Dead River - By Cyn Balog Page 0,15

and I have been calling each other by the names of popular breakfast cereals. “Sure thing, Cocoa Puffs,” I answer, pulling back the cover of my bag and inspecting it for creepy-crawlies.

“I can get you a cold compress or something.” Her eyes are big and round again, worried. It’s amazing how like her mother she is. The minute I arrived in Maine, Aunt Missy was at my side, playing Florence Nightingale. She was the Cold Compress Queen, always bringing something to put on my forehead and massaging my temples until I’d relax.

“I’m good,” I say, smiling at her, though my head is throbbing and I’d love someone to massage my temples. It makes me think of my mother’s headaches.

No. I’m not like her.

When I slide into the bag, I still don’t feel warm. I move closer to Justin but I don’t think it will do any good, even when he drapes his big arm around me and pulls me to his chest. I close my eyes, concentrating on the crackle of the fire, and slip my clammy hand into Justin’s warm one. But the only thing I can hear now is the river. It whirrs along, until soon my hand in Justin’s doesn’t feel just clammy … it feels wet. My feet, too.

I move my legs, but it’s like wading against a tide. They ache. My feet are submerged in water—icy, numbing water. I can hear them sloshing through it as I move them in the bag.

What the—

I jump upright and kick off the sleeping bag. My wool socks are completely dry. Justin has his eyes closed and is lazily feeling around for me, to pull me back. “Um, I thought I felt a spider,” I whisper, but he doesn’t seem interested in the explanation, just mumbles a good night. I go back to the place Justin’s body has carved out for me, and hope hope hope that I’ll be able to get even an hour’s worth of sleep tonight.

Justin’s breathing becomes deep and soft, lulling me. His breath on my ear drowns out the whispers of the river. Sleep comes.

Chapter Five

I’m woken as a trickle of water slides down my cheek. Wet, again. I try to push the thought away. It’s just my imagination, my stupid imagination, I think, when another droplet lands on my forehead.

Water?

I turn onto my side, stretching, reaching for the clock at my bedside, but my fingers wrap around something wet, cold, and stringy. Weird. I roll back over, wipe my eyes with the heels of my hands, and try to open them. Instead of that helping me to see, my retinas start to burn. I keep blinking. Again and again, until I focus on my palms. They’re smeared with black mud, bits of gravel, and slivers of grass.

Springing upright, I remember. I’m outside, camping. I’m in another world, so different from my bedroom. There’s a thick mist hugging the trees, only a peek of their dark trunks exposed. A thin drizzle is falling. I blink, finally focusing on Hugo, who is yawning and stoking the dying fire. He looks haggard, every bit like he just spent the last six hours sleeping on the cold, hard ground.

Then I remember the night before. The storytelling around the fire. And I realize something.

I slept. I slept well, in fact. Really well. So well that I forgot where I was. Considering all the weird things that happened yesterday, and what lies ahead, that’s nothing short of amazing.

I look around for Justin, but it’s just Hugo and me. No Angela, either. The wind has picked up; it’s whistling through the trees, carrying the sound of the rushing river. “Where is everyone?”

“Went for a morning hike. To see the sunrise. Or something twisted like that.” He clears his throat. “I need coffee. You want?”

“Yeah,” I say, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Why didn’t you go?”

He fixes the pot over the fire and leans back. “Saving my energy for the river. Besides, I didn’t want you to wake up to a bear crapping on your head.”

I can’t believe I missed all the commotion of them getting up and leaving. I was sleeping that soundly. What a difference a good night’s sleep can make. Rafting doesn’t seem quite so scary now. But hiking up a mountain at the crack of dawn to see the sun? Crazy. I guess Angela and Justin are two peas in a pod that way. A feeling of dread passes over me as I realize something. They