dark tunnels beneath Adamson Academy.
Ranger is now dead.
Ranger is dead.
I try to let that sink in, but the words refuse to penetrate my oxygen-starved brain. Go get Dad. Maybe it's not too late? Even though I know that's just a bullshit fairytale meant to make me feel better, I grab hold of it and run with it.
The twins escort me to the edge and we all climb out, shaking, our teeth chattering like crazy. Micah looks around, but I'm pretty sure he's confused as to where, exactly, we are.
“Fuck, we need Spencer,” he whispers, and I feel this sick, guilty sensation wash over me. If Spencer were here, maybe he'd have known what to do in the tunnels, maybe he'd have known where to go? Maybe he'd know where to go now?
Tears pour down my face as I move through the trees, desperate for some sort of landmark. Something, anything that will tell me where we are.
“Ranger's dead, isn't he?” Micah whispers, leaning his back against a tree. He closes his eyes, his body shaking from the cold, and the adrenaline. I glance back and find Church waiting in the water. It's up to his chest now, but he doesn't move. He stands there and stares at that spot, like a dog waiting for his best friend. I mean that in the best way possible, like his loyalty is unwavering.
“He might not be! Snap the fuck out of it, Micah, and let's just go. Let's just start running until we figure out where we are.” He reaches out to grab his brother's arm, and Micah pushes off the tree like his body's made of lead. He looks like he wants to collapse to the ground and just give up. “Stay with Church, Chuck. Don't let him do anything stupid.”
I nod and reach into my bag for my phone. Of course, it's supposed to be waterproof, but when I try to turn it on, I get nothing. It's either dead, or totally fucked.
The twins don't wait for me to answer; they take off through the woods at a pace I could never match. With nothing else to do, I head back to the pond and move over to the side closest to Church.
For a brief moment, the rain stops, so I don't have to shout so loud to be heard.
“Is your phone working?” I ask him, but he shakes his head.
“It somehow got swept out of my pocket on the way up.” He sounds so clinical, impassive, like he's discussing the weather. It's a defense mechanism, I'm sure of it, but it's still hard to hear.
I sit down because there's nothing else to do and nowhere to go. The woods around Adamson are thick, and stretch for miles; the state park borders one side. Depending on where we are, we're just as likely to head deeper into the woods as we are toward the academy.
Minutes tick past. With each one that flows by, I think about Ranger. Maybe ten, fifteen minutes ago, he might've been okay, clinging to life. But now …
Finally, Church climbs out of the water, and I know it's all over.
“Get up and let's start walking,” he says. He doesn't help me to my feet, just takes off in the same direction as the twins. He doesn't make it far, maybe ten or twenty steps before he collapses.
I race over to him, but there's nothing in his eyes, just emptiness.
Church Montague is just a damaged boy, not a psychopath. I feel bad for even thinking that.
“He was my best friend,” he says as I sit beside him and put my arms around his waist, squeezing him as tight as I can. “He was my best …” Church's voice shakes, and he closes his eyes against the pain. “He was. I guess he's not anymore, is he?”
We sit like that for a long, long time. Too long maybe because we're both shivering like crazy.
We're going to die of hypothermia if we don't find a way to get warm.
“Let's go,” I whisper, helping Church to his feet. He lets me, and we stay with our hands clasped as we start walking.
Nobody speaks. Not for a long, long time.
Not until we hear the sound of metal on stone.
Church and I exchange a look and start sprinting as fast as we can in that direction. There's a drain in the ground, near an old shed. Not only does that mean we're going in the right direction—because the shed must be close to