One Was Lost(65)

My eyes stray to the slicker, and hope burns, ember-bright, in my center. “Lucas, I want you to sit tight. I’m going to check to see if someone’s down there. Or if there’s a good place to shoot one of these flares.”

The wind picks up, carrying the smell of rain on its back.

He shakes his head once. “No. North.”

“You’ll fall off, and you know it.” I move an arm around his waist, my words floating along the tears in my voice. “You said I was in charge, so I say we’re stopping.”

“I said you were bossy,” he says. “That’s different.”

I help him off the quad, and he slings a long arm over my shoulders. I take a breath that’s heavy with sweat and pain and bite my lip when we awkwardly work him off the seat. His hand shakes against my side, so I try to be steady. I have to fix this. He’s out here for me—to protect me. I’m at the center of all of this, and I have to get us out of here.

“Dammit,” he mutters as we ease his back against a tree.

“Is it bad? Was the quad better?”

“Not that.” He looks up, and whatever’s swimming in his eyes tears me apart. “I’m sorry. We didn’t need this.”

“Shut up,” I whisper, wishing instantly I’d picked better words. Nicer words. “Just…just don’t say that. We’re getting out of here.”

I touch his forehead, my palm kissing his sweaty brow. I clench my teeth and straighten my spine. “Stay put. I’m going to get help.”

I ease toward the stack of flares and the slicker, but Lucas lifts his hand, his eyes clearing.

“Don’t just…don’t charge down there,” he says.

It’s not Mr. Walker. I know what he’s worried about, but the bright-red slicker and emergency flares don’t exactly scream clandestine murderer. Still, he’s right. We’ve been fooled before. I need to be careful.

I tilt my head, looking through the tracks. Some of them are too smeared to make out, just a bit of heel or toe. I finally find a full print a few feet from the quad. I settle my own boot next to it and smile.

The print is smaller than mine would be. Not a guy. Definitely not Mr. Walker, whose boots were almost as big as Lucas’s.

“It’s not Mr. Walker down there, Lucas. The prints are too small. I checked.”

He seems mollified, but I still unlatch the flare box and take the gun out. It is very orange and very basic. I load a cartridge in and smile up at Lucas. “See? Now I’m armed to blind and burn. Extra careful.”

“Extra careful,” he repeats.

“Hey, maybe these belong to a pair of picnicking paramedics.” I grin. “They could be down there right now, wondering who will eat their extra bacon cheeseburgers.”

He almost laughs. “Let’s hope those burgers are slathered in morphine. The expired ibuprofen from the first aid kit is not cutting it.”

I smile as I ease my way farther along the stone wall, my good hand gripping the flare gun. Rocks slither down in a series of natural steps curving into darkness. I go slowly to let my eyes adjust as I move through the tight crevice. I don’t know what’s on the other side. It could be a cliff. Or a cavern.

Or something worse.

I lick my lips but stay quiet. Careful. That was my promise. I’m not going to stumble off a cliff because I’m rushing. The stones are smooth and slicked with mud under my feet. Even in the darkness, I can see the smear of footprints here and there along the edges. One person couldn’t have made all these passing through. Not unless they’ve been in and out of here a dozen times.

As I curve around farther, light leaks into the narrow channel, and some crazy part of me thinks I smell food. Burgers, just like Lucas wants. I move just a little faster, my feet a quiet scrape against the stones. I can see the opening. My heart falls because what’s out there is not what I want. It is not a way out. It’s practically a cave. And there’s no one here to help.

I step into the light and stumble forward, my vision blurring, eyes blinking like crazy. I’m in a clearing, a roofless stone alcove, with shadowy crevices and overhangs and what once might have been a cool place to see before it was littered with all this trash from campers long gone.

We’re still alone. The thought snatches the air out of my lungs with hot fingers. The floor tilts…or no—no, that’s me. I’m just dizzy. I stumble to a wall and lean my shoulder against it. Blink until my vision clears at the edges.

OK. OK, so we’re alone. I’ll figure out a way to get Lucas back on the quad. We’ll shoot flares and keep driving. Someone will be looking for us, so we just keep moving and—

Something familiar catches my eye. My gaze trails over the trash strewn in the shadows of the cavern, and I find it again. A backpack with a familiar white granola wrapper.

That’s from one of Madison’s granola bars. Is that Madison’s backpack?

I shuffle away from the wall, assessing the litter along the walls. There are piles of twigs and twine in various sizes. A stack of ratty sleeping bags in the shadows. Black and gray bits of plastic. A striped backpack strap.

My heart hurls sideways like a skipping rock. That’s my backpack strap. The sticks that made the dolls. I find more things. A crushed box of yogurts. The cap of a black marker that makes my fingers scratch at the letters on my arm.