One Was Lost(71)

“Sera!” Lucas twists, and I can hear the thornbushes crack. “Run!”

I’m not going to run. Not this time.

She takes a step toward me, and I swing my foot around fast, swiping her legs. I fling myself to a crouch. She goes down hard, but she scrambles right back up. She’s not quite to her feet when I launch myself into her.

If I can trap Lucas in the thorns, I can trap her too.

Ms. Brighton dodges the worst of my blow. She spins to avoid the briars, and Lucas is shouting again as I lurch to my feet. This time, when she lifts her knife, she’s not aiming for Lucas. She’s coming for me. Lucas is shouting, but it’s his words from earlier that float through my overloaded mind.

Some hits go bad.

Yeah, they do. Ms. Brighton stabs, and I duck, feeling the flash of sharp metal nick my ear before I lower my head and plow into her stomach. We both slam into the ground, and half her body is sprawled over mine.

I struggle underneath her, squirm and wrestle to get away from her heavy body. I manage to push my head and arms free, and the rain feels warm on my arms.

And then I see the crimson line rushing over my wrist. It isn’t rain. It’s blood.

I writhe like a fish on the bank of a creek, flopping and gasping until I kick myself free of Ms. Brighton’s body. I don’t know where she got me. There’s no pain. I can’t see the knife. I search my arms, my face—find nothing.

Heart still pounding insanely, my hands go still on my back, and my gaze turns to Ms. Brighton. My body is still ready for a fight, but it’s over.

Ms. Brighton is curling in on herself, twitching quietly on the ground. It’s her blood. I can see the handle of her knife from where she landed all wrong. Where her plan fell to pieces.

There is one instant where her face clears, where the insanity recedes and I see my teacher, with her recycling campaigns and indie music and her terrible ghost stories. And then it’s gone. And so is she.





Chapter 34


My insides churn as I stare at her body. The forest is the same. Leaves shiver, dirt settles, and the world keeps turning.

I close my eyes and feel my heart slow even as my stomach rolls. A mourning dove coos softly. Sadly. Rain drips. My hand burns. Nothing is different, and nothing is the same either.

Lucas.

My heart thumps a funny beat as I turn to the thorns where I left him. Where I pushed him. I crawl because I cannot walk. And then I peel back the slender, cruel branches one by one, calling his name. I can barely see him, and every thread I untangle sends four more lashing at me.

“Lucas? Lucas, say something!”

He suddenly moans, rustles like he’s going to try to escape.

“Be careful,” I say, every word a croak. “I can’t get you out. We need tools. Help should be coming. There were flares, and I sent a distress call on the GPS.” I stop myself, thinking of Mr. Walker and knowing there is no way to help him. No way I could make it back down there, even if I wanted to. “Someone will come soon.”

“Where is she? Where’s Ms. Brighton?”

“Gone.” The word takes all my air and a piece of my soul.

He rustles again, cries out, and my breath hitches. “Where are you, Sera?”

“I’m here,” I say.

“Where are you?” he asks again, sounding a little frantic. He’s hurt so badly. And part of that is my fault, isn’t it? If I hadn’t attached myself to him out here, Ms. Brighton would not have—

No. I shove that thought away hard. All the broken bits of things Ms. Brighton believed—that’s what brought her here. She lost someone, but she never let go. It was holding on too tight that drove her to this. Hell, holding on too tight drives a lot of us to the worst places, doesn’t it?

“Sera?” Lucas calls again, sounding on the verge of tears.

“I’m here,” I say again, stronger now. I worm my hand in to the thornbushes, stretching out on the ground so I can reach better. Thorns prick my palm, cut my wrist, then my elbow. It doesn’t matter.

I find his fingers. He curls them around mine, and I rest my face on the soft, wet earth and hold on tight.

The rain fades to a mist and then to nothing at all. Finally, the whomp, whomp, whomp of helicopter blades tells me it’s over. I walk Lucas through everything I see, only releasing him when I see the ropes drop down from the helicopter. Our heroes have come to save us.

Funny how it doesn’t feel much like salvation at all.

Still, when I hear the steady hum of voices shouting, I am grateful we aren’t alone. Grateful, too, that there will be someone else to climb down that hole to check on Mr. Walker. To find him bloody and used up and hopefully, hopefully, still alive.

“We’re here!” I cry out. “Over here!”

“That’s them?” Lucas asks, and I can tell he’s only half-conscious. He’s slurring his words, but it could be worse. My gaze drags to Ms. Brighton’s body. It could be much worse.

“Yes,” I say finally. “Yes, that’s them. It’s over.”

He laughs inside that tomb of thorns, and I startle at the sound.

“See? Told you you’d rescue us,” he says.

It starts as a laugh but ends with tears. I am still crying when the rescuers find us. They wrap me in a gray blanket and untangle Lucas with pliers and gloved hands and soft voices. They keep us apart, and I let them because the rest can wait.