Ahead, several flashlight beams pierce the darkness, illuminating slices of the jungle path as if they were thrown from a disjointed disco ball. Branches and vines seem to loom over us, jumping each time the light shifts.
I’m starting to think they’re going to march us all night.
Holden and Penelope are near the head of the line, walking so close together that their shoulders keep brushing each other. Álvaro takes up a position on my right, and the way he watches me makes me feel like I’m still kneeling on that cliff. As if he still holds his machete to my throat, and he’s waiting for me to flinch.
Fortunately, he loses interest in me when Óscar clips a small portable radio to the shoulder strap of his bag and begins dialing through the FM band.
The other gunmen argue in Spanish about whether or not we’re close enough to their base camp to pick up a signal. When Óscar finds not one, but three different stations, the gunmen cheer, and I’m tempted to join them. If theycan pick up a radio signal, they might also pick up a cell phone signal.
Not that either of those will help, unless I can get ahold of a radio or a cell phone.
Óscar turns up the volume and sound crackles over the airwaves. I trip over my own feet when I hear my name come from the radio.
“... Genesis Valencia is seventeen. Her cousins Ryan and Madalena Valencia are eighteen and sixteen. Penelope Goh, an Olympic silver medalist on the uneven bars and a local celebrity, is seventeen. Holden Wainwright, only son of ...”
At first, I am so shocked that the familiarity of the voice doesn’t register.
“Neda ...” Penelope turns to look at me, having evidently forgotten that the only reason she and I are still on the same continent is that we’re being held at gunpoint. “How did she get on the radio?”
“Shhh!” Suddenly my feet don’t hurt. My mosquito bites don’t itch. The rest of the world fades away as the gunmen cheer over the realization that their efforts have made it onto an English-language radio show—surely the first part of whatever message they’re trying to send.
I listen, desperate for information from outside the jungle. I’ve been without my cell phone for all of eleven hours, and I already feel like the world has moved on without me.
“Neda, what can you tell us about the others who were kidnapped in the north Colombian jungle along with yourfriends?” another voice asks over the static, and I recognize the practiced cadence of Bill “The Thunder” Lewis, one of our local Miami DJs.
Neda is being interviewed. Either Óscar’s radio is picking up a signal from Florida—is that possible?—or the show has been syndicated.
Either way, our disappearance has obviously becomebignews.
“I don’t have the names of all the others who went missing,” she says. “But I’m working closely with the US authorities to answer their questions to the best of my ability. And I appreciate this opportunity to tell my story to the world. It wassucha close call, Bill. If I hadn’t been airlifted out of the jungle last night, I’d be out there right now, fighting for my survival. Only with my injury, I’d have a distinct disadvantage.”
Yeah. Because Maddie’s diabetes made things so easy for her.
“I can only imagine.” Bill clucks his tongue in sympathy with the girl whowasn’tkidnapped at gunpoint. “We need to take a quick break, then we’ll be back with Neda Rahbar, to hear more about the six Miami teens who went missing in the Colombian jungle this very morning.”
“They know we’re missing!” Penelope clutches Holden’s arm as the radio goes to a commercial break, and my teeth grind so hard I can hear my jaw creak.
Indiana gives me a sympathetic smile and aims his small flashlight at the ground in front of our feet, lighting the way.
“It sounds like they only know about the people your friend felt like talking about on the radio,” Natalia says, and the pointed smile she shoots at Indiana, Rog, and Domenica looks extra smug in the indirect glow from Óscar’s flashlight.
“Well, then they mostly know about Neda.” I try to summon a smile, as if I think my absent friend’s narcissism is in any way amusing while the rest of us are being held at gunpoint.
“At least they know something,” Domenica points out as we trudge through a puddle of mud that Indiana’s flashlight failed to illuminate.
Silvana’s soft laughter is cruel. “Yes, they know you’re out heresomewhere, and they only haveseventeen thousandsquare acres of dense jungle to search on foot in order to find you. You’ll be rescued in no time!”
MADDIE
“So ... what’s the plan, Maddie?” Luke asks as he lies back on the floor of the tent with his hands folded beneath his head. “For real.” His tone is carefully neutral, as if he’s afraid of upsetting me with the question. “Why are we really out here, instead of waiting for the helicopter near the bunkhouse?”
“I told you.” I pick at a string hanging from the side of the sleeping bag and avoid eye contact because I don’t want to lie to his face, even if that lie is partly true. “I have to find Genesis and get my insulin.”
“You’ve hardly glanced at your pump all day. You don’t seem very worried about running low.”
I’ll be more worried about my insulin if we don’t find Genesis before tomorrow afternoon. But that’s not what he’s asking about.
“I’m ...” Luke deserves the truth. But he’s not going to talk me out of it. “Look, you didn’t have to come. I told you to stay near the bunkhouse. You—”
