“We’re stopping.”
“No. You said you want to make it to your friend with enough time to get us outta here before nighttime. So let’s hustle.” I motion behind him, hoping he’ll ignore the strain in my eyes.
But, of course, he doesn’t. He’s never ignored a single one ofmy needs. Before I can protest, he’s got an arm under my legs, lifting me bridal style while I contemplate a new strategy involving mouth-to-mouth.
Hmm, maybe I do have a fever.
“Stop being stubborn,” Jack grumbles, though I’m certainly not fighting him anymore.
I allow him to carry me to a shaded outcrop and gently deposit me onto the dusty ground. My skin has changed color with the layer of red dirt I’ve accumulated. Everything is so dusty now that I can’t even remember the luxury of having sandless crevices.
He scowls, lifting the seam of the bandage on my arm to peek at the wound. “Rest,” he commands. “I’m going to call Danny at the dig site. I think I can get a signal from here.”
“Really?” I perk up, thinking I can check my own messages. I should probably tell my mother that I’m spending a few extra nights here. I’ll leave the gunshot wound and smuggling debacle out of it for now, though.
“We’re high enough.” He drops his backpack before piercing me with another stern look. “I’ll be a few minutes. Don’t move.” And then he takes the straw of my hydration pack and sticks it in my mouth. “Drink.”
I give him my best pout, trying to hide how much his bossy commands and grouchiness make me want to throw myself at him.
I am unwell.
He saunters down several switchbacks with the ease of a panther, making me feel like a dust-covered cave troll in comparison. It’s not fair how hot he still looks.
I pull out my phone and switch it on. After a minute, a few texts from Hayley and one from my mother ping through. I scan through Hayley’s, hearting the photos of Giorgio and texting avague reply with a promise to call her soon before opening the text from my mom.
Mom:
Kuroki has a fungus. Taking her to a specialist in Tahoe. Hope your hike is going great! Chat soon.
“Beyonsai, you little diva,” I muse, shaking my head. She always finds a way to upstage everyone.
Jack paces back and forth, making for a very nice view. I watch him shamelessly, almost daring him to see the appreciation and longing in my gaze, but he doesn’t notice. The little crack in the window to his heart that allowed me a small glimpse last night has been boarded closed, and there’s a freshly hung stay out sign.
But it’s so unfair. He’s helped me recognize a strength I didn’t know I had, and I’m so desperate for the chance to help him experience the same that it physically hurts.
Sure, I’m still fighting the voice in my head that says I need to prove my worth to be valued, but Jack has shown me that my dreams are worth fighting for.
Maybe that’s what I’ve been doing out here the whole time—fighting to prove tomyselfthat I can stick with something long enough to see it through. Fighting for boldness in choosing to pursue something that matters. Fighting to accept that I’m not a quitter, I’m just cut from a different cloth.
My head rests against the rock wall behind me, and I get a glimpse of the canyon’s vantage point where it judges all the marching little humans from above.
My gaze shifts to the side with a weary roll of my neck, and I frown at the patterns on the ground. It takes so much effort just to hoist myself up that I almost regret sitting, but something about the unnatural scuffle marks draws me in closer. Angryfootprints are stamped into the sand leading around a corner, calling me like a breadcrumb trail. I know I shouldn’t follow it, but my curiosity has been piqued, and I must follow.
The footprints lead me down a narrowing path to a passage that feels like it would prefer to stay hidden, the air thick with heat and secrets.
An out-of-place stone mars the path, begging investigation, and I find the tiniest smudge of burnt umber on one side. I’ve studied the colors of the canyon almost obsessively over the past three days, and this anomaly in the hues of the grapefruit-sized rock is like a magnetic force, calling my fingers with promises of satiated curiosity.
The stronger force, though, is the whisper of more questions. I can understand why people become obsessed with solving a case or chasing rumors of lost treasure. Each clue is like a hit of adrenaline. For the first time, I’m beginning to understand a little bit of what my family feels when they achieve something.
My squat to retrieve the lone rock is slow, and I fight the stars crowding my vision when I stand. In all the dismemberment of Marigold, my ziplock bag of iron tablets has been lost and forgotten. Some squirrel is riding a hemoglobin high while I suffer through the light-headedness associated with multiple injuries and being way out of my depth.
Once the pounding in my temples finally recedes, I turn the rock over, careful not to touch the red smudge—the one that looks eerily like dried blood. My steps carry me forward, curving around the path that hugs the canyon as I frown at the coppery smatter on the jagged rock. My feet freeze when I turn a corner, and I let out a yelp.
There’s a body.
I grab the rock wall with my injured arm to avoid falling on top of the lifeless form splayed awkwardly on the ground.
I wince at the burn of my injury, bringing a hand to my mouth as the other still grips onto the rock in my hand.
