The Outliers (The Outliers, #1)(46)

But we might not have that kind of time. Cassie might not.

The air is full-on bitter when we get out of the car. The cold burns my lungs, and a white cloud of steam gathers around my face as I exhale. Officer Kendall starts forward quickly across the grass, waving silently for us to follow. He swivels his head right and left, watching for danger, checking the perimeter as we make our way toward the cabin to the far right. As we pass the other cabins, I can see the screens aren’t peeled back and the doors look solidly on their hinges. But it’s making me feel worse, not better. Of course, up here at these cabins is where you’d go to hide something or someone. I clench my fists like the pain of my fingernails digging into my palms is going to release some of the pressure in my gut. But what I really need to do is breathe. I know that. For real, I have to. If only that wasn’t so much easier said than done.

“I’m scared,” I whisper to Jasper.

“Me too,” he says.

“L-l-let’s pick up the p-p-pace,” Officer Kendall says once we’re in the middle of the lawn. Like it’s a threat, us being out in the open. “Your f-f-friend didn’t tell you anything about these people she was with? No details at all?”

He’s really listening for our answer now. He wasn’t before, that’s obvious now. They had written Cassie off as just another junkie. Maybe even the kind they had agreed to turn a blind eye to.

“Just that she got herself into something and that her mom would be mad,” Jasper says, doing his own nervous survey of the perimeter. “Then all of a sudden she said she was scared that they were going to hurt her.”

Which means, of course, that she had her phone. I’ve known that the whole time but haven’t really thought about it until now. Why would they have let her keep her phone? Maybe she really did come up here to “party” like that sergeant said. And it got out of hand.

“Stay to the left inside,” Officer Kendall says when we finally reach the steps up to the cabin door. “There’s a big hole in the floor to the right. And there’s boxes, furniture everywhere. Flashlight will only do so much.”

As we start up behind him, I feel more light-headed. I grab the handrail to steady myself. Breathe. Something new feels wrong, though. Something more than everything that is already so very bad—Lexi and Doug, the men chasing us through the woods, Cassie’s things maybe being on the floor of some meth den. It’s like I’ve left something crucial behind—my backpack, my phone, a piece of my body—and haven’t fully realized it yet. Breathe, in and out to a count of four. Officer Kendall stands to the right, holding the door open for us, his flashlight pointing us left.

I’m trembling as I step inside, glimpse the outline of a desk along the wall, a filing cabinet in the corner. The camp office, probably. It smells dusty and a little mildewed but not terrible. Not like death. And that seems important. But there is still that other something in the air, something that feels extra off. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.

“It’s right there on the floor, under the window,” Officer Kendall says, drawing a circle on the floor some distance ahead with the beam of his flashlight.

My heart catches when I finally see it: Cassie’s floppy hobo bag. The one she always carries. There’s her sweatshirt, too, right there on the floor—the red Boston one with the hole in the right sleeve. I rush toward it because if it doesn’t have that hole, then it won’t be hers after all. And that bag, they are pretty popular these days. It could be anyone’s.

“Don’t touch anything!” Officer Kendall shouts after me.

And so I fold my hands against myself as I crouch down next to the sweatshirt. Sure enough, there is that stupid hole. It is her sweatshirt. Cassie was here in this cabin and now she’s gone. Someone took her. Made her leave her things behind. Because Cassie loved that sweatshirt and she paid for that bag herself—almost a hundred dollars she’d made scooping a lot of ice cream at Holy Cow. Something else catches my eye then, a couple of inches to the side: pink camouflage. I look closer, and sure enough they are boy-style briefs that say Sleep with Me across the butt. Cassie’s underwear.

I push myself to my feet. Too fast. Way too fast. Fireworks of little lights cascade in front of my eyes. Head rush. But that’s okay. Just a little low blood pressure. The edges of the room aren’t actually stretching thin. The tingle in my hands is all in my head.

“Do you recognize any of it?” Officer Kendall asks. Not a hiccup, not a twitch. Not a stutter. Officer Kendall’s speech is totally even. It’s been even, actually. For how long? He was stuttering before in the car, definitely. And when we first stopped here at these buildings, wasn’t he? But for sure he’s not stuttering now. That’s what was off. That was what was left behind.

I look up from Cassie’s underwear to Jasper’s reflection in the window. No stutter, I think, but am too afraid to say. We are not safe. My heart is beating in my ears. The sound is echoey, like we’re underwater. And now the room is so narrow and dark, like I’m staring down a paper towel tube.

There’s a sound then. Loud. Near the door. A crash? Is that it? Then darkness to my left and then a burning and a tilt and then—





“Wylie? Are you okay?” A voice. I don’t know whose.

I try to open my eyes but they are sealed shut. My mouth is, too. Is my jaw broken? No, it’s just the insides of my mouth pasted together. Water. I need water. But when I move, pain slices through the side of my head. Squinting my eyes open makes it even worse.