Rites of Spring (36 page)

“Ow!” I sobbed. “Please, please, get off me, you’re going to break my arms, get off me! Please!”

“Shut up,” he said, but he let me go.

“Darren, this isn’t a joke,” I said, my face still in the sand. “Untie me. Let’s go back.”

“My dad said they used to play games like this all the time,” he said, as if in argument. “Kidnapping, hostage situations…”

“Games?” I croaked. Okay, clearly Rose & Grave was a little different in the olden days. But I didn’t think Darren had any idea what he was talking about. For all I knew, his dad had just puffed up tales about a few rousing rounds of Capture the Flag. “No, not like this.”
Nothing like this, I swear.
“Please untie me.”

“And then what?” he asked.

“And then we go back,” I said. I kept working my arms and legs against each other, ignoring the pain in my flesh, in my head.
Don’t think about it. Just go. Just go.

“And
then
what?”

And then someone locks you up and throws away the key, you devil spawn.
“I don’t know,” I lied. “Just untie me, okay, and we’ll figure it out.”

No, wrong. Too much. Darren had to be the one to figure it out. He had to be better. I could almost feel his distrust.

I mean, “What do you want? Whatever you want.”

He snorted. “I got what I wanted. Revenge.”

Like
The Count of Monte Cristo
. That’s the last time I recommended that book to anyone. “Against who?”

“D177, of course,” he said. “What are you, retarded?”

I swallowed. My head felt worse. I was so dizzy. And the knots around my limbs weren’t budging. “Why did you want…revenge against us?”

“I thought you guys would fight back more. I heard about what you did to that kid last semester.”

Micah? “Fight back?”

“But you’re all such pussies. I can see why Dragon’s Head takes advantage of you.”

I fought to wrap my head around what he was saying. “I can’t fight…unconscious.” And tied up. Okay, my feet were definitely looser now.

“Against the pranks I pulled.”

I blinked, slowly. My head felt so heavy, so fragile. “You did the cabin.”

“And the drinks last night.” He sounded proud. “No one even guessed! That’s the part I’m no good at. Half the time, people don’t even notice. Like last night, when I short-sheeted all of the boys’ beds. No one even mentioned it at breakfast. Do you think they slept on top of their sheets?”

Likely. But I was still a step behind him. “The drinks?”

“It wasn’t food poisoning,” Darren said. “It was ipecac syrup. I read about it once on the Internet, but I never saw it before until we got here.”

Ipecac? Did people even make that anymore? Gross. Only on some backward, out of the way island like Cavador.

“That’s how I knew you didn’t get sick. You didn’t have any of the pitcher I made.”

And neither had he. So he’d been faking in his bed last night. And he’d already drugged the Diggers once, and gotten away with it.

“This is why I would join a society like Dragon’s Head instead. From what I hear, their pranks are so much better.”

Their pranks were
pranks
. Crickets and sodas and library fines. Darren could have really hurt us. Maybe he already had. But the more he talked, the more I doubted he’d done anything untoward to me while I’d been unconscious. He really thought this was equal to Dragon’s Head’s attacks. He sincerely believed that drugging and kidnapping a woman was no different than short-sheeting a couple of bunk beds. “Maybe that’s what’s going on now,” I said, weighing my words carefully. “Maybe the Diggers just don’t know that this is a…prank.”

“I’m thinking that, too,” Darren said, his voice as casual as if he were remarking on climate change.

“Darren,” I said. “Let’s go back. I think I’m really sick. Please? Just untie me and I’ll help you row back to Cavador. It will go much more quickly if we each take an oar.”

“I can’t do that,” he said. “You’ll have too much of an advantage.”

What? I could barely stand. I probably wouldn’t be able to row, even if he did give me a heavy, blunt object to wave around at will. Oh, God, please let me have an oar.

“How much longer are you willing to wait around here, though?” I asked. “I mean, what if they think I just ran off? Because of the plates?”

“Oh, they’d never think that,” Darren said. “You’re too afraid of the water.”

The words broke through the fog of my mind like a spotlight. “What?”

He sighed and spoke again, as if annoyed. “They wouldn’t think you’d leave of your own accord, because you’re too afraid of the water.”

“How did you know…”

“See what I mean?” he said, his voice filled with frustration. “No one even noticed I’d rigged your life jacket! You guys are such losers.”

I almost fell over. He had tried to kill me. He’d been trying since before I arrived on the island. And he was wrong—one person had noticed. Poe. And to think I’d called him paranoid.

Now I really was losing it. My hands and feet hurt from lack of circulation, my head felt ready to explode, and I was alternately fighting to stay conscious and to keep from throwing up. “Darren, do you think I could have some water, at least?”

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think ahead. I’m thirsty, too.”

“Then let’s go back,” I said, fighting desperately to keep the sob out of my voice. “Please, please, please!” Dammit. There it was. And once I started, I couldn’t stop. My mouth turned sour, and the tears started pouring from my eyes. “Please,” I cried. “Let’s just go back to Cavador. We could go back to the crescent beach. It’s really close, and I’ll stay out there if you want. You can still…play hostage. Just, back on our island. Maybe you can write a ransom note or something…” Anything. Anything, just get me within screaming distance. No one would ever find me out here. And once we were back on Cavador Key, the chance that he’d get tired of the game and go home rose considerably.

“Yeah,” he said. “But there’s no cover on the crescent beach.”

“There is!” I said, hope blooming in my chest to replace the panic. “There’s that grove of pine trees. You know, where the ospreys are nesting. We could go there. It’s nice and thick. No one would ever see us.”

Either my eyes were starting to adjust, the moon had come out, or I was hallucinating, because I thought I could make out Darren’s skeptical expression. “I don’t know…”

“It’s a great idea,” I said. “It’s like what we’ve done in the past. In the tomb.” Crap, was that too far? Should I have said it’s like what Dragon’s Head would do? I couldn’t concentrate.

Darren seemed to weigh this idea in his mind. “Fine,” he said at last. “But you’re getting off easy, I think.”

If I weren’t so scared, I would have laughed.

“But you are going to have to row,” he went on. “I’m too tired.”

He
was too tired? Rich. Still…I held out my legs “Are you going to untie me?”

More hesitation. “No, not until we get in the boat. And then just your arms.”

I didn’t know I could be more terrified. He was going to put me in a boat, tied up?

But first, he made me hop down the beach.
Hop.
My head felt as if it were going to implode with every leap. I practically bit through my lip trying not to scream. How in the world was I going to row back to Cavador Key if I could hardly move?

When we got to the boat, I fell into it sideways, banging my hip and knees hard against the bench. “Owww,” I moaned.

“Move,” he grunted, trying to push the boat into the water. “I’m sick of dragging you around.”

Then don’t drug me next time! Don’t render young women unconscious! Don’t
—I felt blood in my mouth from biting my lip.
Just get through this.

The boat tipped and rocked hard as it hit the water, and I held my breath. Thank God I was unconscious for the trip over. How could I stand this? How could I do it? Water sloshed against the side of the boat and over the rim as Darren pulled himself inside. I was going to die. I was going to die. I was sitting inside a thimble, bound from head to foot.

“Untie me, please!” I cried, no longer able to keep the hysteria from my voice.

“Hold on,” he said, annoyed, then leaned across me to undo the bonds on my hands. I felt the boat tilt as the weight inside shifted, and he fell against me. I froze, so terrified that I barely noticed the sick sensation of his body on mine.
Don’t tip, don’t tip…
And then, sweet relief as the pressure on my wrists eased.

If I were James Bond or Jason Bourne or Sydney Bristow, I would have punched him while he was still off balance, then hit him upside the head with an oar. But I could barely feel my fingertips. I shook my hands as he sat down, trying to get sensation back into my limbs. And as he settled himself on the far bench, expression wary and watchful, I made a few grabs for the oars. A quick glance behind me showed the sandbar of the crescent beach, several hundred yards away, nothing more than a lighter gray stretch against black water that might as well be an endless chasm.

The first stroke was torture. Every muscle in my arms ached. When one of the oars hit the sandy seafloor, the resulting jolt almost knocked me to my knees.

“I can’t,” I cried, letting my hands drop.

Darren snorted. “You’re such a whiner. I don’t think the boys would be breaking this easily.”

Is that what these hypothetical hostage games of the Gehrys were supposed to do? Teach the hostages not to break? What was this, a way to prepare young Diggers for the rigors of war? Make them into little spies? I clenched my jaw and picked up the oars again. Fine. I was in Rose & Grave. I could do this.

Don’t think about the water. Pretend it’s knee-deep the whole way across.
I started again.
Pull. Pull. Don’t look. Pretend every stroke sends you sailing.

Still, it was endless. “You’ll tell me if I’m off course, right?”

Darren said nothing. He was staring out over the water, eyes narrowed.

I looked over my shoulder to see what it was that had caught his attention.

A light! A boat. And there it was, the sound of an engine in the water. Still so distant, but if I was correct, it was coming from the dock at Cavador Key.

“Here!” I shouted, dropping the oar to wave. “Over here! Help!”

Darren smacked me in the dark. “Shut up!”

“Game over,” I mumbled, and leaned down to undo my feet. The knots weren’t budging. “Help!” I shouted with all the strength left in my voice. “It’s Amy! Help, I’m hurt! Please! Darren—”

And then he landed a real blow and I fell over, my head pounding. The boat tipped wildly, and a small wave crested the side and splashed over my face, stinging the raw skin there.

Darren shoved me out of the way and tried to grab the oars.

“Darren, just stop,” I begged him, even while I fumbled for the rope around my feet again. “You can’t outrow a motorized boat. Come on.”

“Shit!” he exclaimed. Now I could hear voices, along with the motor and the light.

“Help, please! Please help me!” I kept screaming it over, and over, screamed it until my voice gave out. The light kept getting bigger, the voices louder. They were yelling, yelling my name.

“Shit!” Darren said again, and then he was standing.

“No!” I said, and grabbed his arm, just as he dove over the side. The pressure of my hand on his threw him off, and he hit the edge of the boat with a loud, metallic thud.

The boat tilted far to the left, and then to the right.

And then, once more, the world turned upside down.

20.

Seaworthy

In the night, underwater might as well be deep space. Just as cold, just as black. I heard nothing, saw nothing. I kicked my legs, but the knots remained. I could move my feet within the bonds, but not enough to pull them apart. The skin around my ankles burned, the only warmth in all that freezing water.

And then I broke the surface, not coughing, and sucked in air. The cold had shocked me awake.

Why was it so quiet? Where was the other boat, where were my rescuers? Where was Darren? I heard no splashing but my own, and the soft susurrus of waves against the side of the boat. I grabbed for it, but my fingers slid off the smooth underside of the hull, and then it slipped away. So cold. So cold.

No! I was turned around, or something. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t see anything, could barely tell where the water met the air. And my arms. My God, my arms. They hurt so much. I couldn’t do it.

“Help!” I screamed, and promptly went under.

Breathe, Amy. When you breathe, you’re lighter than water.

Who had said that? Poe? In his silly little swimming lessons? Dead man’s float. What an awful name. I clawed my way to the surface once more, took another deep breath, and let my face sink into the water. And amazingly, miraculously, it worked. The blood rushed from my ears and I could hear again. The motor was close now, people were shouting. I could see the light playing on the water from behind my eyelids. I lifted my face and breathed again. “Over here!” I shouted, and breathed again, quick. My arms, my arms…