Until the Day I Die(54)

30

ERIN

I stumble forward on shaky legs, thrashing through giant banana tree leaves and furry vines, ordering my body—my mind too, while I’m at it—not to collapse. Jessalyn’s close behind me. I can tell, because she won’t stop crying. I think about turning and shushing her, but we can’t afford the delay. Lach could be right behind us.

It’s pitch dark, and even though there’s a watery half-moon overhead, I still trip over or hit every root and branch in my path. Eventually we come to a clearing with tall grass. But my heart plummets when I take in the strangely familiar shape of the field. Shit. We’ve just been following the trail we used earlier today. The one that leads to the meadow with our shelters and eventually to the waterfall.

As Jessalyn runs past me, I grab her shirt and yank her off the path. She yips as I pull her deeper into the thick screen of leaves. A half dozen yards farther into the cover of the jungle, I push her down into a depression in the ground. We’re hidden, but I can still see the path, and there’s no sign of Lach. Not yet.

Jess is trembling violently, breathing too loudly. I put a hand over her lips, and she gulps, quieting. In the scant moonlight, I see her face is coursed with sweat and tears and flecks of blood.

Then I hear the crashing. I throw my arm around Jess, flattening us both into the dirt and rotted leaves, willing us invisible. I strain my ears, expecting him to continue past, but he stops, yards away from us.

I can’t see him, can’t hear him now either, but he’s just standing there. I hold my breath, squeezing my eyes shut.

Go. Gogogogogogo . . .

I need to be thinking, planning a way out of here if this asshole spots us, but all I can think of is Shorie. My sweet, smart, stubborn Shorie, who painted a starry sky with the words Make a dent in the universe. Why do I always think I have to be the one out front, leading the charge? My daughter knew better than me. She didn’t want to go to school. She wanted to stay home, with me, watching TV and eating ice cream and healing from the cruel blow life had dealt us.

What an idiot I’ve been. What a selfish, bullheaded idiot. If I’d listened to her, we’d be home now.

“Chickadees!” Lach calls out in a singsong voice, and a fresh wave of adrenaline washes over me again. Sharp, hot pinpricks, like I’m being electrocuted.

He’s trying to figure out which way we went. Looking for footprints on the trail or broken branches or something. I don’t know if the guy’s any kind of tracker, but if he is, I’m hoping our signs are too hard to read in the dark.

We stay still, and after what seems like forever, he jogs away, back in the direction he came. I count three hundred Mississippis, then shake Jess gently.

“Are you hit? Did he hit you?”

“No, he missed and I just dropped. But why did he shoot Deirdre? Why did he shoot me?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. But we need to stop and think about our next step. We don’t know this island, but he does.”

“Should we stay here? Or go?”

“Stay, I think. At least for a little longer.”

We’re in a good spot. Thick undergrowth obscures the small depression, hiding us from the path. I don’t see a flashlight or hear any animal noises, only the distant rumble of thunder. It sounds like it’s a ways off, but I don’t know how fast storms travel across a tiny island in the middle of the Caribbean. We’ve had showers here, at least one or two every afternoon, but not a full-on storm. Yet.

“I almost forgot. I got this.” Jessalyn fumbles with something, a green battery light glows, and then there’s a crackle. Lach’s walkie. “Hello? Hello? Is anybody out there?”

A voice crackles back. “Dimitri here. Who’s this?”

She presses the button again, but I snatch the walkie from her and start searching frantically for the power button. “They can track these things,” I whisper.

Where the hell is the goddamn button? I work in tech, for the love of God.

A female’s voice comes through the walkie, low and modulated. “Jessalyn? Is that you?”

I freeze, and Jess puts her hand on my leg.

“Jessalyn?” Antonia says. “Is everything all right up there? Where’s Lach?”

In the dark, our eyes meet.

I press the button. “Antonia?”

“Who’s this?”

“Erin Gaines.”

“Erin? Is everything all right?” Her voice is breathy. Light. I’m not fooled.

I suck in a long, deep breath and let it out. Jess sends me the smallest nod.

“No, Antonia. As a matter of fact, everything is not all right. But there’s no time to go into it now. Right now all I’m going to say is you better get your goddamn ducks in a row—call your lawyer, shred documents, wipe hard drives—because this is the end of the road.”

She doesn’t answer. My fingers have begun to tingle.

“RJ for Antonia,” comes a different voice.

“Go,” Antonia says.

“What’s your twenty?”

“Studio C.”

“I’ll meet you there in a second to pick up the yoga mats.”

“Over.”

And then she’s gone. I stare at the screen, wanting to scream. To smash this stupid walkie to powder.