One of the two—a woman by her voice—responded.
The man continued. “He’s over here. Head in from the east and we’ll surround—”
A rifle shot knocked my heart into my throat. The crash of undergrowth sounded over the radio.
“Did you get him?” the woman asked.
“Not sure. That was Charlie team. Signing off. Get over here.”
Another shot. More distant crashing. I was sure my heart was pounding loud enough for the two to hear, but they kept going, heading for that distant racket. Heading for Derek.
Beta, Charlie…I’d seen enough war movies to know that meant there were at least three pairs out here. Six armed security agents. Enough to surround Derek and then—
Just keep going. He’ll find a way out. He’s got superpowers, remember?
None of which would help him against six trained professionals. None of which would stop a bullet.
I waited until the two were gone, then I scanned the treetops. The last few summers at drama camp, we’d had Survivor days. In most athletic challenges, I’d been a washout, but there’d been one where being small seemed to be an advantage…that and having a few old gymnastics trophies on my shelf.
I raced to the nearest tree with low branches, grabbed one, and tested it. If Derek swung onto it, he’d crash back to the ground, but I was able to get up and onto the next, sturdier one with the branch giving no more than a faint groan of complaint.
I kept climbing until I was confident that the canopy of new leaves hid me. Then I got into a secure position and whistled—a thin, reedy screech that would have Derek rolling his eyes.
What makes you think they’re even going to hear that?
I whistled again.
And even if they do, why bother with you? They know where Derek is. They’ll stick with him.
The distant tramp of boots from the departing pair stopped. A murmur of voices. Then the footsteps returned my way.
Now what are you going to do? You’d better have a plan or—
I shushed the inner voice and gave another, softer whistle, just to be sure they heard me.
The radio crackled.
“Alpha? This is Beta. We think we heard the Saunders girl. She’s trying to contact Souza. Do you have him yet?”
I strained to hear the reply but couldn’t make it out.
“We’ll swing by and help as soon as we have her.”
Meaning they didn’t have Derek.
Or they have him; they just need help controlling him.
The radio sounded again, another transmission I couldn’t make out. The woman signed off, then said to her partner, “They want you to go back and help with the boy. I can handle the Saunders girl.”
Well, that didn’t work out so well, did it?
The man took off. I held still as the woman began searching for me. She passed my tree by at least a dozen feet and kept going. I waited until I was sure she wasn’t going to return on her own, then knocked my foot against the tree trunk.
She turned. For a moment, she just stood there, shining her flashlight beam in a full circle. I prepared to knock again, if she walked away, but she headed toward me, moving slowly, beam skimming the ground, pausing at every bush or clump of tall grass.
When she walked under my tree, I tightened my hold and flattened myself against the branch. As I moved the foot I’d kicked with, it brushed the tree trunk. A chunk of bark fell at the woman’s feet.
She shone the beam down at it.
Please, don’t. Please, please—
The flashlight beam swung up into the branches.
I dropped. I didn’t think about the stupidity of dropping onto an armed woman probably twice my size. I just let go and rolled off the branch, that inner voice screaming What are you doing?!… in far less polite language.
I hit the woman. We both went down, her cushioning my fall. I leaped up, ignoring the squeaks of protest from my jolted body. I yanked out my knife and—
The woman lay at the foot of the tree, her head a few inches from it. She had a net veil hanging from her hat but through it I could see that her eyes were closed, and her mouth lolled open. She must have hit the trunk and been knocked out. I resisted the urge to check, grabbed her radio, and spun, searching for the gun. It wasn’t there. No rifle and no pistol…or not one I could see. I took a good look around to see if she’d dropped it. Nothing.
Either her partner had it or she had one hidden under her jacket. I paused, wanting to check, but was afraid of rousing her. One last look, then I snatched up the fallen flashlight and ran.
Forty-one
I WAS SURE I was heading in the direction Derek told me, so all the security teams should be behind me. But after less than a minute, I heard the tramp of boots again. I dropped and covered my radio. I turned the volume all the way down, even though it had been silent since I’d taken it.
I crawled into the nearest patch of brush and lay on my stomach. The footsteps seemed to be going parallel to me, neither approaching nor retreating.
“Tell me how a full squad of us can lose four teenagers in less than twenty acres of woods,” a man’s voice said. “Davidoff is not going to be happy.”
Another man answered, “With any luck, he’ll never find out. We’ve still got an hour before daylight. Plenty of time. How far can they get?”
They continued walking and talking, their voices and steps receding. When they were gone, I started creeping out, then stopped. If all four of us were out here, should I be heading for safety? Or trying to find the others?
Um, if you go to that safe spot, where Derek expects you to be, you won’t have to worry about finding them. They’ll come to you.
What if they need my help?
You accidentally knocked out one woman and suddenly you’re Rambo?
It felt cowardly getting myself to safety, but my inner voice had a point—if that’s where Derek expected me to be, then I’d better head there and meet him.
But I did feel a bit like Rambo—switchblade in one hand, radio in the other, flashlight jammed in my waistband—as I stealthily crept through the thick woods.
Yeah, as long as you don’t trip and impale yourself on your own knife.
I closed the blade.
“Chloe?” a female voice whispered.
I whirled so fast my foot slid on the soft ground. “Tori?”
I squinted into the night. The woods here were so dark I could only make out shapes that could as easily be trees and bushes as people. My fingers touched the flashlight, but I pulled back and kept looking.
“Tori?”
“Shhh. This way, hon.”
The endearment made the hair on my neck rise.
“Aunt Lauren?”
“Shhh. Follow me.”
I caught a glimpse of a figure. It was as faint as the voice, and all I could see was a pale shirt glowing ahead. I didn’t move. It sounded like Aunt Lauren and the figure was her size, but I couldn’t be sure and I wasn’t running after her like a little kid, so desperate to believe that I raced into a trap.
I took out my flashlight and clicked it on, but she was darting between trees, and it was impossible to make out more than her shape and shirt. Then she glanced back and I got just a glimpse of a profile, a swing of blond hair—an imperfect view, but enough for my gut to say that’s her.
She waved for me to hurry, then veered left into deeper forest. I followed, still cautious, no matter what my gut said. I was jogging past a patch of bushes when a figure lunged out. Before I could spin, it grabbed me, a hand clamping over my mouth, cutting short my yelp.
“It’s me,” Derek whispered.
He tried pulling me into the bushes, but I resisted.
“Aunt Lauren,” I said. “I saw Aunt Lauren.”
He gave me a look like he must have heard me wrong.
“My aunt. She’s here. She’s—” I pointed in the direction she’d gone. “I was following her.”