One Was Lost(64)

Clouds are gathering, thick and gray in the sky overhead. It brings me right back to our early days here, when we were annoyed by a storm. Back then, rain was the low point.

My eyes scan the horizon in hopes of a break in the rocks—a place where I can shift us north so we’re back on track. I catch another glimpse of the road, and my heart clenches.

“Damn these rocks,” I mutter.

Lucas doesn’t respond. He’s tense and sweating behind me, and his good arm has gone damp around my middle. My whole body aches, imagining what he’s going through back there. There can’t be words for pain like that.

I ease the throttle as we finally start down the opposite side. The terrain turns even worse. A sharp, rocky outcropping flanks the west side, and the trees are thicker here. We’re forced to curve to the southeast, and my stomach is dropping into my feet. If Mr. Walker followed the valleys, he might have walked through here. If he kept moving at night, he might be ahead of us. Waiting for us.

But we are faster, and I’m not above running him over if it means saving our lives.

The quad crawls over dead leaves, and I keep our speed slow, picking the smoothest path I can as I search the sharp slope on the left. There’s got to be a way through this. A gap in the rocks or—

“Sera!”

Lucas’s grip releases my waist, his fingers jabbing in front of me to tug the left handlebar. The quad hurls left, and my body slings against it. Something sprays underneath the tire, and I yelp, spotting the drop-off just inches from the right side of the quad.

Oh my God, we almost went over. The earth drops into nothing right there.

I pull the brakes when we’re a few more feet away, my stomach heaving into my mouth as my eyes drag to that narrow gorge we almost slipped into. I can’t see the bottom. I could have killed us. We could have died, and we are so close to living.

Guilt smothers me. “I’m sorry,” I say, inching us forward at a crawl, my voice choked with terror. “I’m so sorry.”

Lucas presses the crown of his head to the back of my neck. He’s breathing hard and ragged. “’S OK.”

My throat goes fist-tight, and distant thunder rumbles. It’s absolutely not OK. I shake my head and continue, much slower now. I start edging to the left, farther from the ridge, where it’s safer.

I sigh at the piles of sharp, moss-strewn rocks. “We’ve got to get back north,” I say as if he needs the reminder. As if we aren’t both perfectly aware we’ve been funneled into a channel, a one-way road heading the absolute wrong direction.

I grit my teeth and release the throttle even further. It’s easier to hear Lucas now, to feel the sticks snap and pop under the tires and his answering groans. I can’t see the road, but I imagine it up there, a gray line of salvation tucked behind a forest that is eating me alive.

There’s a craggy overhang on my right and what looks like a footpath. Is that the trail? Too small, but it could be something. I spot an orange-red box next to the overhang and muddy boot tracks.

I hit the brakes gently. There’s an opening, but I don’t think the quad will fit through. Those are definitely boot tracks too. Lots of them.

“Do you see that?” I ask, nodding at the red stuff. “Is that a first aid kit?”

Lucas shudders behind me, his pain spelled out in a strangled groan.

I switch the quad out of gear and try to get a closer look at the plastic box. It’s closed with white latches. When my eyes adjust, I see there are letters on the side. I can only read part of them.

F L A R

Flare. That’s a flare gun.





Chapter 29


Hope uncurls, warming my throat and cheeks. My heartbeat quickens as I stop us just past the box and cut the engine. There’s a red rain slicker and a thermos next to it. Everything looks clean. Recent. None of this has been here long. Someone might be close.

The stuff is all situated against a ledge, and I can see that the ledge disappears downward behind another craggy formation. It’s a hallway of stone, one that curves down and to the left.

We might already be rescued.

I turn off the quad and consider the box with the flare gun. Should I shoot one off, or would that just bring Mr. Walker back? I mean, he doesn’t know we have it, right?

“What’s wrong?” Lucas’s speech has gone muddy. Slurred.

“That box is a flare gun. And I think whoever owns that stuff is down there.” I jut my chin toward the corridor between the two rocks. “Maybe it’s another hiking group.”

His only answer is a series of sharp breaths.

I turn in my seat to look at him and gasp. “Lucas!”

I clutch the front of his shirt even as he sags sideways. He looks beyond awful. His shirt is soaked, hair dripping on his forehead. He also weighs more than this quad, and I’m sure we’re both going to go sideways off the seat. At the last second, he jams his good hand onto the back tire and grunts.

“I’m fine,” he says, righting himself on the seat.

“Like hell you’re fine! Why didn’t you stop me?” I ask, voice cracking.

He smirks, that devil-may-care spark reduced to a bare flicker in his hooded eyes. “Only way out is through, right?”

He tries a smile, but I can tell it’s beyond painful, and there’s nothing I can do. He’s too big, too heavy. I have nothing to secure his arm with, and frankly, I wouldn’t know how even if I did. If someone else were here…