I wondered, if five minutes stretched to ten, would either of them notice I hadn't come back? I could run. It was an option, flickering like a loose lightbulb at the edge of my mind. I had promised myself I'd take the first chance I got. I could hike back to Korbie and we could go for help together. But if Calvin's map was right, we'd see the ranger patrol cabin as we came over the next slope. I could run now, and face the wilderness alone. Or I could stay, and pray there was a ranger at the patrol cabin.
I played out the scenario a step further. When the ranger patrol cabin came into view, Mason and Shaun wouldn't be expecting it, and I would have to mirror their surprise. I'd have to convince them I hadn't planned to run into it, and I'd have to talk them into knocking on the door. Then I would need to covertly communicate to the ranger that I was in trouble--we both were. Because if I led Mason and Shaun to the ranger patrol cabin, I was dragging the park ranger into this. Whether I wanted to or not. The difference, I told myself, was that the park ranger was trained to handle the worst.
Confirming that Mason and Shaun weren't coming to check on me, I pulled Calvin's map out and examined it closely under the headlamp. Some distance behind the ranger patrol cabin was a small, narrow lake. Calvin had scribbled "clean water source" next to it. I filed away this information before heading back to Mason and Shaun.
"How long before we rest?" I asked them. "We can't go forever without sleep."
"We'll rest after the sun comes up," Mason said. "We have to get to the highway by the time they plow the roads."
So you can steal a car before the police find you, I thought.
"There's an uncontaminated lake nearby, but it will take us about an hour off course," I said. "It's our last chance at clean water."
Mason nodded. "Then we'll refill at the lake, set up a temporary shelter, and catch a quick nap." He held out my backpack, and he must have seen me grimace, because a brief, apologetic smile flickered at his mouth. He lowered his voice, keeping his next words between us. "I know it's heavy, but we're almost there. A couple more hours."
I took the backpack skeptically, unsure how to interpret his small gesture of kindness. He was holding me hostage. How did he expect me to respond? With a smile of my own? Remembering the dead body back at the cabin, I tried to reconcile this considerate version of Mason with the one who might be a killer. Was his kindness genuine? Would he kill me if he had to?
"A couple hours," I echoed.
I didn't tell him, but if things went my way, we'd be stopping much sooner.
Not thirty minutes later, as we approached the basin of the slope, our path slanting diagonally through the trees to catch the softer edge of the mountain, I got my first glimpse of the ranger patrol cabin. It was small, two or three rooms at most, with a low roof and a tiny porch.
Up until this point, I'd kept my hope nailed down, afraid I wouldn't find the patrol cabin, but suddenly my heart swelled, burning in my chest. My relief smacked me with more force than the bitterly cold wind. The patrol cabin, just ahead. With a ranger inside, I was sure of it. After everything that had gone wrong, I was finally catching a break. The nightmare was coming to an end.
Beside me, Mason halted. He grabbed my arm and yanked me behind a tree. Shaun jumped the other way, concealing himself behind a tree a few feet away. I could hear Mason's breath coming in hard, choppy pants.
"The shelter down there. Did you know about it?" he demanded in a low, harsh whisper.
I shook my head no. I didn't trust my voice not to give me away. A strange, delicious hope thudded in my chest, and I was afraid Mason would hear it in my voice.
"So it's a coincidence?" he said, not sounding like he believed it.
"I didn't know, I swear," I said, wide-eyed. "Think about it. The shelter is minuscule compared to the vastness of the forest. It would be easier to miss than to hit. I'd have to have a map to find it in the dark. It's a coincidence, just bad luck."
Shaun pointed a threatening finger at me. "If you knew about this, if you led us here on purpose--"
"I didn't know, I swear. You have to believe me." I was so close. The ranger patrol cabin was a short distance down the hill. I couldn't blow this now. "You chose the direction, you told me where you wanted to go. You've had more control over our direction than I've had."
Mason steepled his gloved hands over his mouth, thinking. "No one can see us from the structure in this light. We haven't been seen. Nothing's changed."
"Then we take the long way around," Shaun said. "We walk a mile out of the way, if that's what it takes."
"What if it's empty?" I said. "If the pipes haven't frozen, it will have running water. Probably food and other supplies too. If we fill up here, we won't have to go out of our way to find the lake I told you about. It will save us a lot of time."
Mason studied me. "You're suggesting we raid the shelter?"
"We aren't going to make it to the highway on what we've got. We need to restock. Especially on water."
"Look around," Shaun said, kicking snow at me. "We got an endless supply of water."
"It's thirty degrees out," Mason said curtly. "How are we going to melt the snow? Britt is right. The shelter should have running water."
"I don't like it," Shaun muttered, folding his arms moodily over his chest. "We agreed: no people. Going down there is too risky."
"I'll go down first," I offered. "I'll look in the window. I'm not going to run away--I've already had enough chances. Where would I even go?"
"If anyone's going, it's me," Shaun said. "I have the gun."
At the reminder, I drew a silent intake of air. Would the ranger have a gun of his own? I didn't know. I hoped I knew what I was doing. I hoped, when this was over, I still thought leading us here was a good plan.
Mason gave his friend a nod of consent. "See what you can find."
Gun in hand, Shaun ran in a crouch downhill, making his way toward the dark, sleepy-looking patrol cabin dwarfed by dense evergreens whose tips seemed to sweep the sky.
"He'll be back soon," Mason said, as if the thought should comfort me.
"When are you going to tell me who you're running from and why?" I asked as soon as we were alone.
He merely looked at me. I couldn't decide if the root of his silence was arrogance or carefulness. He seemed like the kind of guy who weighed each word, each movement. Carefulness, I decided. Because he had a lot to hide.
"It's the police, I know it is, so you can stop pretending like you don't know what I'm talking about. You did something illegal. And now you're only making things worse by kidnapping me."
"Do you think your dad knows you never reached the cabin?" he asked, avoiding the subject. "Were you supposed to call him and check in when you got there?"
"I told him I'd call," I admitted, wondering what Mason was getting at.
"Your dad won't be able to get up here in this weather, and even if he could, he won't know where to look for you, but do you think he's called the park and notified them that you never made it to the cabin? Or were you telling the truth when you said your dad thinks you can get yourself out of trouble?"
I regarded him warily. "I told Shaun my dad knows I can handle myself, but I didn't tell you. When Shaun and I were in the kitchen cooking, were you eavesdropping?"
"Of course I was listening," he said, covering up any embarrassment with a tone of annoyance.
"Why?"
"I had to know what you told Shaun."
"Why?"
He gave me a long, considering look, but he didn't answer.
"Were you spying on me . . . or Shaun? Are you and Shaun even friends?" I was suddenly prompted to ask the question because of the strange tension I sensed between them. Maybe I'd been wrong this whole time. Maybe they weren't friends. But then, why were they together? One thing I knew for sure. I was far more afraid of Shaun. I would never ask him these questions, or even take this tone with him.
"What makes you think we're not?" he said in that same clipped, irritated voice.<
br />
"He lied to you. He told you I tried to kill myself, but he made the marks on my neck."
I could tell by the lack of surprise in his expression that he knew Shaun had been the one to hurt me.
"Was he afraid of what you'd do to him? Does he know you don't want me to get hurt? Is that why he lied?"
"Do you really think I'd step in and stop him from hurting you?" he demanded curtly. "Why would I do that?"
I recoiled at the hot contempt flashing in his eyes.
"You girls are all the same," he muttered with disgust.
"What does that mean?"
"You think I'll save you." He said it accusingly, bitterly. His eyes found mine, and even in the cold, pink light of dawn, I could see deep pain broiling in his gaze.
The back of my throat felt slippery. Any remaining fragment of hope seemed to crumble inside me. He wouldn't help me. I'd been wrong about him; he wouldn't soften. He was as useless to me as Shaun.
I wanted to turn away in indignation, to show him he couldn't treat me this way, but I couldn't afford to waste the time I had alone with him. Pushing down my despair, I focused on the questions I needed to ask. "Why did you lie about finding Korbie's insulin?"
"To cover for you. Shaun would have known you played him. How do you think he would have handled that? Think about it, Britt. I need you to get me off this mountain. You're no good to me dead."
"You lied to help yourself."
"I've seen the way you look at me. You think I'll protect you. You think when it comes down to moral obligation, I'll do the right thing. I'm not the same as Shaun, but I'm not good." He wasn't looking at me anymore, but rather off in the distance. He had the ragged, unpredictable look of someone haunted by old ghosts. An uneasy chill crept inside me. I began to believe he might be more dangerous than Shaun. That he was biding his time, playing Shaun's game with Shaun's rules, until the moment he was ready to make his move. . . .
The crunch of snow alerted us to Shaun's return. I jerked toward the sound, my eyes immediately going to the gun in his grip. He hadn't used it--I would have heard the shot. Even so, the way he held it, a natural, practiced extension of his hand, made my spine stiffen.
He grinned. "All clear. It looks like a park ranger outpost. No one has been there in days."
The hope I'd been clinging to seemed to deflate inside me. Empty? For days? I was so heartsick, I wanted to kneel in the snow and sob.
"Even better, there's lots to loot. Canned food, bedding, and dry firewood under a tarp around back," Shaun continued, with a greedy gleam in his eyes.
Beside me, Mason relaxed. "We'll refuel and crash here for a couple hours."
We hiked down to the patrol cabin. At the door, Shaun showed us how he'd gotten inside; he waved the key with a display of entitlement. "Found it under the doormat," he explained. "Stupid, trusting fools."
Mason held the door for me, and I stepped inside, not taking in the whole cabin at once, but searching for specific signs that Shaun had missed something, that a ranger had been here recently and might return soon.
The stale air was thick with dust. There were no dishes on the kitchen counters, no lingering smells of coffee. No wet, muddy footprints on the linoleum. A bar separated the kitchen from the living area. One corduroy sofa, a southwestern rug, and a beat-up trunk that served as a coffee table. No dishes there either, and no newspapers. Nestled into the corner beside the fireplace was an antique rocking chair that bore a fine layer of dust. A door at the end of the living room led to a small bedroom with a sloped roof.
Mason went to gather firewood, and soon after, dumped an armful of wood near the fireplace and started building a fire. Shaun kicked off his boots, tucked the gun into the back of his jeans, and ambled to the bedroom. He flopped facedown on the mattress.
"Keep an eye on her, Ace," he called through the doorway. "I'm beat. I'll take the next shift."
Casually, I began opening kitchen drawers and cupboards. Shaun was right; we'd eat well today. Canned corn, peas, sloppy joe sauce, powdered milk, rice, kidney beans, and vegetable oil. Sugar, flour, cornmeal, vinegar. I crouched in front of the sink and peered into the cabinet. I stared at the gallon-size clear plastic bag filled with first aid supplies . . . and a pocketknife.
"Fire's going," Mason said from above, and I immediately shut the cabinet and stood up. The kitchen bar separated us, and I hid my hands in my pockets to keep Mason from seeing that they were shaking.
"That's good," I responded automatically.
His bleary eyes instantly came alert with suspicion. "What are you doing?"
"Figuring out what to cook. I'm starving."
He continued to watch me, his look pure calculation. He came around the bar, slowly opening cabinet doors. His gaze shifted between the contents of each cupboard and my face, as if my reaction might clue him in on what I was up to. There was a knife block with steak knives on the counter, and he immediately seized it, studying me distrustfully.
He finished checking the bank of cupboards over the stove and moved down the counter toward me. In a matter of seconds, he'd open the door under the sink.
"You'll have to show me how to work the stove," I said, fiddling with the knobs. "I can cook something for us once the stove is on. We have a gas stove at home, so I'm not used to electric," I added, trying to keep my voice neutral.
With one final, searching look at me, Mason turned his attention to the stove top. He twisted one of the greasy, worn knobs. Immediately, a sweet, pleasant burning smell filled the kitchen, and when I held my hand over the coils, I felt rising heat.
"A good sign," I said.
He nodded in agreement. "Power's not out--yet."
"Sleep first or eat first?" I asked.
"Your call," he said, making it sound like the decision was up to me and he didn't care either way. In one of those rare moments, though, he made the mistake of shooting a split-second look of longing at the sofa. I felt a small victory in noticing. It meant Mason wasn't perfect after all--he could slip up and give away his secrets. And that gave me hope.
"Let's nap first," I said, turning off the stove burner. "We're exhausted."
After he fell asleep, I'd come back for the pocketknife.
I sank into the rocking chair near the fireplace, and Mason stretched out on the sofa. The heat from the fire tingled my skin, and I pulled a wool blanket up to my chin. A warm smokiness filled the ranger outpost, making my thoughts drowsy. I sighed, already feeling stiffness in my muscles from the long hike here. I wished I never had to move again.
Long after I shut my eyes, I felt Mason watching me. I knew he wouldn't sleep until he was sure I'd fallen asleep first. To keep my mind alert, I counted time. I was exhausted, but I could outlast him. I had to, if I wanted the pocketknife.
The fire burned down, smoldering quietly in the grate. At long last, I heard Mason shift, rolling to face away from me. His breathing slowed, and when I stole a quick glimpse, his long legs were relaxed in sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was a bleak, drizzly afternoon in March of my junior year, and the Wrangler was in the shop with a blown gasket. My brother, Ian, had promised to hang around after school--I had Key Club--and give me a ride home. After ten minutes of waiting, I left a distress call on his voice mail. After thirty minutes, my messages turned hostile. After an hour, the janitor kicked me out and locked up for the night.
Within seconds, my hair was plastered over my ears and my dress clung to my figure. Rain dripped off my eyelashes. My lips felt stiff with cold, and to keep them from freezing, I muttered every swear word I could think of, in every possible combination. I was going to punch Ian. The minute I got home, I was going to shove my fist into his nose, and I didn't care if it got me grounded from Korbie's party the following weekend.
Halfway home I kicked off my silk polka-dot ballet flats and hurled them furiously into the gutter. Ruined. I hoped Ian had eighty dollars sitting around, because that's how much they were going to cost him.
I was about to jaywalk across the street, when a black truck honked and I jumped back onto the curb. Calvin Versteeg rolled down the passenger window and hollered, "Get in!"
I threw my books in the backseat of his extended cab and boosted myself inside. I felt rivulets of water running down my thighs and pooling in the leather seat. When I glanced down, I could see skin peeking through the lavender fabric of my dress. I couldn't remember what color underwear I'd put on that morning. A mortifying thought struck me. Had my underwear been showing through my dress the whole walk home? I folded my hands self-consciously in my lap.
If Calvin noticed, he had the decency not to comment. He grinned. "I ever tell you the story about the girl who tried to take a shower outside?"
I punched him in the shoulder. "Shut up."
He reached into the backseat, groping blindly. "I bet I can scrounge up some soap in my gym bag. . . ."
I giggled. "You are the dumbest boy ever, Calvin Versteeg."
"Dumb but chivalrous. Where to?"
"Home, so I can strangle Ian with my bare hands."
"A no-show?" Calvin guessed.
"With a death wish."
Calvin cranked the heat. "You should have called me."
I looked at him, perplexed. Calvin was my best friend's older brother, but aside from that, we didn't have a relationship. I'd dreamed for years that he would see me in a new light, but the truth was, calling Calvin for a ride would have been the same as calling any other guy at school.
"I guess I didn't think of that," I said, bewildered by his offer.
He turned on the radio. Not loud and blaring; a steady melody to chase away the silence. I don't remember what we talked about the rest of the ride. I stared through the window, thinking, I'm in Calvin Versteeg's truck. Without Korbie. Just the two of us. And he's hitting on me. I couldn't wait to tell someone. And then it dawned on me. For the first time, I couldn't run straight to Korbie. She didn't want me flirting with her brother. She would brush it off, telling me he was just being nice. But he wasn't. He was hitting on me, and it was the most flattering thing that had ever happened to me.
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