The Countdown (The Taking #3)(24)

Jett’s trace of the van’s license plate had led to a dead end and every hour that passed was another hour wasted. I felt like I might lose my shit once and for all.

But now . . . I had this new dream.

Maybe it was nothing. Probably it was nothing, because it was just a goddamned dream after all. But I was running by the time I reached the others all the same. Breathless and sweating when I gripped Ben’s shoulder.

“I might know where she is,” I gasped. “I think . . .” I had Simon’s attention. Jett stood up from his laptop. “Wyoming,” I said, moving over to where Simon had a map we’d been using to mark where we’d been and to track any possible leads. I concentrated on the lines—longitude and latitude—on the geographical landmarks and the names of the cities. I worked it out in my head, trying to interpret what I’d sensed in my sleep.

In the same way I’d seen the map I’d drawn in the sand, I’d seen Kyra. Sensed her in my dream. Only she was brighter, like a pulse of light I was being drawn to. Compelling me to find her.

“Here,” I dropped my finger to a location in the upper northeast corner of the state.

“Why there?”

There was no point lying about it so I braced myself. “A dream.”

Simon’s eyebrow lifted, and his skepticism was of the loud-and-clear variety. For once I couldn’t blame him. “A dream? You seriously expect us to make a decision based on a dream?”

“Look, no matter what you think, you guys haven’t exactly hit it out of the park here. It’s not like we have a lot of other options at this point.”

Simon came at me. “Don’t go pointing fingers. This is all your fault,” he was shouting. “If you’d done your job in the first place, she wouldn’t be out there, and we wouldn’t have to ‘hit it out of the park.’”

Griffin shoved her way in between us. “All right, you two. Cut it out.” She pushed Simon away. “This isn’t helping anything.”

“No!” I shouted back. “I’m tired of his dictator bullshit.” I looked past her to Simon. “You know what? I don’t give a shit what you think. You’re right, I shouldn’t have left her alone, but right now my dream’s the best chance we have of finding her, and if you don’t wanna come, then stay here. But I plan to find out if she’s there because for some reason, that’s where I’m being drawn. There’s something—some part of me—that says that’s where we’ll find her.” I was breathing hard, daring him to argue, daring the others as I glanced around at them to say I was full of crap or tell me they wouldn’t come either. If that was the case, I’d go alone.

I’d find my own way to get there.

After several tense moments, Simon seemed to calm down. His voice was edged with reluctance, but reluctance wasn’t refusal. “How can you be sure that’s the place?”

“I can’t.” I smiled. I shouldn’t have, this was serious and I was hoping like crazy this dream of mine was a real lead. A solid one. A not dead-end one. But I was sick and tired of Simon acting like he was in charge of everything and everyone and I couldn’t stop myself. “How could I, man? It was just a dream.”





CHAPTER FIVE


I WOKE ON A GASP, BUT IT WASN’T THE PAIN OF sunrise. This was more like I’d been jolted awake by Lucy, that ten-thousand-volt bitch of a cattle prod. My entire body convulsed and my eyes rolled back in my head, and all I could do was wait for whatever was happening to pass.

When it did, my head collapsed against the metal stretcher behind me with a solid thunk.

A new number rattled through my brain—fourteen—and I realized I’d somehow missed the new dawn.

Gasping, I looked around, surprised to discover I was alone. There was no one who could have electrocuted me, at least not with Eddie Ray’s cattle prod.

The room, me and everything in it, was a landscape painted in darkness, which meant not only had I missed the morning, but most of the day as well. Of course they’d drugged me again, they must have. It was the only explanation for the way my brain felt like mush, and my skin buzzed like Lucy had just been jammed into the side of my neck.

For several seconds . . . minutes . . . maybe hours, I waited for someone to call out the alert that I’d regained consciousness. But no one seemed to be manning the equipment monitoring me.

I glanced down to my bound wrists and wondered how much time I had left. I thought about Natty, and tried to imagine how I’d misjudged her so badly. I thought about Blondie and her “Do I know you?” routine back at the diner, and Eddie Ray with his stupid cattle prod. I squeezed my fists.

Still, no one called out the warning when I knew for damned sure my pulse spiked.

I focused my thoughts the way Simon had taught me, concentrating on more things that upset me . . . things that would make my blood pressure rise . . .

The attack at Blackwater . . . the way Agent Truman had shot Griffin—his own daughter—just to prove a point . . .

I flexed my wrists, but they held tight.

Simon and Jett and Willow, and all the others we’d left behind. Who might be dead for all I knew.

My skin tingled and burned.

Tyler. Oh god, Tyler . . . there were so many things I needed to make up to him. So much I owed him.