Wake Up Missing (17 page)

“I don't think we should do this,” Ben said. “What if—”

“We have to go
now
!” I pleaded. “Come on!”

Ben looked over his shoulder, out the back of the van—then at us. Finally, he bit his lip, squinted, slid across the seat, and jumped from the van.

“Shh!” I pulled Ben lower and crept toward the back of the van. One of the DEA officers was on his cell phone, nodding. He handed the phone to Dr. Ames, who didn't look worried at all anymore. Had he convinced them everything was fine? Had Senator Wiley somehow called off the police? I could barely talk; my throat was full of my pounding heart and dust and fear, but I reached out, pulled in Quentin and Sarah and Ben, and whispered
what I knew we had to do, even though it felt impossible. “We have to run. Into the swamp!”

Sarah's face lit up with panic. “We can't just—”

“Yes, we can! We have to!”

“But the police—”

Quentin grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. “Sarah, look!”

One of the DEA officers stood next to Dr. Ames, laughing as he pulled our bags from the van. Then he lugged the crates out, lined them up on the road, put the luggage back inside, and slammed the door closed. Dr. Ames stood, shaking his head, as the officer pried off the top of a crate to reveal a cube of leafy deep-green plants, wilted and packed together.

For now, the officers were focused on the drugs, but that would change when they realized the sick kids had run off. Then they'd be after us, to get us back to “safety.” To Dr. Ames.

“Come on,” I whispered, creeping toward the front of the van with Quentin ahead of me. “If we can run behind that DEA car, there's thick brush at the edge of the road. We'll have a chance to disappear.”

“It'll never work,” Ben said. “They'll come after us.”

“We have to try.” I followed Quentin, nearly suffocating in the wet, smoky air.

He whispered over his shoulder. “If they stay busy long enough, we can get away. We can—”

“Molly!” I forgot to whisper. Quentin froze, but the crowd gathered at the back of the van now had pried the lid off another, even fuller crate of drugs. “We can go back and find Molly,” I whispered. “She'll help us.”

“She ditched us once already,” Ben said, looking back at the van as if he were having second thoughts about leaving at all.

I looked back, too, and saw a shadow move in the van. We weren't all out. “Trent.”

Quentin winced but nodded. We had to get him; we had to at least try.

“Wait here.” I glanced back—a National Guard truck had pulled up behind the police vehicles, and Dr. Ames had walked back to talk with the soldiers. Were they here for the drugs? Or was the fire so bad they were called in for that? There wasn't time to worry about it.

“Trent?” I climbed back in the van.

He looked up.

“It's time to go.”

He frowned. “I'm finishing up a circuit right now, so I'll be unavailable for another hour or so.”

I wanted to scream at him, to pull those stupid wires and batteries from his hands and throw them in his face, but none of this was Trent's fault.

“I'm sorry. But we have to leave right now.” I could see Dr. Ames down the road; he gestured toward the van, and my heart froze. But the other vehicles blocked his view of the side where Quentin, Ben, and Sarah were hiding. Dr. Ames couldn't see them, couldn't know what was happening.

“You have to come with us,” I told Trent, lowering my voice. “You're in danger. We all are, and we have to get away. It's the only way we'll ever get to go home. You want to go home, right?”

He looked confused, as if he couldn't quite remember home.

“Trent, remember living in Queens? In New York City? You
lived there with your foster parents and your little brother.” What had Sarah said his name was? “Jason! Remember Jason? He needs you, and you need to come with us so we can get home. Okay?”

Trent didn't respond, but his mouth twitched, and his eyes welled up with tears. Somewhere, the old Trent was still in there, buried alive under someone else's DNA and artificial memories. He took a deep breath, then shook his head as if my words simply hadn't made sense.

“You have to come with me,” I said again.

He looked down at his mess of wires and motors. “I seem to be missing a part. I need to get back to the workshop to bring this project to completion.”

“That's where we're going!” If that was what it took . . . “Back to the workshop. But we have to get out and walk. That's what Dr. Ames said.”

Trent blinked, but he started gathering his things, stuffing them into his bag. I looked out the rear window. Dr. Ames had his hand at his eyes, shading them from the sun as he looked toward the van.

“Can you do that faster?” I reached for a handful of wires, but he held up an arm to block me.

“These components must be kept in order,” he said calmly.

“Okay, okay. But hurry!” I pulled my hand back. I had to keep him happy, keep him from drawing attention. I tried to slow my breathing, but Dr. Ames had started back toward the van. I looked out the side window; Quentin, Sarah, and Ben were still crouched, sweaty and scared. “Ready?”

“I believe that's everything.” Trent zipped the bag closed and followed me out of the van.

“Get down, will you?” Quentin whispered, tugging Trent to crouch on the pavement with us. Trent looked confused, but at least he was quiet.

“This way.” I crawled to the front of the van. When we reached the open space—we'd have to run from the van, across the road to the brush on the other side of the sheriff's car—I looked over my shoulder. Dr. Ames was turned away from us, talking again with the DEA officer near the crates. “Ready?”

Quentin nodded. “I got him.” He grabbed Trent's arm. “We're partners, okay?”

Trent frowned. “I generally prefer to work alone.”

“Don't let go of him.” I scanned the roadside; there was a break in the trees—not a trail but enough space for us to get through. “There.” I pointed. “Head that way, and then we'll . . .” What were we going to do? How would we find our way to Molly when we didn't even know where we were or where she was? “Then we'll find a place to hide. Come on!”

I ran.

My sneakers pounded the hot pavement, and smoky air burned my throat. I didn't look back, but I heard footsteps thumping behind me. I prayed none of them belonged to Dr. Ames.

I kept running, through the break in the trees. Sharp branches scratched my cheeks, and blood dripped down my face.

Had we all gotten away? Were they chasing us? I couldn't slow down to find out.

I pushed the brush aside, floundering, tripping, gasping for
breath. I don't know how long I ran, how far—but finally, I couldn't breathe anymore. I was choking on the smoke. My head was pounding, my ankle throbbing from where I'd tripped over a rock, and I knew I was slowing down.

That's when a hand closed on my arm and pulled me to the ground.

It was sarah.

“Stop! I can't . . . I have to . . .” She couldn't catch her breath, and I couldn't catch mine. I clung to her.

We heard branches cracking toward us, but there was nowhere to hide, and we couldn't run anymore, so we waited.

“Ben!” Sarah cried as he pushed through the trees and sank to the ground next to us.

But instead of looking relieved, Ben looked upset, anguished. He buried his head in his hands. “I screwed everything up! I should have just let you go. Now I'll never get back.”

I reached for his arm. “Yes, you will. We're all going to get back home.” I was trying to reassure myself, too.

Ben swatted my hand away. “I don't want to go home!”

“What?” He wasn't making sense. I waited until he looked up at me. “Listen to me, Ben. I know you want to go home, and you're going to make it. We're going to find Molly, and she'll help us. She will.”

Ben shook his head as if I didn't understand at all. Tears spilled down his face.

“Where are Quentin and Trent?” Sarah stood up, and I did, too. Even if they weren't coming, we had to keep moving.

Ben swiped at his muddy, tear-stained face with his sleeve. “They were behind me, but I think they turned off a different way.”

“Was anybody chasing you?” I held my breath.

“I don't think so.” Ben bit his lip.

I brushed myself off and reached down for his hand. “We have to go.” He took it, then winced as if I'd hurt him, and let go and got up by himself. “We have to find Quentin and Trent.” This was all falling apart already. “Then we can—”

“We should go back,” Ben said.

“Back?” Sarah stepped toward him as if she might shove him to the ground. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Wait!” I grabbed Sarah's arm. “He's right . . . we'd know by now if Dr. Ames was chasing us. He must have given up. Maybe we can follow the road back to the dock. It's our best chance of finding Quentin and Trent, and then when we get to the dock, maybe there will be a boat or . . . somehow we'll be able to get to Molly. And if we can't find her, then . . .”

I sounded stupid and too full of hope, even to myself. But I couldn't think about the possibility that I'd never get home to Mom and Dad, to Aunt Beth and Kathleen. To our houseboat and the sea lions and the bay. And back to school. I wanted another chance at middle school, a chance to decide who I wanted to be there, instead of following Lucy all the time.

I started walking. “Come on. We'll backtrack until we hear traffic. Then we can find a place to check things out.”

“Yeah.” Ben nodded, and his voice was stronger. “That sounds good.”

It was slow; walking through sawgrass was like trying to swim through an ocean of seaweed. When we hugged the tree line, we stumbled and tripped over roots.

Every time we ventured out from the shade, the noon sun threatened to melt us into the ground. Our bags were still back with the van. We didn't have hats or sunblock or even water, and by the time we started hearing road noises, we were all close to collapsing.

“Stop!” Sarah grabbed my arm. “Listen.”

I stood still, the sun hot on my scalp, sweat dripping down my temples, but all I heard was the buzz of the deerflies that had been dogging me the whole walk. I'd already been bitten half a dozen times.

“There . . . listen!” Sarah said again, and this time, I heard voices—quiet voices. Soft and low. It didn't sound like Dr. Ames, but I couldn't be sure.

“I think it's coming from this way,” I whispered, and ducked to the right between two spindly pine trees. We took a few steps . . . waited . . . listened . . . heard nothing but flies and rustles of grass when a rare breeze blew. It was never enough to cool our faces. We kept going that way until Sarah stopped me again.

“Over here!” She took off, faster.

“Sarah, wait,” I hissed. “What if . . .”

But she'd already run ahead, and I heard the relief in her voice. “Quentin!”

He was huddled next to Trent in the measly shade offered by a thick old tree stump that jutted up from the dry grass. Trent had his electronics spread out on the stump and was working again, muttering something about direct currents. Quentin jumped up as soon as he saw us. He put a finger to his lips. “The road is right over there.” He pointed to a thicker clump of brush to our left. Highway noises—motors and trucks braking—came through the trees.

“Are they still there?” I asked.

He shook his head, but his face was grim. “They're gone. I don't know if the police ever caught that Gus guy, but Dr. Ames took off in the van maybe twenty minutes ago. He's all buddy-buddy with the cops now; when they let him go, they
apologized
for the inconvenience.”

“So why are you still here?” Sarah asked.

Quentin pointed to Trent, who hovered, tinkering with whatever it was on the tree stump. “He's fixing Dr. Ames's cell phone.”

Trent held up a finger. “I must warn you that the conditions out here are not favorable, and I can't promise to have this device functioning anytime soon, given the circumstances. But yes, I am attempting to repair the connection.”

“Attempting to repair the connection?” My heart sank. We never had a chance to call our parents and tell them the truth, that we were alive, that we were here and needed help. “What happened?”

Quentin cringed. “Fell out of my pocket onto the road while we were running. I snagged it, but now it won't pick up a signal.” He looked down at Trent, working diligently at his stump. “He thinks the antenna inside came loose.”

Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them away. “Which way did they go?”

Quentin tipped his head, confused.

“The DEA guys. And Dr. Ames. Did they head back toward Everglades City?”

“No, they kept on that way.” Quentin pointed in the other direction, down the road the sheriff's deputy said was off-limits because of the fires.

I squatted down next to Trent. “How's it going with the phone?”

“Slowly. I believe I'm making progress, though,” he murmured, turning it over in his hands.

“How about if we get you back to your lab so you have better tools?”

He nodded briskly and began gathering his wires and batteries. I reached for the phone, but he grabbed it and glared at me.

“Fine,” I said. “Don't lose it.” I turned to Quentin. “Let's stay hidden but follow the road back toward Everglades City. It's our best chance to find help. We can find Molly, or maybe the National Guard troops that are helping with the fire will be . . .”

Quentin was shaking his head, biting his lip.

“What?”

He took a deep breath and swatted at a deerfly buzzing around his eye. “When I was looking for the phone, I heard them, Cat. I heard them talking to Dr. Ames.”