I rip my jacket off, press it against her chest where the dark wetness keeps spreading. I have to stop the blood.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes.

“No, no, it’s okay. Everything will be okay.” I look over my shoulder, half convinced he’s lurking somewhere, waiting to finish us off.

But he’s gone.

She coughs, and when blood trickles out of her mouth, I wipe it away with my hand. “I’m so sorry, Sophie,” she whispers.

“You don’t have to be. It’s okay.” I press harder into her chest with both hands. “It’s okay. It’ll all be okay.”

But the blood bubbles up against my fingers, through the denim of my jacket.

How can there be this much blood? How much can she lose before…

She swallows, a convulsive movement, and when she breathes out, more red stains her mouth. “Hurts,” she says.

When I reach out with one hand to smooth the hair off her forehead, I leave a trail of blood behind. All I can think about is that time in third grade. She fainted when I cut my arm open so badly I needed stitches; she didn’t like blood. I want to hide it from her now, but I can’t. I can see it in her eyes, that she knows what’s happening, the thing I can’t accept.

“It’s okay,” I say again. I swear it, when I have no right to.

“Sophie…” She lifts her hand, clumsily drags it toward mine. I twist our fingers together, hold on tight.

I won’t let her go.

“Soph—”

Her chest rises with one last jagged breath and then she exhales gently, her body going still, her eyes losing their light, their focus on me dimming as I watch. Her head leans to the side, her grip slowly loosening in mine.

“No, no, no!” I shake her, pound against her chest. “Wake up, Mina. Come on, wake up!” I tilt her head back and breathe into her mouth. Over and over, until I’m drenched in sweat and blood. “No, Mina! Wake up!”

I hold her tight against my shoulder and scream in the darkness, begging for help.

Wakeupwakeupwakeuppleasepleaseplease.

No help comes.

It’s just her and me.

Mina’s skin gets colder by the minute.

I still don’t let her go.

61

NOW (JUNE)

I smell the smoke first. Then charred metal and gasoline, the tang filling the air, sharp in my nose. There’s a rhythmic ringing in my head, growing louder and louder. I blink, but something spills into my eyes, moisture that I smear off my face.

I squint down at my bound hands, trying to focus as the wetness drips down my chin, splattering red on my arm.

Blood.

It hurts. I realize it between one shaky breath and another. Everything hurts.

Oh, God.

My legs. Do they work?

I push forward with my good one, and it hurts, it hurts, and I never thought it’d feel so good to hurt that much, but pain is good. Pain means I’m not paralyzed. That I’m still alive.

Is Adam? I try to push myself up to see, but the ringing in my ears grows louder as I lean forward through the gap between the seats. I tilt my head up, trying to get a good look at him, slumped over the steering wheel. His dark hair is matted with blood on one side, and his chest is rising and falling steadily.

I have to get out of here before he comes to.

My mind’s made up in a second. I hook the edge of the zip tie around the jagged edge of the broken window, sawing it back and forth until it snaps. My hands free, I grab the door handle, trying to push it open, but it’s jammed.

The ringing sound’s getting louder, like someone’s turned up the volume on me, and underneath the insistent tones, there’s a moaning.

Adam begins to stir in the front seat, and I try the opposite door handle, my heart pounding as more blood dribbles down my cheek. This door’s also too mangled to open, so I heave myself up and out of the broken window. The fit’s tight, and glass digs into my stomach as I push myself forward, but I keep going, pitching headfirst, almost somersaulting out of the car. I hit the forest floor with a thump, my shoulders tightening as pain flares down my back.

The car had gone straight down the embankment, the hood crumpled like ribbon candy. Smoke is rising off the engine, choking me, and I cough weakly, something sharp knifing through my ribs.

I stumble up to standing, unsteady on shaky legs, and look around. We’ve ended up in a flatter area, but there are trees looming everywhere. Deep forest spreads ahead of me on all sides. I want to get the gun and my phone, but I don’t see either of them in the car, and I don’t have time to look—I’ve got to go. Leaves and branches crackle underneath my feet. The full moon is climbing in the sky, its light illuminating the forest.

I have to move. I forge ahead, my bad leg dragging in the dirt, catching on rocks and branches, leaving a trail a mile wide, dotted with blood. Even with the moonlight, it’s hard to see. I stumble, falling to my knees, my palms scraping the dirt as I push myself back up.

Climbing the embankment isn’t possible. Not like this, not with my bad leg, and not with my good one, which is trembling almost as badly.

Hiding’s the only option.

The trees thicken as I limp farther into the woods as fast as I can, weaving between the pines as the smoky smell from the crash starts to fade into the dark scents of earth and water, a stronger tang of copper sharpening the breeze. My stomach’s wet; my shirt’s heavy with blood, slapping against my belly with each movement. I don’t have to look down to see the darkness of blood spreading. The cuts on my stomach are shallow but long; they sting with each breath I take, along with the pain in my ribs. But I keep moving. I have to keep moving as fast as I can.

For what feels like forever, it’s just me and my harsh breathing and each step crushingly loud in my ears, hurting, hurting, hurting, and wondering if it’s going to be my last. If I’m going to fall.

I collapse behind a group of boulders before my leg gives out, panting at the effort it takes to lower myself to the ground. My eyes droop shut, and I force them open again.

I have to stay conscious. I have to focus.

I have to stay alive.

I curl myself up, my knees tucked up near my chin, trying to make myself as small as possible, pressing against the solid rock. It hurts, makes me bite my lip hard, but I power through it, my ribs throbbing with each breath.

When I hear the footsteps, quick and solid through the brush, my heart leaps, my muscles seize up, and everything in me says run, run, run. It’s a death sentence, I know that, but I’m hardwired for fight or flight, even though I can’t do either.

I quiet my breathing and focus on the footfalls—are they coming toward me or heading away?

The crunching suddenly stops. I bend farther into myself, every muscle shrinking, as a deep voice in the distance, laced with panic, breaks the silence of the forest. “Adam? Adam? Where the fuck are you?” More footsteps, closer now.

Heading toward me.

Now there’s a snapping sound, someone thrashing through the underbrush.

Two sets of footsteps, coming from different directions: one sure and steady, the other stumbling, injured.

Matt and Adam. I curl up tighter, dread settling in my bones.

“Adam!” They’ve found each other. They’re still a good twenty feet away, but I can hear them.

“Did you see her?” Adam’s slurring his words. He must be really hurt.

Good. I hope he bleeds to death.

“See who? What the hell happened? That car…Your head! We need to get you to the hospital!” Matt’s voice, urgent, almost angry, sounds strange.

“No! We gotta find her! She knows everything. We gotta stop her before…before…”

“What are you talking about? Let’s go!”

“No, listen. She knows.”

“Knows what? Who? Come on, let’s move it!”

The footsteps start up again, and the voices are getting closer. Too late for me to move now. I cringe against the rock, wishing it’d swallow me up.

“I didn’t tell anyone.” Adam’s babbling, his words jumbled together. “All these years, I never told anyone. But I saw her get into your truck that day. I know what you did to Jackie. But I didn’t tell anyone; not even Mom or Matt. I thought it would be okay. But then Mina started asking questions. I had to stop her—I had to.”

“What are you talking about?” Matt’s voice growls, incredulous.

Wait.

No.

The footsteps are coming closer now as my sluggish brain trips over Adam’s confession, tracing it back.

I didn’t tell anyone; not even Mom or Matt.

It isn’t Matt on the other side of the rock.

If this isn’t Matt…

If it wasn’t Matt’s baby…

We’d kill for each other. That’s what family does.

That’s what Adam did. The realization jolts heavy in my stomach, and I can’t stop the sharp gasp for breath as it hits me.

“What was that?”

Before Adam can answer, there are boots moving on the ground. Those sure and steady steps that can’t be Adam.

His boots. Coming toward me.

He’s too fast. I try to get to my feet, but my bad leg collapses under me. I scrabble at the rock. I need a handhold to pull myself up. I need to run. I need to try.

But it’s too late.

He rounds the corner of the group of boulders I’m crouching beside, and when he turns his head and sees me, something like relief sparks in his eyes.

“Sophie,” he says, like it’s a normal day. Like I’ve been lost in the woods and he’d been sent to find me. “You’re hurt.” He reaches out, and he looks so concerned when he touches my face.