“Now we’re in business,” I say out loud, grabbing my pack.
Crunch.
I roll my eyes, seriously tired of being ambushed. Suspicious sounds are starting to get annoying. I look around, seeing nobody, and start walking north. All I have to do is keep this course and I’ll eventually run into the highway — some highway — again. From there I can find the cabin.
Snap.
Okay. That was definitely something with a little weight behind it. More than a squirrel, anyway. I whirl around, taking a step backwards like I just got smacked in the chest. Someone’s out there.
Down the hill, a dark figure is creeping up the trail behind me. I stand there, motionless, just staring at the person. Whoever it is, he’s wearing black.
He could be anybody…mercenary orAT soldier.
I don’t stop to wave hello or throw a rock at his head. I just run — only this time I make sure I run North. Which, of course, means, I’ve got to climb the next hill I’ve been avoiding. It cuts up at an insane angle, making it almost a sheer cliff.
I get to work, digging my feet into the dirt and using trees, roots, rocks and the occasional sprout to pull myself up. And then I do something I regret: I look behind me. The black shirted maybe-AT-trooper is gaining. He’s not keeping his presence a secret, and it makes me wonder if he’s alone. Are there more of them back there? Did they figure out that it was me who fired those rounds at the guys trying to kill Peter and Jack?
Don’t think, climb!
I climb so fast that every muscle in my body simply refuses to move anymore. I guess running all night in sheer terror exhausts your physical strength, because this would usually be no problem.
I slip on a bed of pine needles and slide on my hip down the hill about twenty feet. I push myself back up, panic starting to claw its way into my head.
“Cassidy!”
I turn around, shocked to hear somebody speak my name.
Peter?
Jack?
I slip again and slide back down like an idiot, catching my breath. The guy has a black bandana tied around his hooded head, decked out in black combat pants and boots. He’s got a heavy coat on, a rifle slung over his back.
“Chris?” I stutter.
He pulls his hood off, revealing a face I recognize — but it’s smeared with black paint and dirt. It is Chris, right?
“Who the hell else would it be?” He climbs the last few feet separating us and yanks me to my feet, throwing me against his chest. I grab his shoulders to keep from taking a sled ride to the bottom of the hill just as he presses a fierce kiss to my lips. I wrap my arms around his neck, threading my fingers through his hair. He pulls away suddenly and glares, hands gripping my hips so hard I think he’s leaving bruises.
“Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been about you?” he demands.
I touch my mouth, feeling some of his black camo paint rub off on my skin. I stare up at him, his beautiful green eyes flashing with totally not subtle anger.
“I had to go, Chris,” I say. “You know that.”
“I thought you were dead,” he says, holding me around the waist with one arm, his other hand cupping my cheek. His hands are wrapped up with strips of cloth. He looks like he’s been fighting some kind of war.
“Why would even think that?” I ask. “I can take care of myself.”
But while I’m talking, all I can think is:
Chris is here. With me.
Complete, utter relief floods me like a drug.
“I found a dead body a few miles back,” Chris says. “Omega was out in full force in the lower part of the mountains. They’re searching for campers in the hills. I thought maybe you were caught in the crossfire.”
I pale, realizing he must have found Bree.
“Did you find anybody else?” I whisper.
“No. Why?”
I shake my head.
“I was there,” I say.
Chris squeezes me tighter.
“I’ve been tracking you since you left,” he tells me, his thumb trailing down the side of my neck. “Why would you do that to me?”
“Do what?”
“Leave without saying goodbye.”
I sigh.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I guess I didn’t want to make you choose between me and your family.” There. I said it. Finally.
He looks shocked and then kisses me slowly, sending a shiver down my spine. Everything around us dissolves — the cold weather, the trees, the dirt. It’s just the two of us, and the only thing that matters is that he’s holding me, and I feel safe.
Completely safe.
“I think we already had this discussion,” he says, his voice soft. “You are apart of the family, now. So you should start acting like it.”
I lower my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I answer. “I just had to go before I lost my nerve.”
My lower lip wobbles a little, tears threatening to spill onto my cheeks. “Chris, the body you found,” I say. “I was with that girl when she died.”
His gaze narrows and a muscle ticks in his jaw.
“And you’re lost,” he states. “Tell me what happened.”
I nod, sinking down to the ground. Chris keeps his arms around me as we lean against the base of a tree. I snuggle into his warmth, so glad that I’m not alone anymore. Because believe me, when you’re completely alone in the woods, companionship is the most wonderful thing you can have.
I give him the whole story, leaving out no detail, and by the time I end my sad tale, I’m crying into his shirt over Bree’s death all over again.
“I didn’t even know her,” I choke. “But nobody deserves to die like that.”
“No, they don’t,” Chris agrees, weaving his fingers through my hair. Soothing me. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I tried to tell them,” I say, guilty. “But they wouldn’t listen.”
“Hey, look at me,” Chris says, tilting my chin up. “You went back and saved those kids’ lives when you could have kept running. You didn’t do anything wrong. Forget about this, okay?”
I nod slightly, Chris kissing the tip of my nose.
“You feel like moving?” he asks.
“Where are we going?”
“To your cabin. Or has there been a change of plans?”
I blink a few times. It honestly hadn’t crossed my mind that Chris was going to help me find my dad. I thought he would come here to try to drag me back to the Young farm.
“You’re coming with me?” I exclaim, a smile creeping across my face.
“Cassidy,” he whispers, taking my hands in his, “where else would I be?”
Chapter Thirteen
There’s something about tromping through the wilderness that really makes you feel good. It’s the kind of feeling you just can’t get if you’re walking down a sidewalk in LA or New York. It’s a feeling of absolute freedom. Plus, the lack of pollution might make it easier to breathe so you just naturally feel better.
Who knows?
Chris was able to find the highway in record time, making my navigational skills look worse than ever before. I asked him why he didn’t take the Hummer we stole from Omega in the Valley to find me, and he said he wouldn’t have been able to track me in a car.
I didn’t even bother to ask how he tracked me, anyway.
As we get higher, it gets colder. The air gets drier and I swear the elevation change makes me hungrier. Note: Hungrier than usual. Chris has got more supplies from his mother’s food cabinet in his backpack, which means my chances of starving to death are a little smaller than they were when I was on my own.