Chapter Twenty Rain, Rain As Fast As You Can
The rain pelts my face as I race down the slippery, moss-laden rock path toward the edge of the bald cypress trees where I last saw Jude. It’s coming down so hard and fast that I can barely see, but a lifetime spent on this island—spent at this school—has me swerving to the left just in time to miss a hole on the right side of the path.
Exactly twenty-seven steps later, I leap right over a giant tree root and the raised, broken stones it’s caused. Forty-one steps after that, I veer back to the right and miss a ten-inch-wide crack that crisscrosses the path.
When your whole life is narrowed down to a practically five-square-foot island, you learn every inch of it. Partly because there’s nothing else to do—even when the humidity is oppressive—and partly because you never know when you’ll be running for your life from a pack of pissed-off wolves or a vampire literally out for blood. Strange things happen on the daily here, and knowing the ins and outs of your prison just makes good sense.
Apparently, I’m finally putting my knowledge to the test.
The rain continues to crash through the towering trees, slapping hard against me as I run past what once was a student garden experiment but is now just a home for weeds. I weave around the gym and a ramshackle old building that used to be a ballroom back when people voluntarily paid a lot of money to come to this island during its days as a resort.
I take a left and sprint between the art studio—which is really more of a graffiti park—and the library, making sure to avoid the flock of geese and ducks that have found shelter under the bushes.
I follow the path around the corner, then brace for the two-foot dip that’s been there as long as I can remember. I slide down the muddy slope without twisting an ankle, then immediately jump over another gnarled root that’s poked through the stones.
A couple more minutes of running and I finally make it to the fence that separates the academic buildings from the dorms. And while I can get through it easily when classes aren’t in session, it’s a lot harder during school hours. But that just means I have to get creative…
The gate is programmed to keep each student in the academic area of the island during their classes, using a combination of a pin code and eye scan biometrics. But I’ve watched my mother enter her code a million times, and no matter how sneaky she thinks she is, I’m sneakier. Plus, I’ve learned that all manticore eyes have the same signature. So I can fool the system into believing I’m her.
It’s a trick I don’t use often—if she checks the logs, the last thing I want is for her to notice that she exited the academic area when she actually didn’t—but I do pull it out in case of emergencies. And I definitely think this qualifies.
Which begs the question—how did Jude get past the fence when I know he has a class right now? There’s no way the system should have let him pass.
Just then, one of the trees on the other side of the fence makes an ominous crack. Seconds later, a giant branch falls right onto the top of the fence. I watch sparks fly in all directions as it scrapes its way down the chain links—charred and smoking, despite the rain—before finally falling to the ground.
Because fencing us in isn’t enough—they’ve actually electrified the damn things as well. Had I been touching the key pad, I would have ended up looking a lot like that tree branch…
I punch in the code, let the system scan my eye, then wait impatiently for the gate to swing open.
The second it does, I race through it and down the central path. But when I get to the fork in the road that separates the student side of the island from the forest and abandoned remains of the sanatorium, I veer off the heavily used part of the path and straight into the large copse of trees that marks the other side. I mean, sure, Jude and I explored it when we were kids alongside Caspian and Carolina. But there’s not much out there—a few old buildings, an old well we used to toss quarters down, and a root cellar from the days before regular refrigeration, when people had to store vegetables underground to keep them fresh.
All of which fascinated us when we were kids, but none of which would be of any interest to Jude now.
Still, the Jude I used to know never did anything without purpose. Which means he has a very definite reason for being out here. If I could just figure out what it is, maybe I’d actually have a chance of figuring out where he is.
Deciding I might as well start at the decrepit old buildings that were part of the former sanatorium, I veer off the main path as soon as I get to the small, manmade lake they used for rowing boats. Unlike everything else in this area, it’s still in half-decent shape—mostly because the resident mermaids and sirens adopted it about a decade ago and cleaned it up for their own personal use. They can’t shift, but they obviously still love the water.
It’s the only part of this side of the island that students actually come to regularly. Plus, the admins don’t mind because it means they don’t have to maintain the swimming pool anymore.
I pass the lake and head to the old doctor’s office and “daily constitutional” hut. They’re shrouded by looming bald cypress trees, needles blanketing the roofs. But the doors are all padlocked with rusty chains that look like they haven’t been touched in decades—because they haven’t.
But I still remember how we used to get in when we were kids. So I slip around the side to find the small, second-story window with the faulty lock. The rickety trellis we used to climb to reach it is still there, but there’s no way it would support my weight now, let alone Jude’s.
Deciding the huts are a bust, I head farther down the path to the root cellar. But I’m barely halfway there when I see a flash of red.
When I look closer, I realize someone is cutting through the rocky ground to my right, but it’s definitely not Jude. Whoever is out there is shorter and much scrawnier—but it’s definitely a student.
I try to wipe the rain out of my eyes to get a closer look, but it’s no use. It’s coming down in sheets now, and there’s nothing to do but suffer through it. Still, the odds that this person—whoever they are—is out here for a reason that isn’t connected to Jude is pretty much nonexistent in my mind. Especially considering they’re risking a major storm and my mother’s ire.
So what the hell is going on? And how much trouble is Jude going to be in if he gets caught? Or, conversely, how much trouble is he already in?
It’s that thought that spurs me forward, that has me falling into step behind the person in the red shorts and hoodie. I tail close enough that I don’t lose them in the storm but also stay far enough away not to call attention to myself.
But unlike Jude, they’re definitely not in stealth mode, so they don’t seem focused on anything but getting to their goal. Which, apparently, is the root cellar they’re leading me straight to.
What the hell?
There was nothing there the last time I was in that place. Just some old shelves, a few empty burlap bags, and a few broken jars. So what on earth could this person want—
I freeze as they bend down and throw open the door buried in the ground. Because as they do, I get my first good look at their face. And realize that I’ve been following Jean-Luc, self-appointed leader of the Jean-Jerks and asshole extraordinaire.