Pretty Sly (26 page)

If we died here, no one would ever know. I thought of Corbin, and all his warnings. This is what he’d been talking about. The fear burned in my chest, along with the cold air in my lungs.

The land began to rise up underneath our feet. We were headed straight for the hills. And we soon discovered that climbing the hills was worse than the rock, because there was no traction, just shifting sand slipping beneath us. I thought of all the signs we’d seen warning us to stay on the trails and how we were probably
committing a federal crime by even walking on these eroding dunes.

But this was a survival situation. We were just going to have to add it to our growing tab of offenses.

The sun was hanging lower, making our shadows longer. We reached another peak. From here the landscape looked like a wrinkled cloth plastered into stillness. There was no movement of any kind, not even birds flying overhead.

“Are they still there?” Aidan asked.

We listened.

There were footsteps, and then one of the men’s voices, shouting out orders. More gunshots. They were shooting at the sand now, just to scare us.

Aidan looked at me wearily. “We better keep going. They’re not giving up anytime soon.”

We ran down the other side, only to see that the hills kept going like that, up and down, for what looked like miles. We were effectively trapped by the sculpted landscape. Sure, it was beautiful, but right now it looked like death. We were running and it felt like we’d have to run forever.

My lungs stabbed with pain, the cold air constricting my entire respiratory system. I didn’t know how much longer we could keep going at this pace. I didn’t know how many bullets they had.

As we climbed and crossed another hill, it was getting dark, and the sun slipped behind us, faster all the
time. That triggered another wave of worries for me. We had no flashlight or compass. We had no blankets, or any place to camp out if we needed to rest. I’d lost the water and all of our food with the bag. Aidan had his watch that glowed in the dark, and that was it. The bike was miles away. I doubted if we would ever see it again.

Who knew how long we’d be out here? We’d long since lost sight of any kind of trail. We were going deeper and deeper into the wilderness.

“Aidan, I need to stop soon,” I wheezed.

We climbed over a ridge, and the rock formations beyond it rose high into the air like turrets on a castle.

“Okay. Maybe there’s a cave in here somewhere,” Aidan said. He was breathing hard himself. “We could find a place to rest and hide out.”

We circled the base of the rock formations for a while until we found a suitable crevice. The area was cold and dank and small. We could only both fit if we balled ourselves up tight, clutching our knees to our chests. But it was its own kind of fortress, and in the thickening night our pursuers would have a hard time spotting us here.

Inside, it was darker than dark. We didn’t dare move or talk much. I tried not to think about what kind of animals lived in here and what they might have left behind. We just waited and waited, the sounds of our breathing intermingling.

At some point I must have tipped over on top of Aidan because I woke up to him trying to move my arms.

“Willa, you’ve crushed my upper torso,” he muttered, sliding out from underneath me.

“Sorry,” I said, startled. I pulled myself back up into a ball. “What time is it?”

He checked his watch. “Five
A.M
.”

We’d spent the whole night here. I stepped out of the cave and stretched, trying to get some feeling in my cramped-up limbs and back. There were scrapes along my arms, an open cut on my knee from when I’d fallen. This, in addition to the road rash from earlier. That was another thing. I’d lost the dang toilet paper.

Aidan stood up, and ran a hand through his hair. He was bruised, too—I could tell by the way he was limping.

“You’re hurt,” I said, reaching out to touch him.

He shrugged and looked over his shoulder at the back of his leg. “Just my ankle. Must’ve twisted it.”

“How far do you think we are from the trail?” I asked.

“A couple miles, maybe? We were running for a while. If we head north, we’ll hit the river at some point. And if we follow that, we’re bound to get to a town or something eventually.”

We started walking in our broken way. The coming daylight glowed pink on the horizon, reminding us that we’d made it through the night. I should’ve felt optimistic, but I didn’t.

I was sick with hopelessness. We’d lost her. Again. And now we’d come face-to-face with what she was
running from. They wanted to kill us. I was sure now that they would try to kill her, too.

Nothing we’d done had mattered. In fact, we probably made it worse. And in the end, we would go to jail and she would still be out there, somewhere, in danger. Or maybe she would go to jail, too. I felt like a fool for putting us through all of this, for thinking we could actually change things or help. I’d hurt us both.

“I’m sorry, Aidan,” I said out loud.

He looked at me with narrowed eyes. “Are you apologizing to me again, Colorado? Because I’ve had enough of your apologies.”

So he was mad.

“It was stupid. I messed up again—”

“If you don’t stop, I’m going to give you something you’ll really be sorry about.” He mock-punched his own hand and I realized he was kidding.

I frowned at him in disbelief. “Okay . . . so I won’t apologize for almost getting us shot? Because that’s a totally normal thing to do?”

He flicked his hair out of his eyes. “Did I ever say I wanted anything remotely normal? Normal is overrated.”

“What about living? Breathing? Our lives? Are they overrated, too?”

“Probably.” He kicked at some pebbles. “What most people consider living really isn’t much to write home about. I mean, look at what we’ve left behind, lifewise.
Just a gossipy town with a bunch of snobby people.”

“But we’re going to jail. You know that, right?”

“I know,” he said quietly. “And it’s been worth it. Every second.”

He was nuts. I was nuts. Ever since we’d reunited at Rain’s house—that moment of him appearing on the doorstep adorably disheveled and snowed-on—I’d felt that old spark flaring again. That intense feeling I’d had back in Paradise Valley, where I could barely bring myself to look away from him, and I could barely stand for him to look at me.

Only it was all a little softer now, more tender, more serious. Maybe because we’d been through so much together. All these days on the road, it was like it was us against the world, like we were the only two people who mattered.

The sun was fully breaking out through the clouds now, and I saw something shiny and sparkly in the distance. “Aidan,” I said, grabbing his arm. “Is that the river?”

An hour later, we’d found our way back to the road. We walked along it, silent now, delirious from hunger, thirst, and pain. My feet were covered in blisters and I had wounds on each leg. Aidan limped along, too, with his twisted ankle.

I unhooked my arms out of the armholes and hugged myself under the windbreaker, trying to think warm
thoughts. Mittens. Fireplaces. The spicy noodle soup I loved from Valley Prep’s lunchroom.

We hadn’t talked about what was supposed to happen or where we were going. The only thing we could do was walk. I stared at the ground, looking for the next sign.

About two miles down the road, I saw it. The sign, I mean. It was green, with white lettering.

THREE RIVERS, 25 MILES
.

Three Rivers. Three Rivers. 3RS.

The words spun together and formed a shape in my mind.

The final place on the list. It had to be destiny. And our best, last chance.

I showed Aidan the paper again. “I think this could be it. I mean, I know I’ve said that before.”

“Like a million times.” He smiled in a pained way. “But I’m willing to try it. Let’s find a ride there.”

A tanker truck appeared from around the bend and Aidan leapt to his feet, trying to flag it down. It passed us. Ten minutes later, a beat-up Chevy pickup passed us, too.

“Are you sure we’re going to be able to get a ride?” I asked Aidan.

“This is hippie central. Of course I’m sure.”

“What if those guys come driving by?” I asked, scared
suddenly by the idea that we were out in the open again. Vulnerable.

“Then we make a run for it.”

The thought of running again seemed physically impossible, but then I remembered learning in health sciences class that the human body is always more powerful than the mind thinks it is. Meaning, if we had to, and our survival depended on it, then we would probably find a way to haul ass.

Four cars later, a Honda Element slowed down to Aidan’s dramatic waving. The driver rolled down his window. He had gray curly hair and sunglasses and he was listening to jazz. “You guys want a ride somewhere?”

“Three Rivers,” I said.

“I’m headed that way. Get in,” he said, unlocking the doors.

Aidan got in the front seat and I sat in the back. The interior of the car was neat and orderly and smelled like sandalwood oil. The sounds of trumpets and cymbals were a comforting halo. I wasn’t a big jazz fan myself but I figured you had to trust a guy who listened to jazz in his car. He probably listened to NPR, too. Which made him about as safe as strangers went.

He didn’t offer his name, thankfully, and so we didn’t have to offer ours. He definitely didn’t appear to recognize us. Maybe our story hadn’t been on NPR yet. But he seemed thoroughly comfortable with the idea of carting around two filthy, injured teenagers. Perhaps Aidan
was right about the hippie thing.

He did, at one point, look up at me in the rearview mirror. “So what are you guys doing in Three Rivers, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Just—checking it out,” I said, feeling the force of my hopes swelling and pressing against my rib cage.

“Ever been there?”

“No,” Aidan said.

“It’s not much of a place for kids. Off-the-grid community. Nothing to do, really. A lot of retirees and old people.”

Off-the-grid.
Just like Corbin said. I almost couldn’t breathe.

“That’s okay,” I said, trying to sound more casual than I felt. “I’m really interested in learning about that kind of stuff.”

The driver shrugged. “Three Rivers it is, then. I can’t promise you it’s going to be all that exciting.”

He signaled a turn onto a smaller road. I chewed on my thumb anxiously, hoping against hope that he was wrong.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

TWENTY-TWO

THE DRIVER LET
us off at the end of a dirt lane in front of a small wooden sign. “This is Three Rivers,” he said. “Like I said, not much to look at, is it?”

We thanked him and assured him it was fine. Then we got out of the car, and he drove on.

We were both still sore and hobbled by injuries but as the road unfurled in front of us and another sign pointed to the “recreation area,” I had a sudden burst of energy and I walked faster, kicking up puffs of dust. It was like I was being pulled by a magnetic field or other invisible force.

“Hey, wait up,” Aidan called. “I can’t exactly race right now.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled. But I couldn’t slow down, either.

We rounded a bend and the first things I noticed were the shiny black solar panels emerging from behind the tops of evergreen trees. Arranged here and there,
the wooden frame houses were simple and cabinlike, with big plate windows. Some had outhouses set behind them. A few had hot tubs—nothing like the kind I’d seen in Paradise Valley, of course.

No, everything here looked like it was made from and belonged to the wilderness. But it was also dry, and except for the ponderosa pine trees, all of the green vegetation had gone to yellow straw in the winter cold. In the distance, I could hear the sound of running water— one of the three rivers, I assumed.

“I think I’ve read about this place in
Wired
magazine. A lot of Silicon Valley types have vacation houses here,” Aidan said. “There’s no electricity or telephone lines, did you notice that? The perfect place to hide. It’s brilliant, really.”

I couldn’t say anything. My throat was tight. My mouth was dry. I peered inside the windows as we passed more houses, examining them as if we were casing another place for a break-in. Some were totally empty, and some looked too settled—with dish towels, plastic children’s trucks, and pet beds strewn around. Clues that told me exactly where we wouldn’t find her.

On the right, the path forked off into a dirt lane called Leisure Road. Lined up along it was a row of trailers and RVs, capped with their own solar panels and satellites.

A chipmunk scurried across our path. At every tiny sound I wanted to jump out of my skin. My senses were lit up and flaring. It was like I could hear everything: a
wind turbine whirring. The thwacking of laundry flopping in the breeze. My own blood beating through my head and chest.

Then, the question-mark creak of a door opening, and the soft crush of feet on the ground.

I saw her before she saw me. She was standing outside one of the trailers, gathering wood.

A hoodie and jeans dwarfed her petite frame. I don’t know what I’d been expecting but she looked the same, more or less, as the last time I’d seen her. Same blond hair, same tiny nose, same peachy-colored skin. Same birthmark on her right cheek.

She was here. Alive.

Relief swelled and poured into every space of my body like water.

As I stepped closer, I imagined the tight clutch of her hug, the warmth of her breath as she whispered into my hair. How happy she was to see us. How she’d missed me. How everything was going to be okay from here on out. Because here we were. We’d made it. We’d actually found her!

I broke into a run.

She turned around and dropped the armful of logs, and they scattered on the ground, splintering. Her arms appeared to be frozen in midair, her fingers splayed out like she was grasping for something.