Earthbound (19 page)

Outside the car, something flutters in the darkness. The windows are fogged from the heat of our bodies, and I lift my sleeve to clear a circle in the misty glass.

Something moves.

They found me!
My entire body tenses up and I’m about to elbow Benson awake when I see a flash of golden hair.

“Quinn.” The real Quinn. His name escapes my mouth in a barely audible whisper as he draws nearer.

He’s close to the window now, his eyes boring into mine. He crooks his finger at me and then turns and walks out of sight.

I click the door locks, and the sound seems deafening in the quiet interior. Thankfully, Benson doesn’t stir. I try to slip out without waking him, but as soon as the door opens, light from the dome floods the car. “What’s wrong?” he asks in a scratchy voice, pushing up on his elbows.

“Gotta pee,” I lie. “Go back to sleep.”

Benson’s eyes are already closing as I slip out, the cold air hitting me like a slap after the warmth of our bodies in the car. It’s snowing hard, and the world around me has that intense hush that only heavy, powdery snowfall brings.

I clasp my arms around myself and peer into the darkness, through the huge lacy flakes, but I don’t see Quinn.

I hope I’m not making a mistake. Quinn wouldn’t lure me out into danger, though; I
know
it! Nonetheless, I peer into the darkness around me and my chest is tight as I see nothing but stillness.

I glance back at the car. Benson will worry if I’m gone long. Determined to get my answers as quickly as possible, I take off in the direction I think Quinn went. The snow is already an inch or two deep and I look down at my tracks. I can follow them back if I’m fast.

My head is low, studying the camouflaged ground, when I hear it. “Miss. Miss?”

Miss?
My head whips around, and for a moment I see nothing. Then a flicker of movement in the trees makes my heart race. A face emerges and, if anything, my pulse speeds even faster.

He’s beautiful in the moonlight, a dark, snow-spotted coat wrapping him from his neck to his ankles, his face soft and almost expressionless.

“I knew you would come to me.”

The wind carries the soft words to my ears, and for a moment I think I’m back in my dream. He lifts his hands as though to reach for me—exactly like he did in the dream—and I have to stop myself from running to him, from burrowing into his arms with the same abandon I felt in that illusionary forest.

When I hesitate, he lets his hands fall and the moment is gone.

Why
didn’t
I go to him? I’m not sure I know the answer.

Quinn turns his head before I can see if there’s disappointment in his eyes.

“I … I dreamed about you.” My words are a low murmur, but they sound loud in the stillness around us. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

His jaw tightens. Answer enough.

“You made a rose in my dream,” I say, and my chest is tight in anticipation. “You’re like me. You … you make things.”

Again he doesn’t answer, but I’m sure I’m right.

“Quinn, please, what am I? What are
we
?” The word
Earthbound
flashes through my head again, but it brings more questions than answers.

“I have things to show you,” he says simply. “This way.” He turns and heads directly into the woods without looking back to see if I’m following.

The same words. That weird cadence.
I have things to show you.
Not
I have something to show you
.
I hesitate before I step into the spidery shadows of the branchless trees. It’s like every horror movie I’ve ever seen. The kind where the stupid girl ends up dead.

But isn’t this what I wanted? Didn’t I drive all the way up here to find him?

I search my feelings, straining for something—a sign, an omen, I don’t know—but even though my head is spinning and my fingertips tingle, it’s with anticipation, not fear.

With one more glance at the dark car where Benson still sleeps, I pull out my phone and turn it on. Four new messages: three from Jay and one from an unknown number. I close the notification and activate the flashlight feature before plunging into the blackness of the forest, following Quinn. Remembering the darkness in the dream, I rub my arms and shiver.

Quinn is like a will-o’-the-wisp, always ten feet ahead no matter how fast or slow I walk. I’ve given up trying to catch him; it only makes him go faster. Better to focus on not running into bushes or low-hanging branches—I already have one stinging scrape on my cheek.

The fear I pushed away when I started following Quinn is back. Even if Quinn won’t hurt me, I’m completely exposed. Not to mention that I’ve left Benson totally unprotected. If anyone found the car—Sunglasses Guy, Elizabeth, hell, who
knows
how many people are looking for me—they could easily off Benson and then put a bullet in my head from behind.

Worst of all, in this forest, my body might never be found.

The thought sends a new chill up my spine and I clench my fists and force myself to pick up the pace. It’s too late to turn back—I’m just going to have to deal with the consequences.

W
e walk—Quinn heading roughly back in the direction of Camden, but still deep within the trees—for what feels like hours. With nearly numb fingers I check the time on my phone.

I left the car almost an hour ago. I’m so cold I can hardly move my toes, and it’s snowing hard enough I can barely see Quinn just a few feet in front of me.

“Quinn,” I call softly, jogging forward to try to catch up with him yet again. “I can’t go on much longer,” I say, surprised when he lets me draw close. “How far is it?”

But he’s silent, still. I look around, my light flashing narrow beams over the dense forest. We’ve got to be almost two miles from the car, but other than that, I have
no
idea where I am. I try not to think about how cold I’m going to be by the time I get back.

Or how far up the sun will be.

“There are people—” I stagger and have to take a second to right myself. “People following me.
Shooting
at me. I can’t just wander off like this. My … friend Benson is still back at the car. Quinn!” I whisper-yell, but my voice is muffled by the fresh powder.

A mound of earth covered in snow, with withered grass barely poking up through it, catches my attention as my light skims over it, and even as I take a step toward it, Quinn is moving with me.

“This way,” he whispers. He gestures to the small hill and I walk, leaves and snow crunching beneath my feet.

Suddenly my feet break through some kind of weedy covering and I fall on my butt, with my legs sunk to my knees in foliage.

“I crafted these steps specifically to blend in.” Quinn’s voice is quiet above me.

“Well, thanks for the warning,” I mutter, the cold taking its toll on my attitude. I can already feel the soft snow melting through my jeans, soaking my underwear. Fabulous. This midnight stroll had better lead somewhere good. My patience is past the
wearing thin
point, and hypothermia is not going to improve my mood.

Quinn says nothing, just looks off into the distance as I clear away enough debris to make my way down six stone steps that end in front of a weather-worn door that looks like it was laid right against the hill.
Shelter, finally.

I pause as something prickles at my awareness. I study the door and the stairs, covered with old leaves and sticks. Despite knowing where this place is, Quinn hasn’t actually come down these steps. At least not recently. You can’t fake this kind of overgrowth. “Why didn’t you come here before?” I ask, staring at an elaborate locking mechanism. “Maybe clear things away before you came to get me?”

“I was waiting for you.”

I give myself a moment to stare back, to let that liquid heat in his gaze slip into me and warm my chest. Just for a moment—I’m so cold—then I turn regretfully away and try to open the round latch.

“It’s locked.” I wonder if this whole trip was for nothing and try to tamp down my frustration.

“You can unlock it. Anytime you desire.”

“How about now?” I mutter. My toes and fingers are starting to ache and I wish I could get out of the wind, even for just a few minutes. I’m wondering briefly if I can simply
make
heat, or maybe just something that produces heat, but I shy away from the idea. I’m not desperate yet; and with my track record I’d probably burn down the whole forest, and Camden with it. Quinn’s voice breaks into my dreary thoughts.

“I’ll talk you through it this time, Becca.”

“Tavia!” I correct through chattering teeth, wanting to lash out at him. I laid my very
life
on the line to get to him—not to mention Benson’s—and he calls me the wrong name. I fight down the urge to just leave. But then this whole escapade really would be a complete waste. I
need
to know what’s behind this door. But frustration simmers in the back of my head.

More than simmers.
Boils.

Maybe
that
will keep me warm.

“See the four pegs?” he asks.

I look down and notice that there are four iron pegs in a deep niche just above the strange lock. I blow on my hands to warm them, then reach for the pegs. They’re the same width, but each one is a different length. I crouch down beside the door and shine my light. There are six holes in the lock, just the right size for the pegs.

“The longest goes in the third one down,” Quinn says, and I fumble for the pegs, slipping the longest into the small hole, having to jiggle it a little before it snaps into place.

Quinn talks me through the next three pegs and when they’re all in, I grasp a large knob and turn it clockwise until I hear something metal click. My hands touch the surface of the door but are so numb I don’t feel anything.

I push, but nothing happens. In the end I have to ram my shoulder against the door before it pops open a few inches with a squeal that cuts the silent night air. I try not to consider all the people who could have heard that who would love to kill me right now.

When I glance back, Quinn doesn’t look nearly as nervous as me, but then,
he
knows what’s going on. Freed from the time-shrunken door frame, the ancient door swings on its squeaky iron hinges. The sound grates in my eardrums and I open it just enough for Quinn and me to slip through.

The scent of mold and paper and damp dirt hits my nose in a pungent wave. I gag and then cough as I pull in another lungful of the musty air and remind myself how glad I am to be out of the falling snow and swirling wind. I flash my light around, but the beam is too small to make out much. Crates, mostly. What look like books bound in thick brown paper but torn through on the corners. Chewed through, maybe.

Don’t even think about that.

Or the fact that my phone’s battery is going to give out any minute. Maybe I could
make
a flashlight? Do I know how to make a flashlight? I grit my teeth—I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Hopefully I won’t have to.

There’s a long wooden table, covered with grainy clumps of dirt—probably from the root-braided ceiling—strewn with papers and several items I’m not close enough to identify, like whoever made the place left in a hurry. I step forward, my feet silent in the warm, soft-floored burrow.

A book, several scattered bits of paper, some pieces of tarnished silver jewelry. Coins.

Coins?

I squint at them, then pick one up. The metal is heavy in my hand. Solid gold. I don’t think these are actual money, but I feel like a thief even touching one. The ice-cold surface seems to burn into my palm.

I set it back down and turn to the open book instead.

It’s covered with the same layer of dirt as the rest of the table, and I lean closer to flick the rubble away from one of the pages, trying not to smudge it into the fragile paper. I wish I had some kind of brush or cloth.

My light shines near my fingers and my mind catches several of the words before I’ve cleared them.

Like you this way.

A tingle of warning jets through my belly and I hold my breath, trying not to show any kind of reaction as I clear more of the dirt away, my eyes straining to read the faded, curlicued cursive.

Before I could stop him, he touched my cheek and whispered, “You’re beautiful, you know that? I like you this way.” Never has a man spoken to me thusly!

My breathing is ragged and tight, but my eyes are already darting ahead.

Especially not Mr. Quinn Avery, whom every girl in town is pining for, though he be only a newcomer. I should have struck his face, walked away, shamed him. But I only stood, as though spelled there. Mayhap I was. Spelled by those green eyes.

I refuse to look back at Quinn—it can’t possibly actually be his name, not after this. Pretending I saw nothing, I gingerly flip the pages, looking for the title page.

I know what I’m going to find, but I need one more scrap of proof. My fingers are shaking as I turn to that front page and read the name etched there.

Rebecca Fielding.

Becca.

I whirl around to face Quinn before he can do whatever sinister thing he has planned, my phone held up like a weapon. But my beam of light shows an empty space where Quinn was standing. I haven’t decided if he’s a run-of-the-mill stalker/murderer, or maybe in league with Sunglasses Guy and whoever else is chasing me, but I am
not
waiting for him to come back.

Sweeping up the journal, I run for the entrance, bursting out without bothering to close the door. I have to get to Benson!

I stop.

My footprints are completely gone.

A good couple of inches of unbroken snow has covered everything in the brief time I was in the dugout and now I have nothing to follow. I’m disoriented, but I have a fuzzy sense of which direction we came in. As long as I keep running that way, I should—at worst—pop out on the main road.

I’ll be able to find Benson from there. Hopefully, before I freeze to death. And before the people hunting us find
me
.