Hunter’s transmitter is cold in my hand. Lyon’s the last person I should be taking advice from, but I can’t make myself ignore it.
Win over those who will listen. Take strength from others where you can.
Which choice is right? Which choice ismine? Do I trust Noelle to walk away? Could I bear the responsibility of one more life?
Fleur rests her hand on my shoulder as if she knows the crushing weight it’s carrying. She nods, a single shallow dip of her head.
“Noelle!” She turns, and I toss the transmitter across the gap. “Ineed time. A day, maybe two, to look for our friends.” Fleur’s eyes snap to mine. “Tell Doug about the transmitter. Tell him you’ve been secretly tracking our Handlers, that we’ve all reunited, and we’re headed north. Take the transmitter as far into Utah or Wyoming as you can. Broadcast a clear signal for him to follow. Let Doug think he’s chasing us. Then ditch the transmitter before his team catches up to you.” I gnaw my lip, hoping like hell I’m not making a mistake. “Get rid of yours, too. Keep an eye on the weather reports in Southern California tomorrow. If you find us before we leave the state, you can come with us.”
Noelle nods, slowly backing away as if she’s afraid I’ll change my mind. She tucks Hunter’s transmitter into her pocket, then disappears like a smaze into the night.
43
To Weather the Storm
FLEUR
Jack and I make it to San Diego just after sunrise, an hour ahead of schedule, to the rapid slap of the windshield wipers and a driving rain that bounces like bullets off the hood. I can hardly see the road, and I’m forced to slow down as high waters threaten to lift my wheels from the freeway. I lost sight of the SUV in my rearview mirror miles ago. We split up to keep our Handlers safe, in case we run into any police or Guards, but now, with angry thunderheads churning in the sky, splitting up feels like a mistake.
We follow Marie’s directions, exiting at La Jolla. Traffic lights flash yellow at every intersection, and cars sit abandoned along the side of the road.
I turn up the radio, maneuvering the sedan around fallen limbs and debris.
“...Sustained gusts up to forty miles per hour... rain falling at a rateof a half inch per hour... power outages reported... trees down and road closures throughout the area...”
I follow signs for the cove, parking as close to the beach as I can manage. Once we’re out of the car, I smell Julio everywhere—in the salt spray and the rain that lashes our faces, in the ozone as lightning streaks across the sky. The surf is wild, the viewing area empty of tourists. A few surfers in wet suits run past us for shelter, carrying their boards under their arms.
Jack and I battle the wind until we reach the tip of the rocky overlook. A high tide sweeps over the cove, throwing froth over the rail. Below it, the swollen surf has reduced the beach to a narrow strip of sand.
According to Marie, this is the same stretch of surf where Julio died. His little sister had been showing off, desperate for his attention, when he accidentally collided with her board. He drowned trying to save her. A few weeks after Julio died, they pulled her off life support. The trauma of that day—the shame he’s kept buried, the details he’s kept carefully guarded from me—seems to roil, trapped in the seething water of the cove.
A lone haunting figure stands knee-deep in the middle of it.
Rain pours down Julio’s face. The breaking waves crash around him, booming off the high stone bluff at his back. I call his name, but it’s lost in the howling wind. Julio stumbles deeper into the surf. I run toward the winding concrete stairs leading down to the beach, but Jack holds me back.
“You can’t go to him,” he shouts over the downpour. “It’s too dangerous. The wind’s too strong. He doesn’t know we’re here.”
“We have to do something! We can’t just stand here—” A curtainof rain streaks sideways across the rail, stealing my breath, pushing me back. Lightning cracks close, striking a palm tree and shaking the overlook. Jack and I duck as it echoes off the bluff.
The swaying palm groans above us. We rush down the steps to escape the burning fronds as they fall, scattering sparks over our heads. Halfway down the bluff, Jack stops short. He squints down the narrow strip of beach, pointing to the far side of the cove where a figure’s bent against the wind. She lurches and sways. I can’t be sure if it’s the wind working against her, or if she’s on the brink of collapse. I swipe water from my eyes. Catch a flash of red hair whipping in the wind.
“Amber!” With a death grip on Jack’s hand, I drag him behind me into the churning water at the base of the stairs. The tide pulls hard at our feet, threatening to drag us under. Holding fast to each other, we move steadily into the cove.
Amber stumbles as the water crests over her hips. She cries out as Julio wades deeper, but the wind devours every scent and sound.
Waves crash over Julio’s head. Jack and I shout his name, but the storm’s too loud. Too strong. It feels like we’re moving in slow motion.
The next cresting wave knocks Amber off her feet. She disappears under the surge. We’re not close enough. There’s no way we’ll reach her without being swept away.
Jack’s eyes frost over. He lets go of my hand, nudging me back toward the bluff as his breath coalesces into a thick white fog and the temperature of the wind plummets. Sleet pelts the cove, ricocheting off Julio’s shoulders.
Julio stiffens. He turns, his eyes narrowed at the change in the air just as Amber’s head breaks the surface. He takes a shocked step towardher, but she slides under again. Julio dives, disappearing under the waves, the surf pushing him faster toward her. For a moment, I lose them in the endless gray. I clasp a hand to my mouth, gasping with relief when they both surge from the water. She grabs hold of him, choking on seawater, her arms a vise around his neck as he carries her into the shallows.
Jack and I collapse against the bluff. The wind begins to calm. The rain slows to a steady patter against the sand.
Amber and Julio stand waist-deep in the water.
Bruises dot her cheeks. Lacerations cover her arms. She lifts her hands to his face, her knuckles blistered and raw, as if she battled the world to get to him. They kiss tenderly at first, between whispers. Then deeply, their hands tangled in each other’s hair, as her bruises heal and his storm begins to fade.
