The Distance Between Lost and Found (26 page)

She is marching home.

M
OTORS
. C
OMING CLOSER
.

Hallelujah almost falls down on the spot. But she doesn't want to be run over. Then she snorts, because that's what's in her head in possibly the most important moment of her entire life so far:
Don't get run over
.

She walks a little farther, just to the top of a small hill. In the distance, she can see two motorcycles approaching, side by side. Their engines rev to start up the incline.

Hallelujah lifts the arm that's not holding her crutch in the air and starts waving. She wants to jump up and down, but her feet won't leave the ground, and if she bends her knees too much, she's going to sit down. She yells, “Hey! Hello! Help!” a few times.

She sees one of the helmeted riders lift a hand from the handlebars and point at her. He glances over at his companion. They're close enough now that Hallelujah can see them nod.

She's been seen.

Now, finally, she allows herself to sink to the gravel road. She feels like she descends in slow motion, like she's riding a fluffy cloud. And yet, when she lands, it hurts a little. Her legs are jelly. She can't even move them out of the awkward position she sat down in. But she keeps waving.

The motorcycles pull up on either side of her in a cloud of gravel dust. The helmets come off to reveal a middle-aged man and woman. Neither of them looks like a Hell's Angel. He's got a dad-mustache and she has a chic short haircut that's flattened from the helmet.

They stare down at her with concern. And with something else—disbelief. Awe. The man's eyebrows go up and the woman's jaw drops. They look at each other, then back down at her, and that's when she realizes what's going on:
They know who she is
.

“You're one of those missing kids,” the man says. “Your photo's all over the news.”

“You're Hallelujah,” the woman adds. “I wouldn't forget a name like that.”

That's all it takes. Hallelujah covers her mouth with one hand, trying to keep the sobs in, but it just makes her body shake. Her eyes are still dry, but she feels like she's crying everywhere else. She looks up. “Water?” she croaks.

“Oh God, Charlie,” the woman says in a flat northern accent. She starts fishing around in her bag. Pulls out a water bottle. Hands it down to Hallelujah.

Hallelujah drinks noisily. She lets it slosh on her face, wet her lips, run down her chest. She swishes it around in her mouth, relishing the clean flavor. She feels it fill her hollow stomach.

“Better?” the man—Charlie—asks.

Hallelujah nods. She stares at the water bottle. She can't believe she emptied it so fast. She wants more.

“Are you hurt?” the woman asks.

“Just my—” Even after the water, her voice comes out as a dry hiss. She clears her throat and tries again. “Just my ankle.”

“Can you tell us where the others are? Are they . . . ?” Charlie fades off, but she knows how the question ends.

“They're still out there. Still alive.” Hallelujah will
not
think about the alternative. But by not trying not to think about it, she's thinking about it, and it's making her feel panicky. “I was the only one who could walk, so I—” She gulps. Draws in a shaky breath.

Charlie dismounts his bike and squats down next to her. “Go on,” he says. His voice is soft. His accent is southern. But not hillbilly southern. Deep South. He's not from around here either.

She can't believe her mind is wandering like this. She tries to focus.

“We found—Jonah found a trail, and I followed it to this road. They're at a campsite by the trail. I . . .” Hallelujah falters. “I don't know how far. I wasn't walking very fast. We haven't eaten in . . . a while. And Rachel—she's sick. She was throwing up. And Jonah cut his leg and it wouldn't stop bleeding. . . .”

“Jesus,” the woman says.

Charlie has his cell phone out. He's waving it in the air, pointing it in different directions. “No reception,” he says, frowning. He shakes his phone, like that will fix it.

“Why don't we just ride back to Cades Cove?” the woman asks. “It'll only take a couple minutes.”

“Good idea, Nora.” Charlie rises up out of his squat, groaning as his knees crack. He extends a hand to help Hallelujah up. She looks at it. Lifts one arm. She can barely grip him, much less use her own legs, so he really does have to pull her up. The momentum makes her stumble forward, landing hard against his chest.

“Steady there,” he says. His brow is furrowed. His eyes are deep-set and sad. “You can ride with me. All you have to do is sit and hold on. Okay?”

Hallelujah nods. And then what he's saying actually sinks in. They'll be riding
away
from Jonah and Rachel. She can't do that. She can't. Her breath starts coming faster. “We have to go back,” she says, her voice cracking. “I can't leave. I have to go get them. I promised.” Breath in, out, in, out, in, out. “I promised!”

Charlie has her by both shoulders. “Hallelujah. Calm down. It's gonna be all right.”

“We have to go back!” Hallelujah repeats, almost sobbing now. “Please!”

Charlie hesitates, then turns to Nora. “The trail she was on crosses this road. I can take her to the trail. She can point us toward her friends. You go get the rangers. Bring them to meet us. With medics. Ambulances. Equipment to carry the kids out. And food and water. We'll wait for you on the side of the road.”

Nora nods. “I will be back
so fast
,” she promises. She gets on her motorcycle and speeds away.

Hallelujah is suddenly so tired. It would be really nice to close her eyes right now.

Jonah. Rachel. Jonah. Rachel
.

Charlie holds her up while he mounts his bike. He hoists her onto the seat. Wraps her arms around his waist. She rests her head against his back. She holds on with as much grip as she's got in her, and then they're moving.

He doesn't go too fast, but it still feels like she's flying. The wind whips her ponytail around, sends strands of hair dancing into her face and away from her head. The motorcycle kicks up gravel around her feet. She looks to one side, sees the trees rushing by in a blur. She looks up. The sky is the rich blue of late afternoon, on its way to twilight, with just a few white clouds. A bird passes overhead, racing them. The bird wins.

Hallelujah lets her eyes close, and then it's just the sensations: the worn leather of Charlie's jacket against one cheek, the wind against the other, the aching muscles in her arms wrapped around his waist, the bump of the motorcycle over the uneven gravel, the purring of the motor, the sharp smell of gasoline.

They stop too soon. They've only been riding for a few minutes.

She opens her eyes to see what's wrong, and is stunned to see the wooden trail marker by the side of the road. How slow was she walking?

“This the right place?” Charlie asks.

“Yes.” She looks down the trail. “The campsite's that way.”

“Good. I'm gonna try to call my wife.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials. The call drops, so he dials again. The third time, he gets through. “Nora? It's the Hannah Mountain Trail.” He pauses. Repeats, slowly: “Hannah! Mountain! Trail! Okay. Love you.” After he hangs up, he turns to Hallelujah. “They're on their way.”

Charlie stands, and without him to lean on, Hallelujah slides off the bike into a heap on the ground.

“Oh God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—” He rushes around to help her up, but she waves him away. She's done standing. Charlie seems to understand. He sits down next to her. “Do you know how far?” he asks.

“No. I was walking for hours, but like I said, I wasn't moving that fast.” She thinks. “I left the campsite in the morning. I found the road after lunchtime.”

“The campsite is right by the trail?”

She nods.

“Then the rangers will know. There aren't that many sites out there.”

Hallelujah's stomach growls, loud and angry, and Charlie flushes like he's embarrassed.

“Oh God,” he says again. “You need to eat. We've got energy bars and some apples and bananas and a can of tuna—what do you want?”

A bounty of riches. She stares at him, feeling like she might lose it again. “A banana?” she asks softly. Easy to eat. Easy on the stomach. “And some more water?”

“You got it.” He hands everything over, even unscrewing the water-bottle cap and starting the banana peel for her. Then he leans back against the bike. “You were out there since Monday?” he asks, staring into the woods.

“Yeah.” She takes a bite. She chews. It's heaven.

“Do you want me to try to call your parents?”

Her parents. She hadn't even thought about them. Yes. She wants him to call her parents. Despite everything that's wrong between them, she wants to hear their voices. She wants them to know that she's okay. She gives him the number, and then finishes the banana and sips at the water while he dials. She feels numb, but somewhere underneath all that numbness is screaming and crying and relief.

“Mrs. Calhoun?” Charlie says into the phone. “Sorry for the bad signal. I'm up on Parson Branch Road and—well, ma'am, I found your daughter. She's alive.”

Hallelujah can hear the shout on the other end of the line, though she can't make out any words.

“My wife went for the rangers. The other two kids are still out there. Your daughter hiked out for help.” A pause. “Yes. Of course.” He hands the phone over.

She holds it to her ear. “Mom?” She can't keep her voice from wavering; that one word is maybe five syllables.

“Oh, Hallelujah! Oh, baby! We thought we'd lost you! We thought—” The phone cuts out. Then back in: “—okay?”

“I'm okay, Mom. I'm okay.” Focusing on the phone is taking a lot of effort. “I love you. And Dad,” she manages. She does. She loves them. Even though they've made it hard lately.

“We love you so, so much!” There's crying, and a clattering noise like her mom dropped the phone.

The next person to speak is her dad. “Hallelujah? Honey?” His voice sounds far away. Fuzzy.

“Hi, Dad. I'm okay.”

“Oh, thank God. Thank the Lord. We'll be there soon. We're coming.”

“Okay.” The world is going black. Her fingers are losing their grip on the phone.

She feels Charlie take the phone from her hand. Hears him say something else to her parents, though she can't make out the words.

Her eyes close.

She did it. She's done.

A
FTER THAT, EVERYTHING HAPPENS IN FLASHES
.

A motor. Tires crunching on gravel. More motors. More gravel sounds.

Feet on the ground around her.

Hands on her shoulders. Gentle shaking. “Wake up, Hallelujah.”

She doesn't want to wake up.

Charlie's voice. Nora's voice. Other voices. Lots of them.

She opens her eyes to see neon-orange vests vanishing down the trail. Toward Jonah and Rachel. Rescue. Relieved, she closes her eyes again.

Water at her lips. A little makes it down her throat. More goes down her chin.

She's lifted. She's in the air. An arm under her shoulders. Another under her legs. She bounces with each step. Her head rocks back.

She's on her back. Stretched out. There's someone sitting next to her. An unfamiliar voice. Unfamiliar hands holding her head.

A motor starts. She's in motion.

Bumping up and down. Swerving around curves. She feels like she's rolling downhill.

The banana she ate comes back up. She feels it on her face. On her arm.

A wipe. Antiseptic smell. Cold.

A prick in the crook of her elbow, like a bee sting.

A siren. Loud and long and wailing.

Only then does it occur to her that she's left Jonah and Rachel behind. She struggles to sit up. Hands force her down. And then she feels sleepy again. The world goes dim and fuzzy at the edges. She falls back and passes out before the word
Wait!
reaches her lips.

She remembers the story her parents always tell. Same wording, every time
.

She was born on Christmas Day, but that's not why they named her Hallelujah
.

At least, not the only reason
.

Her parents were in their forties. Her mom had had three miscarriages. And early on the afternoon of the twenty-fourth, the snow started. It buried East Tennessee and most of the Smoky Mountains under a soft, thick blanket. While everyone else celebrated a rare white Christmas, Hallelujah's mom went into labor. The roads weren't clear enough to drive. So Hallelujah was born at home. Small, but healthy. All toes and fingers accounted for. Screaming
.

Their miracle. Hallelujah Joy Calhoun
.

H
ALLELUJAH WAKES IN A BED
. I
T'S A THIN MATTRESS; SHE
can feel the bed frame beneath. But the pillow is plump and she's covered up by a blanket and she feels like she's sinking into softness. Her body is so tired, so heavy, that she almost feels like she has no body at all. She can't move. She wouldn't if she could.