Eleven…twelve.
There is no time to prepare Cole. Not to even brace his arm against a tree. I seize his wrist and press the white-hot pan to his skin, searing the bitten area.
Cole sways on the spot, staring at his sizzling forearm.
“Jesus Christ!” he yells…staggers…and then vomits everywhere.
Thirteen…fourteen.
I raise the pan again. Cole’s eyes meet mine. Comprehension. Fear. I press the blistering hot metal to the wound a second time, hating myself for what I am doing. Another scream splits the air. Another sizzle of seared skin.
Fifteen…sixteen.
The zombies, momentarily halted by the fire, have resumed their advance. “Get back in the tree.” Cole’s voice wavers. He’s almost gone.
Seventeen…eighteen.
The fire’s out completely. There’s too many zombies for me to think of anything else, to do anything else but drop the pan and scramble back up the slippery pine, clinging on for dear life.
Nineteen…
Clutching the bark, I chance a look back down. Cole stands at the waterline. He takes one last look at me. Sees that I’m safe and gives me a weak smile.
Twenty.
My heart thunders. Cole’s eyes roll back into his head. He topples backward, headfirst into the river.
Bubba lunges, but the current is too strong. For a moment, the water carries Cole toward me and he floats directly below the pine. His body hangs suspended at the top of the falls and for several heartbeats, I see him so clearly—the dark, wet hair, the closed eyes, the pale skin, a flash of scarlet near his bleeding arm.
And then Cole goes over the waterfall.
I am still screaming his name. Over and over and over.
“Hey, lookee there! A little birdie’s stuck in that tree!” Bethany aims her crossbow. “I’m real good at shooting birds outta trees.”
Oh God, please help me. What do I do? I don’t want to die!
Cole, Cole, Cole.
But Cole is gone now.
Bethany releases an arrow. Mr. Beaver, his eyeball forgotten, begins shaking the tree. I jerk sideways and the arrow goes wide, barely missing me. Below, the island crawls with zombies. My weight bows the pine lower. Spray clouds my vision—I’m inches from the water.
I close my eyes. Try to think. Try to be smart. But I’m out of options. Any moment Bethany will shoot me out of this tree.
What if I just let go? What if I drop into the water, go over the falls?
My brain tells me this is stupid. It’s a three-story plunge with jagged boulders at the bottom.
My heart tells me suicide is better than being eaten. Or serving the rest of my days as Bethany’s mindless minion.
Zombies paw at the tree trunk. The pine jerks more violently. Bethany lines me up in her sights. Spray clouds my eyes, cold and disorienting.
I know what I’m going to do.
For some reason, my brain pulls up one last image: me and Cole, sitting at the bottom of the hill, laughing after we’d just been attacked by the bear.
“You told that bear, ‘Shoo’!”
Cole’s beautiful eyes, shining with laughter.
I release the branch.
For a moment, like Cole, I hang at the top of the falls. I’m weightless. Free. Then water chokes my lungs. Invisible fingers of current yank my body. And I hurtle over the lip of the waterfall.
Chapter Nineteen
The world drops away. I plunge through a column of water and sky. One gasping breath and my lungs flood with liquid.
Pain slams my skin. Sharp, pointed bursts where rocks thrash my body. The world is a tangle of foam, rocks, blood—my blood. I struggle underwater.
Holy crap. Which way is up?
I try to cry out, but my lungs won’t inflate.
Yank. Hard pressure on my middle.
My shoulder slams something solid.
The current tugs, drawing me lower. I try to swim against it, to fight where it’s taking me. But it twists my body like a doll, forcing me beneath a mass of debris—logs, leaves, trash—everything that’s tumbled over the falls. I’m shoved beneath the rubble—until I run out of room.
I stop, completely pinned. A log crosses my chest from left shoulder to right hip, my leg twisted the opposite direction. My lungs scream for oxygen.
This is it. I’m going to drown.
My vision spins. Panic turns the world red.
And then a memory forces itself to the front of my brain, eclipsing everything else.
I’m in a car. The backseat of my dad’s car. The first time I’d been stung by a bee. My dad driving frantically to the ER. My mom holding me, stroking my hair.
“You have to concentrate, Ava. You’re having an allergic reaction. A bad one. If you panic, your throat will close. Do you understand?”
My eight-year-old self nods.
Her hands brush my skin. Soothing. “You have to concentrate, Ava. You’re a smart girl. You know how to stay calm, right?”
I stop fighting the current. Calm. I must work with the current.
It’s okay. You’ll rise to the surface. Just stop fighting—no one can fight against a waterfall.
I will my limbs to relax. To reserve the little air I have left. I’m not pinned. The pressure of the current simply makes it feel that way. Keeps me trapped under this log, unable to go backward or forward. In reality, only one foot is caught—my right foot. I’ll have to work my shoe free, then trust the current to propel me to the other side of the debris.
My wet sneakers are like concrete. With the toe of my good foot, I try to pry off the shoe wedged between rocks. It’s too tight.
My lungs are on fire.
Calm, Ava. Stay calm. Pretend like you just got home from school. You’re taking off your sneakers in the foyer. You’re too lazy to untie them. Come on, you’ve done this a million times…pull just a little harder.
Ouch! My foot squeezes from the sneaker with a painful wrench. And I’m moving again. The force of the waterfall propels me under the layer of debris. Like a cork, I pop out the other side, my purse slamming my face. I suck in mist, but there is air here too. Blessed, blessed air.
I clutch at one of the floating logs, letting the harsh current continue to pull me. I twist my head, craning to see behind me. I’m far away. The waterfall is already almost out of view, the fast current hurtling me and my log downriver. Panting hard, I rest my head on the dark log. The moon hangs overhead, fuzzy and haloed. The landscape feels off-kilter. Too wavy to be real. But there is such comfort in knowing which side of the world is up. My tongue lolls out of my mouth like a dog’s. I am exhausted. Eyes closed, I simply float and breathe.
A minute ago, a log was my worst enemy. Now, one is my best friend. Without it, I’d be back underwater. I wrap my arms tightly around it, willing the river to go faster, to take me far, far away from Bethany and the zombies.
My foot throbs. My lungs ache. I’m tired. So very tired. A tiredness I can’t fight. It drapes across me like a blanket. The world goes dark and watery.
…
I need a new bed. I’ll have to convince mom and dad. I know mattresses are expensive, but this one is awful. Like boulders.
And sand. How’d sand get in my bed? Did I forget to shower after the beach? Mom’s gonna kill me when she sees all this sand in the bed.
I crack one eyelid, expecting bright Florida sunlight streaming through my window. Instead, darkness. Bare trees canopy overhead, the moon low, peeking through branches. My mouth is rusted with blood. Dense, cold fog hovers over the river.
It all rushes back. The island. Bethany. Her armies. Bubba’s teeth in Cole’s arm. The pan and my pointless attempt to save him. His motionless body tumbling over the falls.
Sudden sobs choke me.
Cole is infected.
Gone. Forever.
Tears, snot, sand choke me.
I wrench myself to a sitting position. The dark landscape tilts.
Where am I? No waterfall. How far did I float on that log?
Confused. So confused. So…dizzy. And cold.
Deathly
cold.
Glenview. My parents. Have to get to Glenview.
I stand. Pain shoots through my head and foot.
I sink back to the ground. Doesn’t matter. Can’t walk. My right foot is shoeless and battered.
I rub grit from my eyes and nose. How long was I unconscious?
My fingertips press the base of my skull, tender and raw. I lean forward, my forehead resting on my knees as my breath comes in big hiccupping gasps.
Cole. Gone.
Glenview. I’ve got to start walking. Before Bethany catches me.
But I want to stay here. I want to stay right here and die. What’s the point? I’ll never make it to Glenview without him.
You’ll be okay. You’ve got the magic purse.
Screw the magic purse. I’ve got nothing.
Anything happens to me. You keep going. Find your family.
Yes, my family. Mom and Dad.
Keep following the river.
The stupid damned river.
I’m on my feet again. I take one step, then another. Pain needles through my right foot. The world spins.
Why does the river seem so different? So wide? In the darkness, I can’t even see the other shore. I remember Cole saying our river would intersect with the Little Tennessee River. Or maybe it was the Big Tennessee River? I don’t know. I can’t remember. My brain is the consistency of oatmeal.
The word “concussion” comes to me. Yes, that fits. I remember the moon with its wavy halo. I must have a concussion.
One step. And another.
If I can walk on the foot, then it’s not broken or sprained.
The fog puzzles me. Makes me dizzier. Lulls me into thinking I’m alone. And I’m not. I know I’m not. I saw them all. Those things. In the darkness. Zombies. So many of them.
Faster. I walk faster.
How far are they behind me?
Every step jars my brain like a blow from a hammer.
Surely they’ll catch me. Zombies will catch me.
Ohmygod. My brain refuses to work properly.
The fog plays tricks on me. A tree trunk is a zombie. A boulder is a zombie.
That lump of trash on the shore? Another zombie.
I draw closer to the lump of trash.
It’s not trash.
It’s not a zombie.
It’s a boy in a blue work coat and camo pants.
Instantly, the world slides back into view with crystal clarity.
“Cole!” I yell. “Cole!”
And I’m running. Sprinting. Forgetting the pain in my body.
Cole lays sprawled on the shore, lips blue, eyes closed.
I put my ear to his mouth. “You’re still breathing!”
The wound on his bare arm gapes in the pale moonlight. Two burns crisscross one another, the skin angry and red. Beneath it, clear as anything—teeth marks ring the mass of black blood.
I need to go. I need to run. Fast. Before he wakes up.
But, wait. Why isn’t he awake? Didn’t I float for a while? At least an hour? Maybe more? Long enough for him to transform?
I’m being stupid. He must’ve been knocked out going over the rapids. Any second the unconsciousness will wear off. He’ll wake up. He’ll be one of them.
Tears choke me. “Oh, Cole.”
Alarm bells scream in my brain.
Leave! Run! Before he wakes up!
My fingers trace his cheek. His skin is ice-cold. Why is he only wearing a T-shirt? Where is his jacket?
Damn. It’s wrapped around that rock at the bottom of the sleeping bag, back on the island.
Memories rush back in a blur. Cole helping me put on my clothes, my purse, my jacket. He didn’t even worry about himself. Maybe he already knew he wouldn’t make it out of there alive.
Tears trickle steadily into the corners of my mouth. “Oh, Cole. I’m so sorry.”
Maybe he’ll stay unconscious? Maybe I can drag him out of here?
Yeah, where? To Glenview? How many miles is that? With a bad foot? There’s no way.
Really, I’ve got only two options. If I stay with him, he’ll wake up. He’ll turn and bite me. That’s it, end of story.
Or I could leave him. Hike the remaining miles to town. Find my parents and warmth and shelter and safety.
Maybe I can return with help?
I shake my head sadly. That won’t work. Bethany can’t be far behind. She’ll be searching for us. And she’ll find him before I can bring back help. She might even find me before he wakes up.
His words spiral back to me.
Anything happens to me, you keep going. Find your family.
Tears course down my cheeks. Three days ago, I couldn’t have cared less about this boy. And now, to leave him, to lose him again is the worst kind of torture. For a few seconds, I can’t catch my breath for crying.
I put my head on his chest. It is stone cold.
I’ve got to move him away from this icy water—that’s the least I can do. He’s heavy, but I’m surprisingly strong, adrenaline giving me all the help I need. I’ll camouflage him. Hide him. At least until he wakes up. Then maybe he won’t be eaten. Or freeze solid.
I start piling leaves on top of him, like he did when I fell in the river.
My rational brain is screaming
run, get away
. But I push it back.
Once he’s covered—everything but his face—I stroke his forehead, white and cold as a fish.
“I—I’ve got to go, Cole. If you were awake, you’d tell me to leave. I’m sure of it.”
It takes a few minutes to find my voice again. “If I—if I ever meet your dad and Jay—I’ll tell them you searched for them. How much you loved them. How good you were to me.”
I choke on my own words. I brush strands of dirty hair from his forehead.
“Thanks for keeping me alive, Cole. For saving my sorry ass all those times. Last night, at the island—”
But I can’t locate the words to tell him what that meant to me. To have a boy look at me that way, kiss me like that. To tell me I was strong. No one had ever done that before.
“We would’ve been good together, wouldn’t we? I wish we’d had our chance.”
I lean in and brush a soft kiss against his lips. My stomach flutters, remembering the way he responded yesterday—how good his lips felt, moving against mine.
Today, they are still.
Still as death.
I can’t linger. Bethany could be here any second. I force myself to stand, to not glance back, to move toward the river.
The stupid river. It was supposed to protect us. To keep us safe. I trusted this river. I hate this river. If I never see this river again, it’ll be too soon.
I start jogging alongside it, ignoring the constant stab of pain in my shoeless foot.
I can’t help it—I glance back over my shoulder. Cole is just a lump of leaves.
The trail drops lower into the valley and he disappears from my view.
I’m stumbling. Trying to go fast. But I can’t see for all the tears.
The dense fog hides me, muffling all sound. I force my feet to keep going. To pound out these last miles to Glenview.
Physically, I’ve left Cole, but my imagination is still back with him, visualizing him on the ground, buried in leaves. And the zombies catching up.
I sob into the filthy sleeve of my jacket. I can’t think about it. Can’t
bear
it.
I can picture Mr. Beaver and Bethany. Smelling him. Uncovering him. Their voices triumphant when they find him.
With a sudden jolt, I realize he’ll be eaten. He’s unconscious. Unable to fight off the other zombies. My feet stop.
God, what’s happening back where I left him?
Tears cloud my vision. I turn to face upriver again, gazing in the direction I just left. For a long moment, I just stand. Then I start to run. Uphill. Frantic to get back. My heart trying to bust through my chest.
“Please,” I pray, sobbing, retracing my steps, “please still be there.”
Cole is exactly where I left him, alone, covered and serene. His breathing shallow, but normal.
“Screw it,” I say to the river. Then I shriek, “Screw it! I won’t leave him!”
I don’t even know who I’m screaming at. Cole? Myself? The universe?
“He didn’t leave me that first day at the cabin. He fought his way to me, made me get a coat. I didn’t even know him then, but
he didn’t leave me
!”
I’m tired. So tired. Dizzy with the effort of running. My foot throbs with each beat of my pulse.
I collapse to the ground, just inches from Cole’s body. I half dig, half bury myself beside him, the brown leaves crunching between us. I catch the scent of him, blood and woodsmoke and the forest. He is warm and solid and no matter what my logical brain tries to tell me, he is still Cole. I cuddle into him, crying, sobbing, knowing this can’t end well for either of us.
Was it only a few hours ago that we held each other in the sleeping bag on the island?
Dawn draws closer, my stomach growling, my clothes freezing to my body. Frost coats us in silver. The fog lifts and through the tree limbs, the moon rides low and pale. I try to stay awake, to keep guard, but I’m too tired, too sore, too banged up and heartsick. I doze fitfully, listening and waiting for the boy beside me, for his rhythmic breaths to turn to growls, but I no longer have strength to struggle—I let exhaustion take me.