The wavering has left his eyes and he yanks me off the floor.
“I choose you, Summer Barnes. You’ll be my first.”
54
Whit
The shorelinealong the trailer park and waterway isn’t that long. Maybe the length of a football field. We separate at the end of the boardwalk and search for something—anything. The phone. Foot prints, any clue left behind. Nick called the police but it could take time to get them out here. His words were confusing and strangled on the phone. God knows if they even took him seriously. It may be up to us to find her.
Even with full daylight and a bright morning sun, there’s nothing on the shore. Pete and I run together, but the sand is hardpacked and clean.
“Nothing,” I say. “Not a footprint.”
Not other than our own. We make our way back to the boardwalk and meet a defeated Nick and Justin at the bottom of the stairs. “I don’t see a sign of her,” Justin says. “Fucking hell.”
Pete rests his hands on his hips, eyes skimming the water. We all know Summer isn’t a great swimmer. If she was looking to escape, that wouldn’t be the way she’d go.
“Anyone look under the boardwalk?” I ask. No one speaks, we just move into action, heading up both sides.
Halfway up Justin shouts, “I found it! I found her phone.”
Ducking under the boardwalk, I see him a few feet up, when we get there Nick has his arms spread wide. “Stop! Don’t walk over here. I think these are her footprints.”
“Really?”
“They look fresh and there’s a bunch of upturned sand near where Justin found the phone.” It’s still in the ground.
“I left it so the police could find it.” He shrugs. “I’ve watched enough TV to know not to mess with evidence.”
“Well, I’ve watched enough TV to know the clock is ticking. I’m not waiting for them to get here to do something.” I take a wide berth but follow the footsteps leading away from water. The ground isn’t the same as the ocean side. No dunes, just hard packed gray and brown dirt. It’s soft and sure enough, there are footsteps leading all the way back to the campground. Away from the main path. I look back at Pete. “You said his aunt had a place in here?”
“I think so.”
“Call Sugar. Find out what number she rented.” I look at the seemingly endless rows of campers. “We’ll start banging on doors.”
Pete dials Sugar’s number and Justin and Nick flank me on both sides. “Do you think we’ll get to her in time?” Justin asks, I’ve never heard him so worried.
I almost say that I don’t know. I almost cry in anguish and punch them both in the face. Instead I grit my teeth and declare, “We don’t have a choice,” before banging on the first camper door.
55
Summer
It’sthe shift in Avery’s dark, evil, eyes that makes me think of my mother. Not how upset she’ll be, or the pain and guilt she’ll feel when everything’s revealed. It’s the fact that she’s a survivor. A winner. And she raised me to be one, too.
My mind latches onto this when I feel his dank, hot breath on my face, feel the perverse erection in his pants, see the glint of metal in his hand. He tears the front of my dress, exposing my chest, and touches the tip of the blade to the thin flesh covering my chest. I cry into my gag, the pain excruciating, the blood hot and dripping between my breasts. Avery laughs at me, then touches the knife to his tongue, licking the bloody tip. It’s the laughter that wakes me up, ignites the anger, and on a surge of adrenaline I smash my head into the blade, pushing it into his mouth.
His pain creates a roar in the tiny camper that I hope is loud enough for someone, anyone, to hear.
“Fucking bitch,” he says, but it’s mush-mouthed and blood dribbles down his lips. He spits bloody saliva on the floor and Idart to the door. It’s futile—totally pointless in the tiny, cramped space. My hands are bound, the door is locked, but I have to try.
The mouth injury doesn’t stop him and he lunges for me, grabbing me by my linked wrists. He stumbles, shouting, crashing to the floor, and I see that Shay has stretched her long, strong legs onto the floor, twisting them with his own. The blade falls to the ground, clattering metal on linoleum. With the jerk of her knees, she kicks it in my direction.
My hands are useless so I kick the old metal and wood door, screaming beneath the gag. Avery scrambles to his feet, crushing Shay’s legs, coming for me. I can’t get out of the door. I can’t use my hands but there’s a tiny couch built into the camper wall, just behind the kitchen table. I jump on it, scattering his tools to the floor.
“Stop!” he shouts. “You’re ruining everything!”
I bring my knee into the cardboard-covered window, feeling the pain ricochet up my thigh. I do it again and again, gagging on the cotton in my mouth, focusing to getting out of this alive. The cardboard weakens, falling from the window, bathing the filthy room in light. I kick the window and it cracks, but he grabs me off the couch and pulls me backward, tripping over Shay’s legs again before crashing into the wall. He pins me there, breathing hot and dank in my face, his hands caging me in painfully. Shay writhes on the floor.
