The Escape (2 page)

Avery could hear her father rustling around before the sun rose. She pushed herself out of bed and dressed quickly. She didn’t need to ask what had happened—she already knew.

Her father had been the Dan River Falls chief of police since Avery was fifteen. That was the last year her family had been all together. One of her favorite memories was when they rode in the Founder’s Day parade. The chief’s black-and-white SUV had been wrapped with red, white, and blue crepe-paper streamers, and she and her mother had practiced waving delicately, her mother’s lips upturned in a permanent smile.

Avery remembered the way her father had pulled her mother close, just before they turned onto the parade route. His fingers had tangled in her chestnut-brown hair as he kissed her. When they’d pulled away, her parents had both laughed. Her prim and pressed father had now sported bright red lips, a transfer of her mother’s lipstick. Avery had groaned or gagged at her parents’ unbelievably gross public display of affection, though secretly she’d liked that they were always touching, always smiling.

The next year, Avery and her father had ridden in the same car in the parade, but this time in silence. It was just the two of them driving slowly behind the marching band. Avery’s mother’s absence had been palpable, and Avery had gritted her teeth the whole time, trying to force a smile, knowing her father was doing the same thing.

After a few more blocks, the parade would be over, and Avery and her father would pretend they weren’t watching for the clock to strike eight seventeen, the moment Caroline Templeton had been struck by a drunk driver on her way home from the Founder’s Day barbeque, the moment she had been killed.

Avery’s father had the coffee going and his travel mug out, so Avery started breakfast, pulling out a carton of eggs and the frying pan.

“No word on—”

Her father shook his head and filled both mugs, fixing hers with enough milk and sugar to turn it a pale brown while leaving his black. He screwed the lids on both, then took a sip and dropped two pieces of bread in the toaster as Avery cracked two eggs.

“No word. Green and Howard went in last night just before sunset but didn’t see anything.”

“Nothing?”

“Car was in the lot. Last one there. As far as we know, neither boy contacted anyone at home or any friends.”

The toast popped up and Chief Templeton slathered each slice with butter, laying them on separate paper towels.

Avery flipped the eggs. “Well, if neither of them made contact, that could be a good sign, right? They’re probably together.”

The chief salted and peppered the eggs over Avery’s shoulder. She nudged him out of the way and slipped a fried egg onto each slab of toast. He handed her a bright-orange Windbreaker; she handed him one of the egg sandwiches.

“You know you’re basically just keeping the kids out of the way, right?” The chief’s tone was calm, but his eyes were wary.

Avery stiffened. She had been on more missing-person searches—unofficially, as she was underage—than most of the officers on her father’s staff. But being sixteen kept her on “kid patrol,” basically babysitting while the adult volunteers tromped through the forest, potentially ruining scads of evidence while pretending they were a bunch of television CSIs, no doubt.

“Yeah,” she said through a mouthful of fried egg. “I know.”

He chucked her shoulder. “Don’t be like that. When you’re of age, you can show off your detective skills. Until then, we do things by the book.”

Avery looked away, thinking about her mother, about how she would zing the chief in the ribs and remind him not to be so serious. “By the book,” she would mock in a terrible baritone. “I’m the big, bad chief.”

Avery let out a tight sigh. “I know, Dad. By the book.”

• • •

Is
this
what
it
feels
like
to
die?

He wheezed, imagining his breath leaving his body around jags of broken bones and swollen flesh. He didn’t really know what was broken and what was swollen, but judging by the pain, he guessed everything. He tried to swallow and winced when saliva laced with blood slid down his throat. His head hadn’t stopped pounding and his stomach lurched.

He turned his head to the side, ignoring the twigs that dug into his cheek. Eyes closed, he vomited. He kept them closed—not at the pain, but in an effort to avoid seeing his innards, which he was sure he was spitting up. Then everything went black.

• • •

Avery was leaning over, tightening her hiking boots, when she heard the voice that set her teeth on edge. It was Kaylee Cooper, a girl who sported a wardrobe full of pink, fuzzy sweaters and cheerleading skirts that barely covered her butt. She was goddess-like and blond, with hair that nipped at her waist, and eyes that looked sweetly innocent until they narrowed and her gaze sliced you into ribbons. She was popular for being either a tease or a slut, Avery couldn’t remember which, and she never moved without a swarm of girls orbiting her. They all looked the same, interchangeable, one popping into the Kaylee system as another fell away.

“Is this where we meet for the hike?” Kaylee asked Avery’s arched back.

Avery straightened. “It’s not a hike. It’s a missing-person search. And yes.” She handed Kaylee a clipboard. “Sign in here, please.”

She watched as Kaylee produced a pink-and-white pen and signed her name with a flourish and hearts.
A
flourish
and
hearts
, Avery thought,
while
two
kids
are
out
in
the
woods, possibly injured, possibly dead
.

She shook her head at the annoyance that overwhelmed her and slipped on her bright-orange search-and-rescue jacket. It didn’t take long for a group to form behind her, mainly kids from school, including Kaylee and her admirers. When Officer Vincent Blount came over to explain the details of the search, Avery hugged her arms across her chest, her feet tapping.

She was anxious to get into the woods. Though her conversations with Adam had dwindled as the years passed until they were virtual strangers in high school, he
had
asked her for geometry help. She’d been surprised and thrilled when they’d met in the library and he’d hung on her every word. They’d talked in hushed tones for hours—not about geometry but about everything, until the sun set and the librarian whisked them out. Outside on the sidewalk, he’d leaned in and she could smell the soap he used and his cologne and shampoo. Avery had thought Adam was going to kiss her then and there—but Kaylee had pulled up in her stupid new car and the moment had been ruined.

Now the teen search group filed into lines and started down the trail Adam and Fletcher would have walked. Avery took slow, deliberate steps, calling out the boys’ names, the voices of the other volunteers nearby swallowed up by the foliage. Avery wasn’t sure how long they walked, but they were deep enough into the forest that the overgrowth blocked out most of the sunlight and the temperature had dropped more than a couple of degrees.

She zipped her jacket and stepped away from the group—a cardinal sin, she knew—and headed toward a small bit of earth that looked to have been recently tromped through. She glanced over her shoulder at her group; they were taking a break. Most were drinking from water bottles or sitting in the dirt. No one seemed to miss her. She looked around and saw a path marked by more broken twigs, winding deeper into the forest, deeper into the shadows.

It was impossibly quiet where she was, as if the thick, leafy canopy snuffed out the outside world completely. The result was an eerie stillness that gave Avery goose bumps and sent a quiver through her stomach. A twig snapped behind her and she spun. Her body stiffened like an animal ready to pounce. Then came the rustle of pine needles.

• • •

It was back. It—he—whatever or whoever had done this to him was back, probably to finish him off. A tremor of terror rolled through him, each miniscule quiver making his bones crack all over again.

Just
kill
me. Just kill me and get this over with.

The only part of his head that didn’t feel like it was stuffed with cotton pounded behind his eyes. The blood pulsing through his ears blocked out every other sound, but he thought he could hear the whisper of someone trying to get his attention.

Let
him
kill
me.

He couldn’t run, couldn’t even stand, but something like hope pushed through him

No.

The footsteps grew more distinct. A crunch of leaves, weight on the hard-packed earth.

I
don’t want to die.

He could feel the tears warm his cheeks, and he gritted his teeth against the explosion of pain as he inched himself backward under a bush to hide.

Don’t let it get me.

• • •

“Hello?” she called out. “This is Avery Templeton with Search Team Five. Hello?”

The silence was complete except for the steady thump of Avery’s heart. She took a step forward and slid on the loose earth, tumbling forward onto her hands and knees. Rocks tore at her skin and the knees of her jeans as she slid. When she stopped—eight, ten feet at the most—she was breathing heavily, her mind reeling. She did a quick assessment for damage. Other than the sting on her palms, nothing hurt.

So why was there blood on her hands?

She brought her hands toward her face and grimaced at the streaks of rust-colored blood—congealed, mixed with dirt—that covered her palms.

She wasn’t bleeding.

This wasn’t her blood.

It was then that she heard the slow gurgle, the sparse intake of breath followed by a low, throaty whisper: “Avery, you have to help me.”

Avery stared at the figure lying in front of her, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim light.

“Please.”

The word came out in a desperate hiss, and he clasped a muddy, blood-caked hand around her wrist, his grip limp, his fingers trembling.

She gasped. “Fletcher?”

“Oh my God, Fletcher!”

Avery wouldn’t have noticed him but for the white of his right eye. His left was swollen shut, the purple skin stretched so tight that it was glossy, and his face was caked with dirt and dried blood. More blood congealed at his hairline and along his part, matting his curly hair.

Avery tried to focus on his good eye rather than his broken body and the putrid stink of sick and sweat.

“Can you hear me okay?”

Fletcher made a motion that could have been a nod, his head moving almost imperceptibly in the dirt.

“Are you injured?” she asked, her search-and-rescue training kicking in. “Can you move at all?”

Fletcher’s eye cut from left to right and widened like a caged animal’s. His tongue slipped from his mouth and traced his cracked lower lip. His eyelids fluttered, and Avery watched as tears pooled underneath his lashes.

“I don’t think so,” he whispered.

“That’s okay. Don’t try and move. Here.” She unscrewed the cap on her water bottle and gingerly pressed it to Fletcher’s lips. He winced as the water dribbled into his mouth. She bit down her fear, ignored the urge to run. If someone did this to Fletcher, where was he? Was he watching her now? Waiting?

Avery set her teeth against the tremble in her voice. “Do you know where Adam is?”

• • •

Adam.

The intense joy Fletcher had felt as Avery’s lithe figure kneeled next to him receded. He wasn’t alone. He wasn’t going to die. But Adam…

His chest tightened and his heart clanged like a fire bell. The pounding was so severe it felt as if it was hammering each of his injured ribs, which made it difficult to breathe.

“Adam.” The name felt heavy on his tongue.

Where
was
Adam?

A tiny sliver of memory came back to him: It was sunny, too hot for a September Saturday. The car windows were rolled down, and even with the wind whooshing by, Fletcher could feel the sun baking his fair skin. Someone was singing—badly—yelling really, to a song on the radio.

Death to Sea Monkeys.

Everyone at school loved that band.

Fletcher hated it.

Who
was
singing?

Adam.

“Where’s Adam?” Fletcher asked.

Fletcher could feel Avery gently touch his shoulder. Hope rose inside him, then broke.

“Do you remember what happened?” she asked.

He closed his eyes. “Someone…someone…hit us.” His voice rose on the word “us.” It was as much a question as a statement. His mind churned, spitting out broken images: a hand curling into a fist, the shooting pain on its impact, getting knocked off his feet. Yelling, screaming…so much noise. “I don’t remember.”

Avery pulled out her cell phone. The rectangle of light illuminated her blue eyes and the wispy hairs that stuck out from her ponytail.

“No service.” Her eyes flashed. “Don’t worry. I’m going to go get help. There are six search teams and my dad can’t be more than a mile away.” She sprung to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”

It took all of Fletcher’s might not to grab on to Avery. He didn’t want her to see him scared, to see him cry, but it was already too late for that. “Don’t leave me, Avery, please,” he pleaded.

Avery bit her bottom lip, her eyes scanning the little gulley they were in. She looked toward the makeshift trail and tree line. “Do you think whoever did this will come back?” The confidence had dropped out of Avery’s voice, and Fletcher could hear the tremor of uncertainty.

Fletcher blinked.
Whoever
did
this…
Who did this? “I don’t know.”

“There’s no other way, Fletcher. You’re injured. If I try to move you, I’m only going to hurt you more. I’ll be back—with help—in a few minutes. I promise. I’m not going to leave you out here any longer than I have to. I’ll be right back.”

Fletcher knew she was right. Even when he told himself to move—to bend a knee, move a finger—nothing happened. His brain and body were disconnected. Avery had to get help.

• • •

Avery didn’t realize she was crying until she cleared the edge of the gulley and broke into a run. The cool air breaking over her cheeks went icy on the tracks of her tears. What had happened to Fletcher? Where was Adam? Who had attacked the boys?

A bright-orange snatch of fabric—another rescue worker—flashed through the thinning trees, and she pressed herself harder, knowing she was close, ignoring the tightness in her lungs.

“Dad! Dad! I found him! I found Fletcher! We need an ambulance! Call the paramedics!”

Avery skidded on some damp leaves, and Chief Templeton caught her by her shoulders. “Avery?”

The other members of the chief’s search party stared. Nobody moved.

Avery gasped for air.

“Avery?” he repeated.

“Dad, he’s alive. Come on.”

Chief Templeton straightened. “You heard the girl. Get a stretcher. Call in the search teams! Where is he, Avy?”

She nodded deeper into the woods. “I’ll show you.”

• • •

The lights burned his eyes. Even when he closed them, yellow starbursts exploded in the darkness and made his head hurt worse. His lips were dry and puckered, and he wished for another sip from Avery’s bottle. It was quite possibly the best water he had ever tasted. That seemed like a lifetime ago—being in the forest with Avery. Was there something before that?

There had to be.

He felt like he was gliding. Fletcher’s eyes flickered open again. The bright bursts of lights were coming from the ceiling. He was in a hallway. Panicked faces hovered above him. He could see their lips moving, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying over the beeping and someone being paged. Everything was muffled, one step removed, as if he had cotton in his ears.

He lifted his head an inch. He could see a thick, yellow strap clamped around his shoulders and the rise and fall of his own chest. The paramedic must have sliced his shirt down the middle. Fletcher’s concave stomach, his pasty, un-tanned skin, was exposed. He was going to ask for a blanket or a new shirt, but his tongue was heavy in his mouth. He couldn’t make sense of what’d happened, what
was
happening. His mind felt as if it was fraying at the edges. Then it plunged him back into the black.