“I know, I know, I’m sorry! I got so far behind and I thought I could catch up! It was dangerous, I know!”
Simon stamped about for a few more minutes, continuing to swear, occasionally turning on her. For some reason, his anger didn’t bother her at all. She had to clamp her lips together to keep from smiling.
It was okay. She hadn’t died. They had found each other again. And his fury — it sounded like caring. About her.
As they started walking again, a triumphant little song played in her mind: I saved myself. I saved myself.
“I’m going to climb a tree and see if I can get a bearing,” Simon said.
They were at the top of a long slope. All around them, great pines rose, blocking the light from reaching the forest floor. They’d been walking on a spongy carpet of rust-colored pine needles. The space was like a vast ballroom, with dozens of towering pillars supporting a sky-high leafy ceiling.
The whole place felt as if she’d stepped into the world of Quest, only it was real. She half expected to spot a ring of toadstools pointing to a treasure hidden among these tall trees, or magical beings waiting to help them in their cause. In the aftermath of getting herself out from under the rocks, she felt even better and stronger than when she successfully completed a chapter in the game, the Scout bringing her team — the Archer, the Wizard, the Alchemist, the Prince, and the others — safely to the next milestone on the quest to rescue Queen Aditha.
The tree Simon had chosen was enormous. He was already moving up the trunk with ease, stretching from one limb to another, his hold as sure as if he had sticky webs on his hands and feet.
Mia sank carefully to her knees on the soft ground, trying not to bump her worst bruises. She watched until he was out of sight on the other side of the massive trunk. She didn’t want to think about how high he was off the ground, how long a fall if … She lay back on the needle-covered ground to rest, reaching a hand for her locket.
There was nothing there.
She sat up and felt her neck with both hands. No chain. No locket pendant. She stood up and shook out her jacket and T-shirt, searched her jeans pockets. Finally, she opened her pack, emptied everything onto the ground, and shook it upside down. She examined each item as she repacked. No necklace.
The rocks. The chain must have broken when she got trapped. Or when they were crawling through the brush beside the road. She felt like crying. All that work saving herself, and she had to go and lose her necklace. Of course it was nothing, compared to everything they were going through. But she wanted her necklace, all the more because of everything they were going through.
Her hand went to her throat again, searching for the locket to hold, to comfort herself because she had lost it. She gave a shaky little laugh. Her mind knew it was gone, but her body hadn’t gotten the message yet. Her hand opened on her chest and patted it, like soothing a crying baby. There, there.
There was a scrape above her, Simon’s shoes on the bark. He was navigating the lower branches, still high overhead. He was almost down when he gave a stifled cry, then a sharp exhalation. A moment later he dropped to the ground and lowered himself beside her. His hand went to the inside of his left calf.
“Damn! I stabbed myself! There was this broken branch, really sharp, slipped under my jeans —”
He bent forward and rolled up the cuff. Mia gasped. His leg was covered in bright blood.
Simon reached for his pack and pulled out his water bottle, unscrewing the cap. He poured a stream of water over his leg, his breath hissing through clenched teeth. It was a long, nasty scrape, like a channel down the length of his shin and ankle. Mia winced, then shivered. Pale watery blood streamed down his leg onto his sock.
“I’ve got to bandage it somehow, stop the bleeding,” Simon said.
“My underwear, the clean pair.” She grabbed her pack. “I haven’t worn them.”
Simon made a face, but he took the underwear. With the blade of his knife, he cut a long strip of the lavender cotton, then started to wrap it around his leg.
“Wait!” she said. “I’ve got soap!”
Simon gave her a look, but this time he didn’t make fun of her. He cut off a section from the leftover scrap of cloth and used it to wash the wound with soap. Red-tinged water dripped onto the orange pine needles.
The wound cleaned and wrapped, Simon got slowly to his feet. He put his foot down, shifted a little onto it, then more fully.
Mia’s eyes widened. If Simon couldn’t walk …
“Okay,” he said.
She let out her breath. “Do you think we should try to get back to the road? So it’s easier to walk?”
He shook his head. “The last thing I need is to run for cover if someone comes along.” He was scuffing the wet and bloody spots into the dirt, covering them with more pine needles.
“Did you figure out what direction we’re going?” She leaned down to gather their water bottles and search the ground for any trace of their presence.
“I couldn’t see much when I was up there, but I could tell which way was west. The sky’s brighter over there.” He gestured to their left.
They walked side by side down the gentle slope, then up a steeper rise. Mia caught Simon wincing from time to time. Maybe he was in pain and not telling her. She felt a little light-headed herself. Her arms and legs were heavy and her bruises ached.
“It looks like some kind of trail over there.” Mia broke through the brush and found herself in an open green tunnel, as if someone had mowed a pathway through the undergrowth. “Simon, come see!”
There, in the grass at her feet, were two rusting metal rails. They ran straight ahead, deep into the forest, nearly covered by grass in spots.
“Weird.” Simon shook his head. “Maybe there was some kind of factory in the forest, for some forest product, and they sent the freight out by rail.”
“Let’s follow it!” She traced the enticing path with her eyes.
Simon was calculating, looking up at the sky, turning around in a circle to get his bearings. “It’s running more or less west. It’ll take us away from the road, but it’s gotta go somewhere eventually.”
In spite of everything, Mia felt her mood lifting as they set off uphill along the tracks. Despite the overgrowth, it was much easier walking. That must be better for Simon’s leg. And there was something about following a path…. Bushwhacking didn’t necessarily go anywhere but more wilderness. But a path led somewhere. And she had found it. She was a real, true Scout.
As the brightness of the day dimmed, they still hadn’t come to any kind of shelter. The trees were smaller and spaced wider apart, and there were open stretches of barren land: dry, brown dirt covered only in browning grass. It was looking less promising that they’d find anywhere good to rest for the night.
Then, around a bend, they came to a structure framed in a little group of trees. An old boxcar on rusted wheels. Gray wooden sides rotted in a rusty metal frame, one side open where the door had disintegrated.
When they looked inside, they found a tree growing up through a corroded hole in the metal floor, pushing out through a missing section of roof. The far end of the roof was still in one piece, sheltering one corner of the boxcar.
Simon leaned forward and placed both hands on the metal floor, testing. “Seems like it’s solid.”
“Let me try. I’m lighter.” Holding the side of the car, Mia climbed up carefully. They didn’t need her falling through, scraping her leg on sharp metal. She walked around, then stamped, and finally jumped up and down.
“It’ll be dark soon. Guess this is our motel room.” Simon started to lower himself to the edge of the car floor. Mia jumped out of the boxcar and reached to hold some of his weight as he sat.
“Mia, I’m fine. Back off.” His tone was short, annoyed.
“Hey, I’m just trying to help.”
“Well, don’t.”
He leaned against the edge of the doorway and shut his eyes, frowning. She stepped back.
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“Knock it off, Simon. I know you’re frustrated —”
His eyes flew open and his head came up. “You don’t know anything.” His mouth turned down in an angry sneer. “You wanna know what’s going on for me? Well, let me lay it out for you. As you pointed out yesterday, I’m the one who got you into this. I’m the one who said we had to run. It’s my fault that you’re in danger. What would Mom and Dad say about that? And speaking of Dad, oh yeah, he’s stuck in some prison somewhere, and I have absolutely no idea how to help him.”
Mia let herself slowly down to kneel on the ground, eyes on Simon as he went on.
“Then, to top it all off, I have to go climb a tree and injure myself! And ever since this started, it’s like my perfectly ordinary, scaredy-cat little sister suddenly morphed into some kind of Spy Girl!” He was talking to the ground now. “You’ve got a map, you’ve got a dictionary, you’ve got dried food, you can read and write freakin’ Korean! … I mean, you’re like some Special Forces operative who’s been training for months!
“Meanwhile, I’m totally useless.” His voice was ragged by this point, the words torn out of him. “I stick out like a neon sign. I don’t know how to do anything that can actually help us get away.”
He looked across at her, eyes blazing. “We are lost, Mia. In a freakin’ totalitarian country! They’re looking for us everywhere. I can’t walk fast. We haven’t eaten in twenty-four hours, except for your stupid snacks. I’ve been terrified since we ran. I’m afraid I can’t get you out of here.” His voice cracked.
Mia stared.
Simon sat up, pulled his MP3 player out of his pack, and put on his earphones.
Mia stood up and walked a few steps, then sat down on a large rock near the boxcar. She felt a little dizzy. It was as if somebody had slipped into her mind and rearranged all the furniture.
She had been so focused on herself that she hadn’t thought that Simon would be blaming himself for everything. He was used to being the champion, the bright sun that everyone — his little sister, his classmates, the fans at soccer and baseball games — looked up to.
She knew better than to try to reassure him by reminding him of all the amazing things he’d done. He’d known they had to run, which had kept the North Koreans from finding the photos on the phone. He’d led them out of Pyongyang. He’d found places to hide. He’d gotten them a ride. He kept figuring out what they needed to do. It was because of him that they hadn’t been caught.
She knew none of that would be enough in his book. It was all or nothing for Simon.
She remembered a baseball game last spring when he’d hit two home runs. Mia had run up to congratulate him afterward, bouncing with excitement. He’d just looked at her and said, “We didn’t win, did we?”
Another thing she understood now: Simon was scared. All that Stone Warrior stuff was just a cover. When he’d forced them to run, seeing his fear had made her panic more. But now, somehow it helped to know they were both afraid.
Then there were the things he’d said about her. It was as if he’d held up a mirror with a reflection of someone she didn’t recognize. She wasn’t an invisible girl in the shadow of her competent big brother. She wasn’t a heavy burden dragging him down. She was someone who had something to offer.
She couldn’t help smiling. Spy Girl, he’d called her. A Special Forces operative. Her mind began to make a picture. She’d need a superhero uniform — it would have to be black, like a wet suit. With a pull-up ninja-style mask. And tight, black, thigh-high boots with stiletto heels, like Catwoman.
Simon opened his eyes then and caught the look on her face.
“What’s so funny?” His voice was loud over the music. He sounded like he might eat her.
She cocked her head and gave him a little grin. “I was just kind of imagining that Spy Girl thing, what the costume would look like.” She shrugged an apology. “But Simon —” Her voice was serious now.
“What?” His tone was a little less aggressive. He pulled out one earbud.
“Getting the photos out isn’t stupid. The people in the photos matter. It may not be much, but it’s the only thing we can do to help them, and Dad.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not going to help us get out of here, is it?” Simon put his earpiece back in and climbed into the boxcar.
Mia felt exhaustion coming over her in a great smothering blanket, pinning her to the ground. She made herself stand up. She gathered a few armloads of grass and leaves and piled them in the corner of the boxcar. She slid to the floor on top of the pile, feeling as if she would never move again.
Simon was propped against the side of the car near the opening, where there was still some light. He bent forward over his leg and pulled off the bandage. In the center of the lavender cloth that used to be her underwear was a large, dark red stain.
“How is it?” She tried to sound casual.
“I can’t really tell. At least it’s clotted some. I’m going to let it air out for the night and dry out the bandage. We don’t have enough water left to wash it.” He reached forward to drape the bloody cloth over a branch of the little tree at the center of the car. It hung there, a grisly decoration in the dusk. Simon crawled across the floor and stretched out beside her.
Mia gathered her strength to sit up and pull the pack from underneath her head. She took out the Snickers bar and handed it to Simon.
“This is for you.”
He glanced over, then turned his head sharply away. “No way, Mia. It’s yours.”
“Simon, I saved it for you. You lost some blood today —” He exhaled loudly, scoffing. “Well, you did, a little. But more than that, you need more fuel than I do. I still have the package of Starbursts. I’ll eat some of those.”
He finally saw that she wasn’t going to back down. Watching him eat the chocolate was even sweeter than the taste of the candy melting in her mouth.
He carefully folded the wrapper and handed it back to her. “Thanks.”
Her face warmed with pleasure. She took a swig from her bottle, restraining herself from gulping down the rest. “Do you still have water?”
“A few swallows. We’ll have to find some tomorrow.” Simon picked some dry twigs off the floor of the car, carved the bark off, and handed her one. They lay side by side, working on their teeth.
“Simon?”
“What?” His voice sounded bleached out.
“We really need some food.” Mia thought of the young soldiers who would never grow to their full height. The many nights they had gone to bed feeling this hollowness — or something much worse.
“I know. We’ll find something tomorrow, somehow.”
She chose to believe him.
“Agent Son, the chief wishes to see you in his office. 18:30.” The call came from Chief Yoon’s secretary as Ji-hoon was packing up to leave.
A warning stirred in his gut, like the faint rumble of a far-off storm. Prepare for trouble.
Of course it didn’t necessarily mean catastrophe. The bureau chief often requested face-to-face meetings, to update him on investigations or to pass on instructions in particularly delicate operations, such as the one that had presented itself the day before. But Ji-hoon was on high alert these days. The director of his agency, the Ministry of People’s Security, had chosen to work in direct opposition to the State Security Department. And even more deadly, he had decided to bolster their efforts by involving foreign contacts. Ji-hoon knew that as a senior agent, he’d have a target on his back if anything went wrong.
He checked his watch. 18:22. He had eight minutes to collect himself, in case he wasn’t coming back to this office. Rubbing the raised rope of scar on the back of his right hand, he scanned the surface of his desk and did a mental inventory of the neat stacks of papers and the drawers of his file cabinet, ensuring once again that there was nothing that could be used to incriminate him or any of his associates. Not that any of that would matter if the agency needed sacrificial lambs. The only recourse in suc
h an event was to jump ship before it was too late. Equally important, though, was not taking action too soon; premature movement could have immediate, deadly consequences.
He put on his suit jacket, slipped his cell phone into his pocket, stepped through the office doorway, and started down the corridor.
His survival instincts remained keen, honed in the famine days when he’d had to scrounge, steal, and fight for his life as a kotchebi — a flower swallow, one of hundreds of street children who haunted the markets, public squares, and rail stations of North Korea after their adult relatives had starved to death, left to find food, or abandoned them once they could no longer feed them. He carried more than just physical scars from this harrowing experience. Perhaps the most useful thing he’d acquired was the ability to read nuances of expression, gesture, and speech, like an early-warning system, detecting vulnerabilities to be exploited or threats to be avoided. And the habit of always having a Plan B, like a stowed-away life raft.
In the corridor he passed Baek and Ahn, talking intently. He felt a kind of pity for his fellow agents, a bunch of boys whose families’ wealth and prestige were as responsible for their current positions as any personal merit. For once he was grateful for his early losses, and to be yet unmarried, childless. He could make his choices without worrying about a family.
Pausing before the door to the chief’s office, he took a breath, stilling his face: a quiet pool reflecting a clear sky and bright sun, not a ripple to suggest the tumult beneath the surface. 18:30. He stepped forward and knocked on the door.
“The two young Americans,” the chief began, without even greeting him. “They’ve been spotted.”
OCTOBER 5
Something was wrong.
Simon was groaning.
He stood near the opening of the boxcar, his back to Mia. Balancing on his right foot, he held on to the edge of the doorway, left knee bent, foot dangling.
“Simon?” It came out as an anxious squeak.
“It’s okay, Mia. My leg just hurts a little.”
She rubbed her eyes. He was trying to reassure her, but this was bad. If his leg was hurting this much, when he wasn’t putting weight on it, he shouldn’t walk on it.
In the Shadow of the Sun Page 12
