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“We can’t; Logan, we have to go. Every second we lose is thinning our chances.”
“Listen to Barbie, Professor,” Smith taunts. “Make yourselves scarce and hope we don’t catch you.”
Winter scowls at him but doesn’t engage. “Let’s gather what we can and get out of here.”
First, we take our fill of water from the stock Somchai left behind. After a day and a night spent rationing, the water is sweet and fresh as it flows down my parched throat. I gulp it down until my stomach begins to stretch. Then I fill all the canteens I’m comfortable carrying, and, finally, reload my backpack with more food. Lastly, I pick up one of the machetes. I’d like to take them all, but they’d be too heavy to bear. Winter, her hair now dry, combs it back in her signature twin braids, gathers her camera gear, and nods at me that she’s ready.
“Which way should we go?” I ask.
Throwing a hateful glare at Smith, she comes next to me to whisper in my ear. “Let’s retrace our steps on the road for a while, then we can decide. Should make it harder for them to track us.”
“Okay. Somchai and the others shouldn’t arrive before noon, which should give us a good head start.”
“All right.”
We nod at each other and, without sparing Smith another glance, we head for the thick of the jungle.
“Au revoir,” the soldier calls mockingly after us, just as dark, heavy storm clouds obscure the sky and a clap of thunder rumbles in the distance.
15
WINTER
Of course we have to make our escape under an avalanche of water. And, in the Thai jungle, it doesn’t just rain buckets—we’re flooded by so much rainwater, it’s as if someone opened the sky’s tap and is in no hurry to close it.
By now, I should’ve learned any situation can get worse, and that, lately, being soaked in water is what does the trick. Why did I ever complain about the heat? Compared to the wet cold sneaking down my spine, the excessive warmth of two days ago was heaven.
At the moment, I’m drenched, shirt to socks, and my boots are caked in mud. With every new step, I half expect my feet to fall off from their weight.
Suddenly, the ground beneath me gives way, swallowing me whole. A scream rolls out of my throat as, head over heels, I topple over the landslide, rocks, muck, and rubble falling in a waterfall around me.
I lose the rifle in the plunge, but I’m kind of glad. The last thing I need is a pointy slab of metal batting all over me as I fall. Did I put the safety on? I can’t remember. It’d be ironic if I got shot by Smith’s stolen M16 by accident.
As I careen around a bend, Logan rolls past me, making a good impression of a bob racer without a sleigh. Hell, that’s where we’re headed. Satan is taking me home with him: to the pitch-dark bottom of this inferno of a jungle. Having been trapped in the bowels of the earth wasn’t enough. Oh, no. Now I’m sinking into an abyss where only mud and torn branches exist.
A runaway boulder smashes into my elbow as it rolls past. As I keep tumbling, I bring my arm closer to my chest. I don’t think it’s broken, but it stings worse than a scorpion bite. With my other hand, I claw at the hill, hoping to find some kind of anchor to stop my downward plunge, but my fingernails scrape the earth in vain. I'm plummeting too fast for me to hold on to anything. Like in a nightmare from my childhood, when I slipped off a rafting boat in West Virginia to be immediately carried under by a powerful current with no hope of rescue. Only, I’m not lost in the rapids today, but in a sea of mud. I’ll end up being buried alive, again!
My clothes rip in multiple places as thorns and sharp rocks slash at the fabric. I cover my face to prevent more dirt from entering my mouth, and close up in a tight ball, steering sideways to take most of the slide on my back, where the backpack protects my skin. But it’s no use. My ribs hit something, throwing me off balance, and the next moment I find myself on my stomach, legs flung behind me.
I am on the brink of losing it, but I refuse to let myself succumb to blind panic. I can’t control where my body is going, but I can still rule my thoughts. We didn’t escape a stone tomb just to plunge into a dirt grave. I cool my mind, focusing on all the people I love and want to get back to: my parents, Summer, Lana, the rest of our team—they need us. I repeat their names in my head, my love for them working as a shield protecting my body against the pain of the rockslide. Until, with a dull crunch, I slam into the bottom of the cliff, my limbs exploding into a starburst of pain.
An instant later, Logan tumbles over me, the rifle bouncing down right after him and missing both our heads by inches.
“Whooo-hoo!” Logan hollers, rolling off me. “Heck of a ride. Are you okay?”
Heavy raindrops smack my face, washing the mud away. “I think so,” I say, swallowing a mouthful of rain. “I’m still in one piece.”
The adrenaline from the fall must jack up my system, because I feel no pain. Only the rain rinsing the dirt out of my braids and shredded clothes.
“You?” I ask.
“Only a few scratches,” Logan says with a big grin. Then he offers me a hand. “Come on, we gotta press the advantage. We don’t know how long we have before Smith gets free, and you can bet he’ll be onto us again soon.”
I let him pull me up and lose my breath as our faces come within inches of each other. All I’d have to do to kiss him would be to rise up on tiptoes.
Whoa.
Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.
