One Was Lost(69)

“I’ll rush her,” Lucas says.

“You’re barely standing! We have to go up the cliff side.”

“We don’t know if we can get through up there,” he says, but he’s already moving because it’s the only way. The only chance unless we want to run headfirst into Ms. Brighton or climb down into the alcove with Mr. Walker.

Ms. Brighton is getting closer and picking up speed. There’s a stone ledge to our right and a sharp incline to the left, covered in brambles and briars. We’re still in that damn channel we were trapped in on the quad. And we’ve got to break out because she’s gaining.

I cry out for help, though there’s no one to hear us but Mr. Walker. Mr. Walker, who was innocent all this time and who might have to hear us die when he gave everything he had trying to save us.

Lucas kicks a fallen log into her path, but she’s going to catch up. She’s already closing the distance. Twenty feet. Fifteen feet.

“Help!” I scream. Like there’s someone to help.

Something pop-hisses, and the gray sky tinges red. I gulp a breath and look over to track the spark of light in the sky. Ms. Brighton stops. It’s coming from down in the alcove—Mr. Walker fired the flare gun.

Mr. Walker.

In my mind, I hear him tell me to run. Run, Sera.

I do, one hand against the stone and every breath burning hotter. My feet shift for purchase. The incline isn’t as harsh now on the left, but the undergrowth is blanket-thick, spun of thorns. Impossible choices everywhere.

I have to find a way through because this stone will lead to a cliff, and if we can’t find a hole, a thin spot—no. No, we have to find it. We will.

My legs wobble, and Lucas groans. I glance over my shoulder, hoping Ms. Brighton took the bait with Mr. Walker’s flare. No dice. It stalled her, but not for long. She’s heading our way, and she’ll gain on us. Lucas just isn’t moving fast enough.

“Wait!” I say, lifting a hand. There’s no way to outrun her and nothing within reach that looks like a weapon. There has to be something I can use, but all I can think of is Hannah. How do I use that?

“I don’t understand,” I cry, trying to play the part she chose for me. “I could die again! Do you want me to die again?”

“You’re already dead, Hannah! You were brought back to this place, and I promise you this time, it will be right. Your soul can finally be with the spirits of your people.”

My chest squeezes. Oh God. That stuff about the Cherokee spirits—those weren’t ghost stories to her. She twisted bits and pieces into her own warped version of reality. She was warning us. There’s no logic I can appeal to here.

But I can still play my role. And I can change my lines.

“I could live again in this body,” I say, laying it on thick. If being Hannah gives me power, I’ll take it. “We could be sisters again.”

She makes a wounded noise. Shakes her head. “You belong to the forest, darling,” she says. She’s crying now, and I recognize those sobs. I heard them in the forest before we got the newspapers. She was trying to get me away from Lucas. “These trees revealed your killer. He will be punished. You will be delivered.”

He’ll be punished? She’s going to kill Lucas. The certainty of it rocks me.

Ms. Brighton stalks forward with that knife, and I feel like there should be thunder, but there isn’t. No wind. No lightning. Just the steady patter of early autumn rain and her eyes, wide and pale and brimming with conviction.

We’re moving again, but Lucas is going slowly, groaning with every step. We hit a clump of trees, branches shaking more water onto our heads as we squeeze past. There is no break in the thorns on the other side. We are still pinned between underbrush and the mountainside. And the woman who will kill us both.

My throat tightens and my chest throbs. We’re in serious trouble. The cliff is closer now, and Ms. Brighton is almost in striking distance. We have to go faster.

Lucas trips, goes down on one knee with a grunt. Ms. Brighton takes her chance, lunging through a sheet of hard rain. He kicks out, screaming in pain, but his foot connects with something. Her knee? Her stomach? I don’t know, but she slams into the ground back first, feet rolling up. I see her filthy hiking boots in the air, and I’m pulling Lucas to his feet. It’s so hard. So hard.

“It’s OK, Hannah,” she says, hearing my cry. “It’s almost over, and you’ll be free.”

“I am free! Lucas didn’t hurt me!”

She lunges again, and I kick this time, catching her injured hand. She yowls, and the knife skitters. We have to move. Move!

We run. Lucas is too slow, but we try. We pull-scramble-rush along the rain-soaked stone, looking for a way out. A way through. Please, please, let there be a way because I know we are close to the edge of this mountain, and it might as well be the edge of the world.

“Hannah.” Ms. Brighton’s close again. I hear the drag of her blade against the face of the mountain. “Your spirit will be free like your ancestors when I end this. Let him go.”

“You’ve got to run,” Lucas tells me. He sounds like he’s in agony. He is in agony.

It’s not even worth a response, so I dig my fingers into his good shoulder and steer him on. My feet slip sideways, and I look down in horror. The rain is turning the soil to wet clay. It’s slipping under my soles worse here, sending every step in the wrong direction.