Chapter Forty-Seven
THE LATE-NIGHT MOON SWINGS like a pendulum overhead. Clang, says the ball as it hits its neighbor. Off to the other side you go.
Wait—why is the moon swinging? Is it adrenaline twisting around in my brain? Is my leg infected? I peel back the cloth wrapped around my left leg, red skin puckering around claw marks on my calf. Nothing is yellow or oozing.
My other leg isn’t faring so well. Root burns trail up from my ankle to my hip. Much nastier than the rope burn I got after tug-of-war in second grade. I wonder if Anika remembers.
Goose bumps course down my arms as a chilly wind breezes through my room’s open window.
I glance up at the ceiling. What I thought was the moon in my half-asleep stupor is actually a hanging glass light.
The light doesn’t work, of course, but moonlight reflects off its glass surface. Wonder where Andrew got it.
My roaring stomach interrupts my musings. Last time I ate was yesterday, when Jasper brought me a can of Ro-Tel before fixing up my leg. We ate the spicy diced tomatoes together, slurping straight from the can.
I miss Jasper.
Screw it—there’s no time for wistful thinking.
While I scarf down a piece of deer jerky—more difficult than it sounds—I sift through Andrew’s old dresser for black clothes.
While I find lots of gym shorts, what I don’t find are clothes that will fit.
No underwear, either. Fuck it, I can be discreet in these smelly jeans and a stained jacket. I’ve got the protection of the night.
I load up my backpack with the necessities: a small, empty flask and the gun Jasper gave me. Give, give, give, this guy.
Slinging the backpack over my shoulder, I leave the house. It’s not home, not yet.
The door shuts with a soft click behind me, and I don’t bother locking it. If a Mac takes the damn house while I’m gone, I’ll be relieved.
The air outside is cold, the sky black, but the glow of the full moon guides my way to Jasper’s.
Chirping crickets and rustling leaves liven the empty streets.
There are a few late-night walkers, but none of them bat an eye at me.
After a long trek through town, I stand in front of Jasper’s long, winding driveway.
The home is hidden by nighttime shadows, but a single candle flickers in the room that used to be mine.
I breathe in, squaring my shoulders as my chest fills up with fresh fall air. When I take a step forward, a twig snaps beneath my foot.
Careful, you doof.
I close my eyes and lift onto my tiptoes. I am a ballerina, a tiny dancer in a music box, full of grace like Jasper.
There are only two more twig casualties until I reach the front porch. Something rustles in the hedges, the withering leaves a pale green. As a gust of wind blows my ponytail into my face, I realize it’s just that. The wind.
I need to get Jasper’s bike and get the hell out of here. His bike is locked up on the side porch, hidden behind a zombie rosebush. Curled black roses twist around one another, thorns clawing at the delicate petals.
Let’s think this through. I could walk onto the porch and get the bike, but the candlelight from the window shines directly on that spot. It’s not likely, but there’s a chance Jasper’s awake, in my old room. I can’t risk it. Or I could unlock the bike from the other side.
Shit, I have to go through the rosebush, don’t I?
I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for pain.
Thorns prick my skin as I reach my right arm into the bush, blood trickling down and splashing the ground. My shoulder aches as I reach for the bike lock. It lies just beyond my grasp. Thorns pierce my armpit, my neck, my cheek as I reach, reach—
I’ve got it. With only the moon and the dim candlelight to see, I thumb in the code. 2-1-2-9-9, twist.
I grit my teeth to keep from crying out as I wrench the bike out of the bushes.
Thorns pierce every inch of skin. Even so, the stirring bushes make more noise than I’d care to admit.
With hands gripped on the handlebars, I swing a leg up and over.
They say riding a bike is something you never unlearn, and it’s been over ten years since I last rode one. Here’s hoping they’re right.
I peddle forward, and the bike squeaks.
I’ve got to get a move on.
I pump on the pedals hard, and my legs start to burn. My sweaty palms slip off the handles, but I swivel back to center before I tip off the side. I’m almost out of the driveway when the sound of an opening door creaks in my ears. I dare turn my head around. Jasper stands in the doorway.
He cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “Kota! Come back!”
No.
I pump harder.
As I near the street, my wheel catches on a rock. The bike jolts, and I hit the ground hard. The bike topples over me, and the wind gets knocked out of my lungs. Even through my pants, the bike gear bites into my skin. Fast-moving footsteps sound in my ears. I have to be faster.
I grip the handlebars and pull myself and the bike up. Jasper sprints toward me. My instincts tell me to stop, but my heart tells me to keep going.
I yell back at him, “You don’t get it. I have to do this!”
“Kota—”
“Do you really want to hold me hostage again? Keep me here against my will? Is that what you want?” Jasper stops dead in his tracks. A bead of sweat drips down my face. Blood squelches between my knuckles. “Let me go, Jasper. You couldn’t save your sister, but I can save mine.”
“Kota.” Jasper’s voice is but a whisper. I spin around, heart twisting at the hurt plain on his face. His wide eyes are pleading, and his shoulders are slumped. He opens his mouth as if to say something else, but the words don’t come out.
I turn my back to him and focus only on my destination. The handlebars sweat under my tight grip as I begin to pedal away. I leave nothing but a trail of blood in my wake.