Jace observed the light and began to see possibilities he hadn’t noticed before, possibilities he hadn’t even wanted. There had seemed to be two choices-hike down with the others to the death that was waiting for him, or stay back alone in the mountains and wait for death to come to him.
The light beckoned, though. It told him there were other ways this might end.
You’ve got to observe the world you’re in to understand what parts of it may save you. At first, it may all seem hostile. The whole environment may seem like an enemy. But it isn’t. There are things hiding in it waiting to save you, and it’s your job to see them.
The fire tower was within reach. What it contained, he didn’t know. Maybe somebody with a gun. Maybe a phone or a radio, a way to call a helicopter in and get him off the mountain before anyone even knew he was missing.
Despite himself, Jace was beginning to plan.
But in his mind he saw his pursuers again, heard those detached voices, so empty and so in control, and he knew in his heart that he shouldn’t have been allowed to get away even once from men like those. They didn’t leave witnesses behind. Even the police had said that, had told it to his mother, to his father, had scared them so badly that they agreed to send their only son into the wilderness to hide. He’d escaped once and no one could escape them twice, certainly not a boy, a child.
But I made fire. I’m different now. They don’t know it, but I do.
It was a small thing, a silly thing, and he knew that, but still the memory gave him the faintest touch of strength, and he thought of the hiking he’d done and the fire tower that beckoned and he wanted to surprise them all. Not just the evil pair behind him. Surprise them all. The police, his parents, Ethan Serbin, the world.
Nobody got away from those two. But Jace already had once. He’d been lucky that time. They hadn’t been certain he was there, and the clock was ticking for them. But he hadn’t known they were coming then either. He’d been unprepared. He’d been weak.
He was prepared now, and he was stronger. There was no need to pretend to be Connor Reynolds anymore, but while Jace Wilson had once been the secret within Connor Reynolds, now it was reversed. Connor and the things he had learned in these days in the mountains were the secret within Jace Wilson.
And the two evil men coming for him weren’t prepared for that. They were expecting to find the same boy they’d left behind once, the boy who’d hid, and waited, and cried.
A boy who looked just like the one on the trail now.
“We don’t have quitting time,” Jace said aloud. These were the first words he had spoken since he’d been awakened by Ethan’s shout. His voice sounded small in the darkness, but at least it was there. It reminded him of his own existence, in a strange way. He wasn’t dead yet. His body still worked. It could speak.
And it could walk.
17
Allison could feel hands on her, and the hands hurt, but then they hurt less, and she knew that a drug had been in the mix. At first she was on the ground, and then they moved her with care, guiding her out of the wreckage that had once been her home. She heard them complimenting her on her hiding place. She’d done a good job with that, it seemed. Common sense, she thought. She’d just wanted to get to water. In the end she hadn’t even turned it on, hadn’t been able to, but the shower floor was a good place to curl up. She was low for the smoke, and the tile in the room was unappetizing to the flames. They had moved on in search of fuels more to their liking and then they had been interrupted before they had a chance to return to her.
That perfect bathroom, the granite-tiled room and its porcelain tub with a mountain view, the finishing touch of their golden home together, had saved her. She hadn’t gotten any water, but there was plenty in there now-a hose jetted streams of it through the shattered window, steam rising in angry response.
Out in the yard, the paramedics worked on her some more, and no one was asking questions yet, they were just trying to fix her. The questions were coming, though. She knew that and she knew that she had to give the right answers.
When they brought the backboard out, she was terrified. It was something you didn’t belong on unless you were hurt very bad, or dying. She tried to pull away from it and she told them that she could stand and they held her down and told her that she could not.
“Tango’s been standing for three months,” she told them. The logic seemed sound to her, but it didn’t alter their decision. She was lifted and lowered onto the backboard and then they were carrying her out through a dizzying whirl of colored lights and toward an ambulance. One of the paramedics was asking her how the pain was, and she started to tell them that it was bad, but then stopped. No more drugs. Not yet.
“Need to talk to my husband,” she said. Speaking allowed long needles of pain to enter her face through her lips and slide all the way up into her brain.
“We’ll find your husband. He’ll be here soon. Just rest.”
Most of her wanted to accept that. It would be good to see Ethan, and she wanted to rest, she wanted to do the things they kept instructing her to do-rest, relax, be still. That all sounded excellent. It was a little too soon for it, though.
“He has a GPS messenger,” she said; she was in the back of the ambulance now, though the ambulance wasn’t moving, and the paramedics seemed to be working hard to ignore her, but thank God there was a police officer present, one she knew, one Ethan had worked with on rescues before. His name was well known to her but she couldn’t think of it. That was embarrassing, but she hoped he would understand. She gave up on finding his name and settled for direct eye contact instead.
“Please,” she said. “I need to get him a message. You know how. The GPS can-”
“I’ll get him the message, Allison. You just tell me what to say. I’ll get it to him.”
He kept looking away. She wondered what he saw. What she looked like to his eyes.
“You t-tell him…” Now she stuttered, because it was critical to get the wording right. That was imperative. To find a way to make Ethan understand without allowing the rest of the world to understand. A secret code. Husband-and-wife. Why hadn’t they ever developed a code? It seemed like something they should have done. Buy groceries, do laundry, create code.
“You need to get this right,” she told the police officer. “Just as I say.”
He seemed concerned now, but he nodded. One of the paramedics was asking him to step back, trying to close the door, but he held up a hand and told them to wait.
“You tell him that Allison says she is fine, but that JB’s friends are coming to see him.”
“We’ll tell him you’re fine. He’ll be here soon. You’ll see him very-”
“No.” She tried to shout and the pain that brought on was excruciating, but she tunneled through it. “You need to say it right. Tell me how you will say it.”
They were all staring at her now, even the paramedics. The officer whose name she could not remember said, “Allison is fine but JB’s friends are coming to see him.”
“Two. Say two of JB’s friends.” It was important to be detailed. She knew that. The more details he had, the more prepared he would be.
The officer said that he would. He was receding from her but she couldn’t feel the ambulance moving and the door was still open. That was fascinating. How was that happening? Oh, he was stepping back. Funny how fast the drugs worked. Very disorienting. Very good drugs. She told the paramedics that. She thought they would like to know how good these things were. They were busy, though; they always seemed to be busy.