“Which way?” Mariana whispered.
“Downstream,” Claire said. It would lead them to the lake. Eventually.
Following Claire downstream, they walked single file. They couldn’t run through the water—the mossy rocks were too slick. They had to pick their way carefully, from rock to rock, but they left no footprints.
Claire continued onward relentlessly, leading them throughthe bitingly cold water that varied between an inch and ankle-deep.
She tried not to think about how thirsty she was. Or how hungry. Or how low the sun was. The trees were so thick that she couldn’t see it, but it had to be close to dusk.
Eventually, a bird called, and then another.
“I—I think we’re okay,” Claire said softly.
“My shoes aren’t,” Mariana said.
Reyva huffed. “Are you seriously—”
“Obviously I’m not seriously complaining about my shoes,” Mariana said. “Except, yeah, my feet are wet, and that’s not great.”
It’s not great, Claire agreed. Hypothermia. Trench foot, also known as immersion foot. Lots of issues with wet feet if they couldn’t get them dry. But not being shot at was a much higher priority than that right now. She slowed, catching her breath. A moss-covered flat rock protruded from the stream, and she held her arms out for balance as she walked onto it. She sat on one end. Reyva and Mariana joined her.
“You can’t possibly think I’m that shallow,” Mariana said.
“I don’t know you,” Reyva pointed out.
“You do,” Mariana said. “We’ve bonded. All this”—she waved her hands at the trees, the stream, and everything—“running for our lives... escaping psychopaths... very bonding.”
“Rather have skipped it, thanks,” Reyva said. “And it’s not like you’ve learned anything about me. All you know is I don’t like hugs, and I don’t want to die.”
Claire took off her shoes and socks and squeezed the water out of them. This wasn’t rainwater, and she didn’t dare drinkit. Her feet felt pruny, and she poked the bottom of them. She wondered at what point trench foot set in and which symptom came first. Numbness? Soreness? Blisters? Smell of decay? “We also know you have an excellent right hook. Thanks for that.” She thought of how the two of them had jumped to defend her. No one had ever done that. Granted, no one had ever attacked her before either.All sorts of new experiences, she thought.
“That’s hardly all we know,” Mariana said.
Reyva snorted. “Right. You know what I let you see.”
Tossing her still-damp-from-the-rain hair, Mariana straightened as if posing for a photo. “Oh? You wear black because you think it makes you look tough, which it does, by the way. Your whole vibe, badass. But you wear it because you think it fits your self-image of having no emotions, and that’s not true. You have plenty of them. You just squash them down. Until they erupt out and you deck a lunatic in the woods. My guess: your parents have opinions on what you’re allowed to feel, as well as what you do, and so you respond by controlling what you show the world. You want us to think nothing fazes you. Fact is, you care a lot, and you’re terrified that someone will realize it and use it against you. Like, you know, I’m doing right now.”
Staring at her, Claire felt like she should applaud or something. That was masterful. And kind of intense. Reyva was staring at her too, an expression of near horror on her face. It was, Claire thought, the most emotion she’d seen on Reyva’s face since they’d arrived.
“Or,” Mariana said, “I’m off base, and your greatest fear is really just snakes.”
Claire looked from Reyva to Mariana then back to Reyva. There were about sixteen emotions warring for supremacy on Reyva’s voice, but in the end, she just swallowed and said, “My preschool had a boa constrictor. It was cool. I haven’t been afraid of snakes since.”
“It had awhat?” Mariana said. “And the teachers thought this was a good idea?”
“Also had pet mice. I didn’t make the connection between the two until years later.”
Mariana blinked. “Well. Okay. Definitely don’t have time to delve into that.”
She was right—there wasn’t time to linger. Now that they’d caught their breath, they had to keep going. Pulling her socks and shoes back on, Claire stood and stepped back into the stream. “Let’s keep moving.”
If they stayed on the move, it would decrease the odds that the two men would catch up to them.And bonus, Claire thought,it’ll decrease the odds that Mariana will decide to psychoanalyzemenext.
As the shadows stretched longer, they continued to tromp through the stream. “It would be delightful if we had a plan,” Mariana said. “Any idea how we make sure the man with the shotgun and the man in desperate need of a haircut don’t find us?”
“Claire, worst case?” Reyva asked.
Claire gawked at her for a second—no one hadeverasked her that; she tried to imagine Priya or her parents ever asking her that—and then she focused on answering. She glanced up at the wiggle of sky between the branches of the trees. It hadflattened to a deep gray blue with a faint smattering of stars. Well past sunset. Soon, very soon, they’d be stumbling around in the complete dark. They had to find a safe place to spend the night. But where? “Worst case, they guess we used the stream to hide our tracks. Only two choices: upstream or downstream. Since downstream heads to the lake, because gravity, and that’s the only landmark we know... If we stay by the stream, they’ll find us eventually.”
