“Ah, but what if I’m already out of it?” Booker taps his temple, and I tune them out.
The few times I’ve seen the two of them together, it ends with Foley pissed off and storming away and Booker apathetic to whatever happened. They’re starting to get loud, and if they keepit up, whoever we’re looking for will hear us coming long before we see them.
At least between the thunder and the growing wind, it’s drowning them out.
I glance behind me, that suspicious instinct growing. There really can’t be many places to hide if I go off Foley’s requirements, and since Hobby Straight is clear, it narrows the possibilities even more.
Leaves crunch under my feet, a thin fog clings at my ankles, and the deeper we walk into the forest, the more it feels pointless. There’s no shelter this way. Only trees and trees and more trees.
We need to be smarter about this.
Off the main path. Easy access. Shelter. Access to food is probably high on the list too. So they’d have to be within walking distance of most of our homes.
That chilling feeling creeps up my spine again, and I glance back out of instinct.
Is this how Kennedy feels when he’s at my place? If so, I don’t blame him for being unsettled. I’d hate having to look over my shoulder and second-guess what’s lurking.
For me, the darkness of my mine is comforting. The openness of the trees is the problem. It’s never normally an issue, but knowing that someone is in our town, touching our things, potentially armed—it’s a mystery that none of us wants.
So I can understand Kennedy’s point of view when it comes to not knowing.
Maybe instead of the wall, I should have installed lights after all. Then he’d know exactly what was down there.
Nothing.
Or at least … itshouldbe nothing.
Even though Kennedy felt like he was being watched. Even though he thought he heard something. My favorite shirt that wasn’t where I left it.
My feet stall as a ridiculous idea burrows into my brain.
I think I know where the stranger is.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT
KENNEDY
Ihave no idea where I am. I’m following the others, just looking into more trees, like trying to find a needle in a haystack. The way they’re all so confident they’ll succeed is throwing me because there are miles to cover and not enough people to search. We’ve been set up for the impossible.
The smell of pine trees and wet air picks up on the breeze that twists through, and if we don’t get this done soon, we’re going to be caught out in this storm. It’s already dark. The shadows are getting larger, and I’m just waiting for one of them to call this thing so I can get home. Or to Ziggy’s. I don’t know how his mine will go in a storm, but I assume he’s made it through hundreds of them, so I’m interested in seeing how it works.
As long as it’s him and me, preferably no clothes, I’ll be fine.
The rumble overhead is threatening this time, and I glance at Foley and Booker to see if there’s any reaction from them. Nothing. Because of course. All I know is that I’d hate to run into Foley in a dark alleyway.
I glance back at Ziggy, hoping he gets the message that I’m done with this—but he’s not there.
My gaze moves from tree to tree, trying to find the one he’s disappeared behind, and when he’s not there, I push back the way we came. “Ziggy?”
“What are you doing?” Foley calls. “We have to keep going straight.”
“Ziggy’s gone.” That doesn’t get an answer. I’m trying to keep my voice level because he’s probably fallen behind, but the further I go, the faster I move, the more I doubt that theory. Tree after tree passes, obscuring my line of sight, but when I yell louder and he doesn’t answer, worry passes over me. Did he get lost? I dismiss the thought almost as soon as I have it. Ziggy knows Wilde’s End, so that wouldn’t make sense.
My breathing has gotten heavier by the time Foley and Booker catch up.
“He’ll be fine,” Foley says. “We have to stay on track.”
