Page 52 of Her Crew

“Keys! Now!” I demand as I hold out my hand.

He shoves the keys onto my palm. I release him, and Tye and I back away with his gun pointed at him. My heartbeat drums in my ears as we race to the van. Tye gets in the driver’s seat and turns on the engine.

I already have my phone out, searching for nearby parks. “How are we going to find her? He didn’t say which park he took her to, and there are at least three within driving distance. He’s probably run off to gather the others now, so it’s not like we can ask him.”

Tye mutters some numbers under his breath.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“The odometer.” He points to the numbers.

“Okay? And?”

“He drove eighty-four miles total.”

“How do you know?” I ask.

“I’m a bit obsessed with number sequences. Odometers, clocks, anything. But I check the odometer every place we stop. It was 178,281 when we got here. So he drove eighty-four miles total.”

I pull out my phone and search the nearby parks. One just happens to be around forty miles away. “This one,” I say as I show the phone to Tye. “She has to be here.”

We both stare at the website, which states that the park sprawls across a whopping three-hundred acres of land.

“Ace . . . how will we ever find her?”

I shake my head and tell him to drive. I don’t have the answers.

We have to.

We just have to.

Chapter 29

Tegan

I walked for a bit, searching for a way out of this hell, but I only ended up more lost. I’m sure they teach you to stay put in Girl Scouts, but I didn’t exactly have the sort of upbringing that included extracurriculars. The thought only occurs to me once I’ve wandered much too far to find my way back.

The road is gone. I saw it making a sharp turn shortly after setting out, and I thought I could save some time by cutting through the woods. This was probably the biggest mistake I could have made, as I haven’t seen the road since.

It’s not even that cold out, yet my body trembles. Is it the fear? Is it the cooling sweat coating my skin as I jog through the woods? I don’t know. But I just keep willing my legs to work despite their aching tiredness as I head toward the sound of water.

When I was a little girl and things happened to me with men, I’d run out the screen door at the back of our house and head toward the sound of rushing water. I’d chase the sound until I got to the bent chain-link fence, which I’d climb to get to the mound of dirt above the drainage pipe. Water jetted from the big black void and flowed into the river beneath it. I’d plop down in that cold, damp dirt and just stare at the liquid rushing from that pipe. It was easy to imagine being a drop of that water. The dark, cavernous place it came from was the hell I’d just escaped. I imagined the freedom as I melded with the river and drifted away. Far away.

I guess I’ve drifted.

A little farther than I wanted, it seems.

But like that scared little kid, I’m running toward the only thing that feels safe. The water.

My stomach growls, and I remember what it feels like to be truly hungry. My dry lips aren’t faring much better. I’d kill for water right now, and I say this as a staunch soda aficionado. But I need to get to the water, not so much to drink it as to see it. Hear it. I have to calm down.

I stumble to a stop as my eyes snag on something that doesn’t seem right. A dark shadow stands within the darkness. I don’t know how long I’ve been in these shitty woods, but I think I’m hallucinating now. Dehydration will do that. But once the shadow opens its mouth and I see big, pointy teeth, I realize it’s a fucking bear. It stands on its back legs and sniffs the air after it lets out a warning roar. I’m sure I look like an excellent choice for a meal. Fat and weakened. Beyond irritable.

I try to remember what instructions Animal Planet gave regarding this situation. I’m supposed to play dead, right? Or is that only when it attacks you? Maybe I’m supposed to seem big and scary. I’ve certainly got the big part down, and thank you, Stacks, for reminding me.

“Go away!” I whisper-shout as I wave my hands above my head.

The bear sniffs the air again.