They All Fall Down (20 page)

“Real gold is,” I say. “I can’t believe Josh carries it around like pocket change. And then leaves it by accident.”

He looks up, his eyes saying what his mouth just did:
There’s no such thing as an accident
.

“You think he left it here on purpose?” I ask. The possibility had crossed my mind, but it made so little sense I’d disregarded it. Now I think maybe Josh had a reason to leave this coin.

Levi just shakes his head, and my frustration grows.

“Where have you seen those words and why did you ask me to translate them?” I’m tired of waiting for this explanation.

“He must have made it pretty far to have this.”

Far
 … how? “What are you talking about?”

For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. “Mack,” he finally says. “What I’m about to tell you”—he takes my hand, pressing the coin between our palms—“you can’t tell anyone. I mean it. I’m not kidding.”

“This theme is repeating itself today.”

“This time you have to follow the rule. It’s a matter of life and death.”

I give him a solemn nod. “I swear.” And I mean it.

“There’s a source … of money.” He looks at the coin. “A place full of coins like this.”

“Like buried treasure?” I fight the urge to laugh. “Only slightly more ridiculous than a voodoo curse.”

“It’s not ridiculous and it’s not really buried, but it is treasure. One person every year gets it in the form of a fat, juicy, secret scholarship.”

I gasp. “The one named after Josh’s dad?”

He jerks back like I’ve burned him. “How do you know about that?”

“I don’t think it’s so secret,” I tell him. “I met Josh’s grandfather at his party the other night and he offered me a chance to apply. Only I’d have to finish some kind of obstacle course he has set up. Is that what you’re talking about?”

“He told you that? I don’t believe it.”

“Why, is it some big secret?”

He raises his dark brows. “Have you ever heard this scholarship mentioned? Read about it in the papers? Know anyone who ever got it?”

He’s right, I haven’t. “But aren’t some scholarships private like that? Especially when they’re given by an individual?”

“Yeah, but this one—”

The screech of tires steals our attention, making us both spin to see a vehicle careening into the parking lot at about sixty miles an hour. For a second, I can’t breathe. I stare at the pickup truck, stunned into speechlessness.

Levi’s gaze follows mine. “Holy shit.”

“No kidding.” The driver’s side is away from us, the windows tinted too black to see in, and I can’t see the plate.

Levi instantly yanks me away, behind the cover of the building, and when the truck parks, he gets in front of me.

“Don’t move. Don’t talk.”

Blood is rushing through my confused brain, pounding and vibrating in terror. I don’t even know why I’m so afraid, or why we’re hiding, but instinct says he’s right.

“Who is that?” I demand.

“Truth is, I don’t know.”

We hear the slam of a truck door, the squeak of an ancient front entrance, and the bell announcing a new customer inside.

Is it the same truck I saw on Route 1 when I spun out? The
one that almost hit my bike? The one I saw in front of the house where Chloe was killed? Or another coincidence?

“Stay here,” Levi says, taking a few steps to the side of the building to look around.

“Do you know who it is? Can you see him? Read the license plate?”

“No, no, and no. But we’re not taking any chances.” Turning to his bike, he grabs the other helmet. “We’re outta here.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, I pull on the helmet and climb behind him on the bike, wrapping my arms around his waist. He walks the bike forward, closer to the road, before starting the engine and attracting any attention. Then we take off, going the other way so we don’t pass the front of the store, but that means I can’t check the plate on the back of the truck.

As he turns onto the road, I cling harder, my breath stolen by the thrill and speed.

“If that is the same guy, what is he doing here?” I call into the wind and Levi’s ear.

He shakes his head, revving the engine and then turning in to a gas station less than a quarter-mile away. Pulling the bike behind the pumps, we’re blocked but can still see the truck parked in Kipler’s lot. It’s too far away for us to make out a face, but we’re hiding and looking anyway.

“This has to do with me,” I say, my thoughts focused on that one undeniable truth.

“You don’t know that. You don’t know it’s the same F-150.”

Is that what that truck is? I squint harder. “If it is the same truck and the same guy I’ve been running into, then this is no coincidence.” Good Lord, he’s following me?

Levi puts his hand on my knee, giving it a squeeze and
leaning back so that our helmets touch. “You don’t know that it’s the same guy.”

But deep inside, I do. “You should have gone into Kipler’s and gotten a picture of him so we could see if we know him.”

He shakes his head.

“I want to know who he is and what he’s doing here.”

“I can’t let him see me,” he says.

“Why not? Would he recognize you?”

After a long silence, he nods his chin toward the store. “He’s leaving.”

I look, but all I can see is a guy in a hoodie walking briskly to the pickup truck, his face down, looking at a phone, no package in his hands.

All of a sudden the man looks up. His head jerks around and he stares right at us—or right at the pumps hiding us. I gasp as he looks back at his phone, then the gas station.

“What the hell?” Levi whispers.

In a flash, the guy jumps into his truck.

“Hang on,” Levi says.

“Did he see us? How is that possible? Wha—” I swallow the word as the engine revs and we go flying out of the gas station. I stifle a scream by pressing my face into Levi’s back, inhaling leather and gas.

My whole body tilts left, then right, the acceleration zipping through me like I’m on a roller coaster. Oh, how I wish I were.

I manage to lift my head, still not breathing, squeezing Levi with all my strength, and I can’t look anywhere but down. I see the asphalt.… It’s so damn close. Inches. We are inches from being slathered all over that.

I close my eyes and fight the urge to scream as we fly up the ramp to the highway, weaving in and out of traffic at a frightening speed, my whole body vibrating with the engine between my legs.

I can taste the terror, metallic and hot in my mouth. Why is this happening?

The truck. The truck and the driver
who knows where I am
when I’m somewhere even I never knew I’d be today. Somewhere miles and miles from Vienna.

Fear rolls through me as I angle my head to look over Levi’s shoulder into one of the rear-facing mirrors. Way in the distance, I see a black pickup truck hauling ass right at us.

Levi sees him, too, and whips around a semi, dirt from the giant tires spitting in our faces, the sound of the monstrous engine even louder than the one I’m sitting on.

Another wild bank to the other side and we’re in front of the semi, and the rearview mirror is filled with a metal grille and the word
Peterbilt
in green.

I stare at the logo, watching it get smaller as we pick up speed and fly down I-70. I don’t want to think about how fast we’re going. I don’t want to think about that truck. I sure as hell don’t want to think about how easily this could all be … another accident.

“Levi.” I croak his name and it gets thrown away in the wind. I have no control, so I hold on and hope and pray and finally let my body roll into each turn.

He’s tense, leaning forward, concentrating on keeping us alive and surprising me by flying down an off-ramp, turning right at the bottom, and zooming past a Stuckey’s and a Dairy Queen before winding up a steep hill.

With all the courage I have, I turn and look over my shoulder just in time to see the black truck fly across the overpass, skipping our exit and continuing on the highway.

“You lost him,” I call out.

He nods but keeps going, maybe a tad slower, but I’m too numb at this point to be able to tell. He zips left, farther up the hill along a fire path, then down a road so gutted it’s mostly dirt, and finally pulls over at the edge of a wooded area.

When he turns the bike off, it does nothing to stop the full-body quivering that has control over me. I try to speak but I can’t, still clinging to his arm as he climbs off and roughly removes his helmet, dark eyes blazing.

“Give it to me,” he insists.

“Give wha—”

“The coin! Give me the damn coin!”

With trembling hands, I reach into my jacket pocket and close my finger around the coin I’ve forgotten all about. “Why?” I manage to ask as I pull it out.

He doesn’t answer, but grabs it from my hands and stares at the thing like it’s the devil himself. With two hands he picks at the edges, his expression darkening with frustration as he bites it and swears under his breath.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t you see, Mackenzie? He’s tracking us with this thing!”

“Then throw it away. Toss it off a cliff. Drive over it and ruin it.”

“No.” He gives it one more good squeeze, then looks at me. “If we do that, we lose him and we don’t know anything more than we know right now.”

He’s absolutely right. A wave of gratitude rolls over me, the first thing I’ve felt that isn’t fear in what seems like hours, but I can’t tell him. He’s doing a three-sixty, scanning the area. “We have to do this right. We have to see if he comes back for it and where he takes it.”

“How?”

He peers out toward the highway. “We have to be fast. The minute he realizes where we are, he’s coming back.”

At the thought, I steady myself on the bike. “What’s your plan?”

“I have no idea. I’m making it up as I go along.” He gives a half smile. “But I’m sure it’ll be good.”

CHAPTER XXI

T
he plan, it so happens, is brilliant. We ride back to the I-70 off-ramp, where Levi hides the coin in some brush as if it fell out of a pocket. Then we head to the parking lot behind Stuckey’s to get a direct view of the ramp. The sweet, rich aroma of coffee wafts from the restaurant as we wait on the bike, still wearing our helmets.

Worry curls through me, drawing me closer to Levi, my arms secure around his waist, my chin on his shoulder. It feels good, like I was meant to be here. But the moment of security doesn’t stop the many, many questions that plague me.

“You better start explaining,” I say simply. “Starting with why that coin bears the same words you asked me to translate the other night.”

He adjusts his feet and the seat under him so he can divide his attention between the ramp and me. “That ropes course in the woods?” he says. “It’s not like anything you’ve ever seen.”

I’m not sure what that could possibly have to do with the coin or the Latin phrase, but I trust he’s going to tell me. “Have you done the course?” I ask.

“Some of it. I was invited, but I didn’t get to the next level.”

I frown, somehow not seeing this boy as one who’d merit an invitation from Rex Collier. “Who invited you? When?”

“I have no idea. A few weeks ago, I got this anonymous invitation to do the ropes course. At first I thought it was some stupid Vienna High jock thing and I ignored it. Then the invitations got more … inviting.” He rubs his two fingers together in the universal gesture for cash. “Kind of hard to ignore an envelope when it lands on your doorstep with a picture of Ben Franklin in it.”

“Someone just gave you a hundred dollars to do the ropes course? Did you?”

He snorts. “Hell yeah. This thing needs gas, you know, and Mickey D’s doesn’t hire kids with probation officers.”

“What happened?”

A blue car takes the ramp, diverting our attention for a second as it travels on.

“Nothing happened,” he says when the car is gone. “In fact, it was like any high school party that Josh throws. Tons of idiots getting loaded and climbing trees and zip-lining like they’re George of the Jungle.”

“Like Josh and his football friends?”

He shakes his head. “No, kids I didn’t recognize. No one talked to me and not everyone was taking it seriously, but some did. Some followed the course. Which is marked …” He slides me a meaningful look. “With instructions in another language.”

“Latin, by any chance?”

“By every chance.”

“Is that why you asked me for the translation?”

“One of the reasons, yeah. I wanted to know what that meant … 
nihil
whatever.”

“ ‘Leave nothing behind and no trace.’ ” I nod toward the bushes. “Besides being on that coin, where did you see it?”

“The phrase is stamped or burned or even painted in a couple of places along the course,” he says. “But everything’s in weird, ancient languages, including the instructions on each platform for getting from obstacle to obstacle.”

“That adds to the difficulty quotient.”

“Especially for a guy who struggles with English, let alone Latin,” he agrees. “I quit after a while because it got to be a stupid risk. No one gets very far.”

“What happens if someone does?” I ask, imagining just how athletic and intelligent you’d have to be to attack that challenge.

“I imagine they get the scholarship, but I’ve never heard of anyone getting it. Maybe they just get one of those gold coins.”

With tracking devices in them. “But someone might have finished the course?”

He shrugs. “I guess. I haven’t been around Vienna long enough to hear about anyone getting the scholarship. Have you?”

“I told you I’d never heard of it. So what did you do when you quit the course, just walk away?” I ask. “Did you ever hear from whoever invited you again?”

“Once,” he says after a beat. “Somebody put a note in my locker to go to the senior lot and find …” He adds a meaningful
look. “A black F-150 pickup, presumably the one we’re waiting for. Anyway, when I got to the parking lot, I saw that truck—or one that looks exactly like it—windows down, no one in sight. On the dash was an envelope with my name on it.”