s far louder than it should be.

I hear my own breath better with my ears plugged, ragged and fast.

My eyes drag to the fire, a small, fresh-looking deal with three logs, and a dirty plastic-wrapped box of bottled water behind it. There’s a small green cooler too. It might be dirtier than the water.

So where are the people?

I suck in breath after breath until the next laugh comes, a witch’s cackle on a Halloween sound track. I hold my next breath in. That laugh is the same. Exactly the same.

The engine rises again, and I recognize the same hooting cheer. Next will come the low whoop. And it does. It’s a pattern.

A squirmy, awful feeling worms through my chest. And then my stomach drops away. This isn’t real. It’s a recording, one track playing over and over. Which means there’s a speaker. Somewhere.

I try to take a step, but my foot lands all wrong. My knees bend too far or maybe not far enough. I don’t even know. A smooth-barked beech catches my stumble. I right myself on its pale trunk and look around. Emily is sobbing, head covered. Jude’s eyes are wide.

Lucas finally emerges from the thicker part of the trees, hair damp with sweat and face red. I can see Mr. Walker squirming on the sled behind him, looking bleary. Lucas looks at the fire, the water, me. Whatever he finds in my expression drains the color from his face.

“We need to find the speaker,” I say, but I don’t know if anyone hears me. I can barely hear myself.

The speaker isn’t hidden. It’s sitting on a fallen tree maybe twenty feet to the right of the fire, a little black box that scares me more than the letters on my arm.

I bend forward so I don’t fall over, propping my hands on my knees for a second. I’m the only one who seems able to move, so I force myself to keep going. When I reach it, my hands tremble around the plastic box. Wireless. I turn it this way and that. Find the switch on the back and flip it off. We are plunged into silence.

My chest curls in tight, a flower closing out the night. The quiet is much worse than the noise. I drop to my butt and listen to my fast breathing and roaring blood. Emily is still sobbing, soft hitches of her shoulders that shake me to the bone.

I look at the fire like it’s under the spotlight. The rest of the stage is set—the water, the cooler, finally the speaker. Lucas was right. This is a trap, a carefully constructed production. And we played our parts to perfection.





Chapter 14


When I was ten, I had a hamster in one of those big cages with the tubes that led to different levels and little play areas. My dad was so proud when he set that thing up. I used to spend hours watching the hamster scamper down the curving slides and up the brightly colored ladders. Mom called it Plastic Alcatraz. Dad and I argued that the hamster wouldn’t survive on its own, but Mom always said dead is better than caged. At least it would be free.

Mom loved saying freedom almost as much as she loved to say follow your heart. I probably should have had some sort of spidey tingle, some internal alarm when Mr. Walker peppered the word freedom into every speech about this camping trip.