by Meg Gardiner
Gabe moved. “We gotta go. Now.”
He slid across the cramped interior of the limo. In the white moonlight, Jo saw the scene outside.
The lightning had ended. They could safely evacuate. And the rain had stopped. The clouds had blown away, and their opposition now had a clearer, easier chance to come after them. But that wasn’t what scared her.
She saw the river thrashing through the gorge.
“Everybody up,” Gabe said. “Hurry. It’s an emergency.”
Flash flood.
The Hummer had slid to rest a dozen feet from the riverbank, perhaps a meter above the level of the water. But the torrential mountain downpour had created flood conditions.
They were in a granite-lined gorge, where the water couldn’t soak into the ground. It could only run off. Jo saw it—wild waves, turbulent, dangerous, and rising quickly. The spot upriver she had hiked across earlier, the inch-deep rock slab, was deeply submerged. Muddy torrents lapped at the side of the car.
“Quick,” she said. “Gather up all the supplies. Help us get Noah out.”
Nearby, the horse nickered and stamped its feet. Autumn and Lark crawled out the window of the Hummer. They laid a thick coat across the windowsill. Jo and Gabe knelt on either side of Noah.
“Ready?” Gabe said.
Noah nodded halfheartedly. “Surfin’ USA. Let’s go.”
“On three.”
They slid him across the Hummer, grating against dust and chunks of shattered safety glass, to the window. Jo crawled out. She gestured for Autumn to help. They reached back inside and grabbed Noah’s shoulders.
“This is going to hurt,” Jo said.
“Do it.”
She eyed Gabe. Then she and Autumn pulled. Gabe lifted Noah’s legs. Noah’s face looked vampire pale, but he didn’t cry out. With a hard tug, Jo and Autumn hauled him through the window onto the rocky sand outside.
“Shit,” he muttered.
“We’re going to get you on the horse,” Gabe said. “Then we’re going to walk out of here.”
Peyton continued to huddle in the far corner of the Hummer. Over the roar of the river, she said, “Don’t make me. They’re out there.”
“And they’re coming. We have to leave.” Jo gestured to the river. “Look.”
“Where can we even go?” Peyton said.
Jo turned, hopeless, to the river. Even in the time it had taken them to get out of the Hummer, the water had become more turbulent. There was no chance they could possibly cross it now, no chance at all to climb out of the gorge and somehow make their way back to the dead rancher’s burned-out home, where a driveway led toward a way out. They were trapped on this riverbank. The gorge, already lined with stone and pines, was becoming a sluice gate of waves and debris and whitewater. Past them flowed branches and mud. The river was nothing but hard force, grinding wave action, the certainty of drowning.
And it was rising faster. It now slurped against the ruined headlights of the limo.
“Higher ground,” Jo said. “Quick.”
A thought rattled around her exhausted head, about the geography of the gorge, the direction of the logging road above them, and this portion of the national forest, but she couldn’t fit it all together. Not right then, with the roar of the river growing ever louder.
But she had a gut feeling, a snap of certainty, that oriented her.
“Upriver,” she said. “We need to go up the gorge and gain height.”
Lark shook her head. “Farther into the forest? No—that’s the way they were taking us. We need to get back to civilization, and it’s downriver.”
“Downriver is the direction the bad guys are coming from. We want to get farther away from them. Trust me.” The nebulous thought was pulling at her, but still wouldn’t come into focus. “Come on.”
Legs trembling with fatigue, fingers stinging with cold, she untied the horse. Autumn and Lark linked arms to form a human armchair.
Gabe turned to Noah. “Can you do this, man?”
“Let’s go,” Noah said.
“Whatever you do, don’t scream.”
Jo and Gabe lifted Noah onto the girls’ linked arms. The young women groaned and stood up. Wobbling, they carried Noah to Faithful’s side. Noah wheezed through his teeth, trying to keep from shouting in pain. In the dark, with only the moonlight flaring through the clouds, his face was ghostly.
Gabe put Noah’s good leg in the stirrup. Jo boosted him up. Groaning, Noah straightened and nearly fell across the saddle. Jo swung his broken leg across. He gripped the saddle horn, about to pass out.
He settled in the saddle. “Got it.”
He hadn’t, he was close to fainting, but he was holding on.
Gabe looked at Autumn and Lark. “One of you get on behind him and hang on.”
Lark said, “I’ve never been on a horse.”
Autumn put a hand on Lark’s arm. A restraining hand. “You ride. I’ll lead Faithful.”
Lark didn’t resist. She mounted awkwardly and settled behind the saddle on the horse’s rump. Autumn held the reins.
“Where are we going?”
Jo felt all eyes on her in the thin white moonlight. “We’re going upriver until we can find a safe spot to climb the hill to the logging road. We’ll get out of the gorge, cross the road into the forest, and work our way back down from there.”
Gabe had stuffed their emergency supplies into Kyle’s black sports bag and slung it across his shoulders like a backpack, gingerly, protecting his sliced-up ribs. He held on to his buck knife and the steering-wheel club. Each of the others took up one of the carved spears. They started up the sandy bank, following the sound of rushing water.
Jo leaned into Autumn’s ear. “How bad is Lark’s eyesight?”
“Bad. She has juvenile macular degeneration.”
Jo’s chest squeezed. That was awful news. “Does she have any central vision?”
“Fuzzy. And her night vision is crap.” Autumn looked out from under her Marine Corps utility cap. Quietly she added, “Don’t mention it. She doesn’t want any help. And definitely not any sympathy.”
Jo nodded. “You’re a good friend.”
Autumn looked at her weirdly. She seemed baffled.
“You okay?” Jo said.
“It’s . . . you think so?”
Gabe scanned the river and hillside. Without a word, he waved them upriver. Slipping across wet rocks and muddy ground, they began to climb.
The log scraped and scoured the roadbed, slowly, grating against the wet gravel. Headlights off, brake lights shining, the Toyota pickup dug in and struggled to clear the fallen pine from the logging road. The ropes tied to the pickup’s trailer hitch stretched and groaned.
On the opposite side of the tree, Haugen nudged the Tuolumne sheriff’s cruiser against the heavy trunk. The cruiser’s push bumper connected with the wood. Painfully, inch by inch, the tree rasped across the road.
Haugen waved Stringer forward. “Keep going. You’re getting it.”
Finally, creaking and snapping, the tree slid out of the way. Haugen gave the all-clear sign and jumped out of the cruiser.
The rain had finally stopped. The night, however, was unrelenting. He heard the river tearing through the unseen gorge below. The downpour had turned into a flash flood. The river was a maelstrom.
He ran to the pickup and helped Stringer untie the ropes from the pickup’s trailer hitch.
The logging road was nearly impassable. Under the force of the rain, rocks had cascaded down the hillside. Waterfalls of mud had poured down onto the road. Visibility became nonexistent. He, Sabine, and Stringer had been forced to stop and huddle until the downpour eased. Then they had wasted hours clearing debris and inching past washed-out sections of the road. The toppled pine was the third tree they had dragged from the road. But now at last they could make progress toward the spot where the Hummer had plunged into the gorge.
The bad news was that Von was no longer answering his cell phone.
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But it wasn’t all bad news. The bridge was gone. Haugen had watched debris-laden water sweep over the railings and tear the bridge in half.
His cold fingers fumbled with the knots in the rope. Sabine jogged over.
“Dane. How do you plan to get out of this hellhole with the bridge out?”
He couldn’t get the knots. Stringer took out a switchblade and bent to cut them. Haugen turned to Sabine.
“The bridge washing out is good news,” he said.
“How do you figure that?”
He heard a snapping noise and a thin form snaked around his calf. He shouted and danced back, kicking his foot to get rid of the thing.
“Where is it? Where?” he said.
Stringer picked up the rope he had just cut. “Sorry.”
Haugen’s ulcer flared. He could barely see for his rage. “Never do that. It could have been a lyre snake or a rattler. I might have shot it. And you.”
Sabine crossed her arms. “Dane? The good news?”
Haugen smoothed down his hair and headed for the cruiser, blood pounding in his temples. “Law enforcement won’t be able to drive up here this morning. We have complete run of the wilderness.”
With the bridge out, nobody could get up the road. Not a sheriff’s posse, not the highway patrol, nobody who might attempt to rescue Autumn Reiniger. Haugen had free rein. He got in the cruiser and led his three-vehicle convoy up the gorge.
43
Jo stepped gingerly along the sloping hillside. The river below sounded deafening, but she could still hear Peyton whimper.
Autumn led the horse at a rolling walk. Lark and Noah rocked in the saddle. Jo strained to follow in Gabe’s footsteps up the trail.
There was no trail.
Just rocks, pines, and dogwoods, and the sting of frigid wind on her skin. The clouds had cleared. Stars sprayed the sky, white ice.
Behind them, in the deep of the night, the screams had stopped. But they lingered in the air like static electricity, like djinns hovering over her shoulder, ready to swoop. Something was out there. She couldn’t help feeling it closing on them.
“Gabe, I think we should risk the flashlight,” she said.
“Not yet.”
His voice, even at a whisper, was tight. “The trees aren’t thick enough here to provide cover against the light. Wait till we find heavier foliage. Then I can run ahead to recon a path.”
His silhouette was all she could see. He continued walking cautiously over the uneven slope. She glanced back. They’d traveled perhaps a quarter of a mile upstream from the Hummer.
“Lark?” she said. “Noah? How you doing?”
“Still here,” Lark said.
Noah gave a weak thumbs-up. In the starlight, his eyes shone with pain.
His gunshot wound had stopped bleeding, and his vital signs were surprisingly good. His broken leg had to be agony, but he sucked it up. The kid was hanging on through youth, fitness, and the raw tenacity of life itself. Still, no matter how much grit he had, his tank would eventually run dry.
Peyton murmured, “It’s so cold.”
Autumn said, “Deal with it.”
Peyton began to rub her wrist again.
Jo slowed to let Autumn catch up with her. “Tell me something. What was the idea behind the mock crime spree?”
“Adventure. My dad thinks these weekends take you places no other experience can.” She glanced around at the forest. “He was right.”
“Why not Outward Bound? Why a crime spree?”
“Dad designed it for me. He thought I’d get into it.”
Jo managed to swallow the wow. “And you chose to play the cartel queen?”
“It’s my party.”
Jo raised an eyebrow. “So the crime boss seemed the natural choice to you?”
Autumn seemed to slow. Her gaze lengthened. “You mean, why didn’t I decide to play a U.S. Marshal?”
“Do you feel like an outlaw?”
“No way. I . . .”
She frowned, struggling to put words to it. Maybe, Jo thought, struggling to put feelings to it.
“I’m the ‘perfect daughter,’ you know? I’m the ballerina twirling in the music box.” She paused. “The one with spoiled written on the back.”
“What were you supposed to do during the weekend?”
“Break out of prison and try to get away.”
The horse tossed its head and took a hard step, lurching before it found its footing amid rocks on the hillside. Autumn soothed her hand along its nose and kept walking. Jo didn’t think the girl realized what she had just said.
“What was going to happen at the end?” Jo said.
“I got it all. I ended up in custody, but bribed the marshals to join my team. We partied.” She looked at the ground. “Dumb, huh?”
Jo couldn’t even begin to catalogue the issues Autumn must have with boundaries. She could only imagine the girl’s need to be held tight and given bright guidelines, before she could break free. And she thought the person Autumn really wanted on her team was her dad.
The horse hesitated on the slope and flicked his tail. Jo checked to make sure Peyton wasn’t close to his hind legs. All she saw was trees and darkness.
“Where’s Peyton?”
Autumn glanced back. Lark turned in the saddle.
“She was right here,” Autumn said.
Lark stage-whispered, “Peyton?”
No reply.
Jo tried to see shapes in the fulminating darkness. Nothing. Autumn held on to the horse’s bridle. Lark tilted her head up and listened to the night wind—alert, Jo thought, for errant noises.
Autumn’s voice went flat. “She went back to the Hummer.”
Lark nodded. “Yeah.”
Jo’s shoulders dropped. “Dammit.”
They listened to the river thrash. “I’ll go back,” Jo said.
Gabe turned. “We both will.”
His voice was hard. He waved to Autumn. “Lead the horse over here.”
They continued along the riverbank for another fifty yards, until they could shelter behind a boulder. Autumn was shivering, Lark and Noah less so—the big animal was the warmest thing in the forest.
“Stay here,” Gabe said. “Stay quiet. We’ll be back.”
He and Jo took off down the slope, watching each step in the dark. Jo’s hands ached with cold. Gabe stepped carefully, agile in the night, semi-sidestepping so he wouldn’t fall facedown if a root or rock tripped him.
“She can’t be that far ahead,” Jo said.
“Not far,” Gabe said. “But this isn’t good.”
Peyton hugged herself. Her hair flew around her head in the wind. She staggered back the way they had come, eyes on the ground. It had to be here.
She had lost the bracelet. It was gone. It had fallen off her wrist sometime after they left the Hummer. She balled her freezing hands into fists. She had to find it.
Moonlight spilled on the ground through the trees. The silver bracelet would catch the light. She could find it. She had to.
She checked that nobody was coming after her. None of them would understand. They would have stopped her. They already thought she was silly and stupid, and they didn’t know. She fought down a sob. They didn’t understand.
She had to find it. Her grandmother had given it to her. Grier’s smiling skull ring was looped around it. It was all she had left. It was everything and she had to retrieve it.
She scanned the ground, stumbling, her hair tangling in the wind. The river roared. She would find the bracelet and then she would run back and catch up with the group. They wouldn’t even know she’d been gone.
But she had to find the bracelet before she started crying again and her eyes got too full of tears to see it. She stumbled through the brush and rocks, hoping.
Gabe and Jo ducked and bobbed, avoiding pine boughs, placing their feet carefully among the rocks and roots in the dark. Worry chewed at Jo. Peyton could have fallen. She could have tumbled into the riv
er. With the water thundering, they would never hear a splash.
“I don’t like this,” she said.
“No kidding.”
His tone, even at a whisper, was stinging. She felt fed up. “Why are you angry at me?”
He shook his head and continued working his way along the slope beneath the pines.
“Hey,” she whispered. “Give me something. Anything. We’re in a situation here. What’s out of whack?”
He bent low and raised a hand. Jo stopped. She had heard it too.
A moment later, a spectral form flew past them. Wings cut the air. Her skin prickled and she ducked, gasping.
“Owl,” Gabe said.
Jo held still, her whole body cramped. Gabe paused. He watched and listened, judging the scene as the night poured down on them. High-level situational awareness.
She stared at him until he looked at her.
He said, “You chased after Dustin and Kyle without telling anyone.”
“There was no time. And I couldn’t phone you.”
“You disappeared. Never do that in a wilderness survival situation. You know that, Jo.”
Despite the snapping cold wind, she felt hot. “It was an emergency.” Her whisper felt choked. “I had to try to reach him.”
“You put yourself in additional danger.”
You left me worried sick, he meant.
Moonlight whitewashed his face. “It was an impulsive decision. You didn’t stop to think about the risk to your own life.”
Her head felt hot. She wanted to grab him and argue. But the irony was hitting her—of defending her actions while searching for Peyton. Hitting her, painfully. She swallowed her pride and kept silent.
His voice sounded strained. “You tried to save him. That’s amazing. But you could have ended up—”
“Don’t.”
He held her with his gaze. She couldn’t bear the vehemence in his eyes, or the fear.
“Next time I’ll think it through,” she said.
For a moment he said nothing. Then he gripped her shoulders, leaned in, and put his lips next to her ear. “I don’t ever want to be the one who has to tell your family. Telling you was as awful as it gets.”
