The Countdown (The Taking #3)(4)

Still, I couldn’t shake the guilt over what I’d done to Tyler. I needed to come clean to him about how . . . why . . . he was taken.

“Up ahead. Through here . . . ,” Tyler said, but I’d been following so close that when he finally stopped, I ran into him from behind. Not that it was a bad place to be—I’d always appreciated that side of him.

Flustered, I jumped back. “Oh, crap . . . sorry.”

Laughing, he at least pretended not to notice that my hands had just been all over him. “There,” he said, sweeping a large cluster of branches out of our way.

Ahead of us was a pond. And flowing away from the pond was a stream. For three days we’d been climbing toward higher elevation, leaving the desert far behind. My dad never said exactly where he was taking us, only that we had to put distance between us and Blackwater Ranch, which really meant getting far away from Agent Truman and the rest of the No-Suchers, the agency’s nickname because of its extreme secrecy.

To me, it meant leaving behind Simon, Jett, Willow, Natty, and all the other Returned, including Griffin, who’d risked their lives so Tyler and I could escape the secret camp when Agent Truman and his goons had attacked it. The idea that we were putting more miles between us each and every day made me more desperate for word from them—news that they’d survived. Information about where they were now. Anything.

“It’s warm . . . the water . . . ,” Tyler breathed, leading me closer. “Hot, even. Some kind of natural spring.”

“Nuh-uh. Are you for real right now?” He didn’t have to tell me what that meant, I was already peeling off my shoes and socks.

The last time we’d seen water clear enough to wash in was two days ago and it had been bitterly cold—mountain runoff, my dad had called it. I’d only been able to stay in long enough to rinse off the thinnest layer of grime before my skin had been rigid with gooseflesh. I’d shivered the rest of the day, despite the campfire my dad had reluctantly let us build.

Our new life on the run had come with strict rules, and fires could only be lit when they were absolutely crucial. Fires made us conspicuous, my dad had warned, and conspicuous was the last thing we wanted to be. Our plan was to set camp at dusk, and break it again by dawn, never staying in one place long enough to be noticed. Never giving anyone the chance to recognize us.

Tyler had made the case that preventing hypothermia was cause enough to break my dad’s no-fire rule, and for that, I was sure I owed him some sort of life debt.

But now . . .

Now he was presenting me with an even better gift than fire: a heated pool.

When I reached for the hem of my shirt and started stripping it over my head, Tyler whipped his head in the opposite direction, acting like I’d just thrown acid in his face. “Whoa . . . hey . . . do you want me to leave or something?”

I laughed over his sudden inhibitions and tossed my shirt on top of my shoes, making a pile beneath the bushes at my feet. I planned to keep my bra on, and in another second or two it would be just that and my underwear remaining. “How is this any different from a swimsuit?”

He dared a peek, uncovering his eyes with exaggerated hesitation. “I mean, I guess so . . .” But even his skepticism was beginning to sound suspect. We might not have any human DNA left in us, but that didn’t mean his memories weren’t completely and totally red-blooded . . . and what all-American teenaged boy didn’t want to look at a half-naked girl?

Without waiting for his verdict, I lowered myself into the blissfully steamy water. It was seriously luxurious, better even than the hot tub Cat and I had snuck into that one time at her uncle’s country club when we were fourteen.

“You should get your butt in here,” I called to Tyler. “You have no idea what you’re missing . . .” I sighed as the water reached the back of my neck, and then holding my breath, I submerged myself completely.

The water became a filter then, dulling all my senses. Vaguely, from somewhere above me, I heard Tyler say something back to me, and it sounded an awful lot like, “If you insist . . .” But I stopped caring as I raised my toes off the rocks beneath me and let the water cradle me.

Slowly, I eased away from the edge.

Below me something warm surged toward my feet. It felt like a current, and I guessed it was the source of the spring’s heat . . . maybe of the spring itself. I kicked my legs, relishing the feel between my toes.

I sank lower into the water . . . diving . . . plunging closer to the heat . . .

Opening my eyes, I realized my strange ability to see in the dark worked just as well down here. I released a breath and watched the bubbles swell toward the water’s surface. Around me, I could make out the rocky walls and ridges of the pool’s edge. I traced them, following them lower; to where they reached depths I could no longer see.

I wondered just how far down the pond went.

Deciding to explore, I spun myself in that direction and propelled myself with my hands, letting my super-vision lead the way. Eventually I saw tiny, almost microscopic bubbles seeping toward me. As I kept going the bubbles grew denser, making it harder to see through them.

I had to be nearing the source.

“Kyra!” The sound—my name—was muffled by both the water and distance. Then it came again, and I felt it more than understood it . . . him. “Kyra!”

From way above, near the surface, Tyler was shouting for me.