“What’s the address?”
I don’t know where I am, she wanted to scream. “Can’t you tell that from my phone?”
“It looks like you’re on a cell phone in a rural location, so it will take us a bit to triangulate. Can you give us any clues to narrow it down? A landmark? A nearby business?”
“I think we’re somewhere south of Portland.” She remembered what Griffin had said. “There’s nothing but fields around us. We’re in front of an abandoned barn or stable or something. And right now, it’s on fire!” The heat pressed against her back like a giant’s flat hand. “I don’t know the name of the road it’s on.”
Jaydra murmured something. Cheyenne leaned closer, putting one hand out to steady herself. It landed in a shallow warm pool. A pool of blood.
“Ralston,” Jaydra said, and then coughed. “Ralston Road.”
“Ralston Road,” Cheyenne repeated frantically to the operator. “I’ve been kidnapped! And there’s a woman who tried to help me, but she got shot. And she’s bleeding a lot. So you need to hurry!”
The operator’s voice was not quite so neutral now. “Where’s the kidnapper?”
“There’s two of them. And they’re tied up in the burning barn.”
“And what’s your name?”
A spark landed on the back of her hand. Biting back a shriek, she shook it off her hand, then said, “Cheyenne Wilder.”
“How old are you, honey?”
“Almost seventeen.” The fire sounded louder now. The flat hand on her back had changed to a giant iron.
“Okay, I need you to stay on the line with me until the police get there.”
“I can’t. She’s bleeding. I need to have both hands to help her.”
“Then put the phone on the ground, but don’t disconnect. We’ve got units headed your way, but they’re a few minutes out.”
Cheyenne did as the dispatcher instructed, then leaned over Jaydra. “They’ve got people coming, but it feels like you’re bleeding a lot. How can I stop it?”
“Find the entrance wound.” Jaydra had to pause between words. “On my left side.”
Thinking of Octavio, Cheyenne slipped her fingers under Jaydra’s T-shirt. She found a hole about a half inch across on the left side of her ribs. Under her fingertips, blood bubbled. “Should I put pressure on it?”
“Not yet. See if”—Jaydra moaned, and Cheyenne reflexively lifted her hand—“if you can find an exit wound.”
Gingerly, Cheyenne began to pat the far side of Jaydra’s torso with her other hand.
Jaydra swore. “Just stick your hand up my shirt. Wipe it over my skin and feel for blood.”
Cheyenne obeyed. Jaydra’s torso was slick, but when Cheyenne rubbed her fingers together, they weren’t tacky. It was just sweat, a lot of sweat, but not blood. “I can’t find an exit wound.”
“Good. One less hole to worry about. Ball up the bottom of my shirt and press it against the hole.” When she did, Jaydra gasped in pain. Cheyenne started to pull back, but Jaydra rasped out, “Keep pressing.” Her breaths sounded more like groans.
Both of them were also starting to cough. The air felt thick. Cheyenne’s eyes were watering, and she tasted ashes on her tongue. “How come you didn’t bring the cops with you?” she asked, then hoped it didn’t sound like an accusation.
“Your dad thought you went on a joyride. He didn’t want to get the cops involved.” Jaydra paused to cough. “We thought it’d work better if it was just one of us at first, not a posse. So I came. I could see your location, and when it started deviating from where the car was, I thought you might be hitchhiking. I didn’t let them know, because I wasn’t sure. Of course, none of us expected this.”
“I thought I was coming to help Griffin, but Dwayne, that guy who shot you, was pretending to be him.” Cheyenne ran Jaydra’s words back through her mind. “What do you mean, you could see my location? How did you know where I was?”
“Your new cane. I modified it. It has a GPS tracker inside.”
The same cane that had allowed her to turn the tables on Dwayne. Cheyenne said, “So I guess it saved me twice.”
Someone ran out of the barn. It was Griffin, coughing, choking, struggling to breathe. He dropped something on the ground. It was followed seconds later by the sound of vomit splattering. He gagged and heaved.
“Griffin!” TJ howled from the barn. “Don’t leave me! Please! I can’t die like this!”
Griffin took a long, shaky breath. Then Cheyenne heard him say to himself, “TJ’s right. Come on, Griff. Let’s do this.”
“No!” she shouted. “Griffin, don’t!”
But then she heard him run back into the inferno.
CHAPTER 30
CAN’T DIE LIKE THIS
GRIFFIN
“Griffin!” TJ howled from deep inside the barn. “Help me! Please! I can’t die like this!”
Griffin reminded himself that it was TJ who was begging him. The guy he had had to pull off Cheyenne six months earlier. The guy who had shot Jimbo, who was supposedly his friend, and not even blinked. TJ did not possess a single redeeming quality.
But even though it was TJ, Griffin knew that the other man was right. No one deserved to die like he would if Griffin left him there. Griffin could imagine what it would be like. He could imagine it better than anyone. The stench of your own flesh burning. The pain flaying you, electric and sharp and inescapable as you begged to die. But you wouldn’t. At least not fast enough.
It was probably suicide to go back in there, but Griffin didn’t think he could live with himself if he just let TJ burn to death. He picked up the hay hook and ran back into the barn. The smoke had gotten even thicker, the pockets of fire bigger. Behind him, Cheyenne was yelling, begging him not to go, but he ignored her. He couldn’t afford to pay attention to her or to think about what he was doing, or he’d never do it.
TJ was now standing as far from the burning post as he could, given that he was handcuffed to it. His arms were so far up and back that he had to be in danger of dislocating his shoulders. The fire was only inches from his linked wrists. TJ’s lips were moving, but Griffin couldn’t hear anything he said. He might have been praying. His eyes were so wide that there was white on either side.
Behind TJ, the fire was mesmerizing. Red, orange, and yellow flames danced and intertwined. The fire was alive and breathing.
Griffin tore his gaze away. Skidding to a stop next to the post, he set his feet. Hefting the hay hook over one shoulder, he took a deep breath, twisted his hips, and swung as hard as he could at the spot he had attacked earlier, about a foot off the ground. This time the hook lodged in the burning wood and he could not shake it free. He yanked with all his might. Beside him, TJ grunted as he used his handcuffs to pull at the beam.
Above them the roof began to groan. Griffin blinked away the smoke, struggling to focus. The post was definitely starting to bend. With a huge yank, he finally managed to pull the hay hook free. He immediately struck again, even more fiercely, ignoring how the metal had heated up and was searing his fingers. Both he and TJ were now coughing nonstop. Griffin’s tongue was a piece of leather in his mouth.
The flames flanked them. The two of them worked at the post in silence, past words, past thought, breathing ash, surrounded by the roar of the fire consuming everything in its path.
And then suddenly the post sagged as it cracked lengthwise. Giant splinters exploded into the air, narrowly missing them. Feeling a fresh surge of adrenaline, Griffin gave it a half dozen more blows and broke it all the way through.
TJ squatted and yanked his handcuffs through the gap. Griffin looked down. TJ’s hair was on fire. He slapped at it with his free hand. TJ looked confused for a second before he realized what was happening. And then Griffin grabbed TJ’s elbow, and together the two of them raced out of the barn.
Outside, Cheyenne had managed to drag Jaydra behind the Escalade, putting its bulk between the injured woman and the fire. Jaydra’s heels had left two
furrows in the gravel, with a shiny trail of dark blood in the middle.
Coughing, TJ staggered toward the road. But Griffin had eyes only for Cheyenne—and her attention was focused on Jaydra. He dropped to his knees on the damp ground beside them. The sky had lightened enough that he could see Jaydra’s face. He wondered if the fire was making his eyes play tricks on him, because her lips were a strange color, a pale purple.
“We already called 9-1-1,” Cheyenne said. “They said help is coming.”
Jaydra’s head lolled in what might have been a shake. “Not soon enough.” She coughed, and suddenly blood was on her lips, outlining each of her teeth.
“I’ll drive you to a hospital.” Griffin said, praying one was close enough.
“Too late for that too.” With a hiss, she raised her black T-shirt to expose her left side. It was so sodden with blood that it left her palm painted scarlet. “Tell me what you see.” She gasped between words.
“There’s a hole,” Griffin said. “Like the size of a penny. And it’s, um, bubbling.” Nausea roiled through him. Blood bubbled out with each of her breaths. That couldn’t be right.
“It’s a”—the cords stood out on Jaydra’s neck as she struggled to breathe—“sucking chest wound. You have to … put something over it … to keep air out.… Like a candy wrapper.… Then tie … in place.”
Griffin saw that when Jaydra breathed in, only the right side of her chest rose. Just one lung must have been working, which probably meant there wasn’t enough oxygen in her blood.
Once more, he took mental inventory of his pockets. “I don’t have anything like that.” He was ready to jump to his feet, start scouring the roadside ditch for any piece of trash. TJ was on his hands and knees next to the ditch, gagging and coughing.
But Cheyenne was already scrabbling in her raincoat. She pulled out a green plastic bag with a picture of a cartoon dog on it. “Don’t worry, it’s never been used.”
Jaydra didn’t react to Cheyenne’s words. She seemed to be focused internally. As if, Griffin thought, she was ordering herself not to die.
“Take off … my shirt.… Make bandage.”
Griffin helped Cheyenne maneuver Jaydra like a doll, pulling the T-shirt over each arm and then her head. One side of her white bra was soaked in blood.
Something big crashed to the ground behind them. Griffin turned. The back wall of the barn had collapsed in an explosion of sparks. He didn’t think they were in any immediate danger, but he was glad they were sheltered by the Escalade. Even with the SUV between them and the fire, the temperature had to be close to 120 degrees.
Jaydra touched him with a cold hand, and he turned back. Her skin looked like wax. “Have to force … air out. When I nod … put bag on.”
Griffin took the plastic bag. She exhaled forcefully. He watched with horror as a bubble as big as a half-dollar was pushed out of the wound. He could hear air coming out of both her mouth and the bullet hole. Jaydra nodded, and he slapped the plastic bag flat and then held it in place. It moved slightly under his palm as she inhaled.
Cheyenne was trying to tear the T-shirt into strips. She put her fingers in the bullet hole of the shirt and pulled, but the T-shirt didn’t tear. She put the hole to her mouth and grabbed it with her teeth, with no more effect. Blood rimmed her mouth, making her look like a vampire.
Jaydra’s lips moved, but Griffin had to put his ear against her mouth to hear. “On my calf … knife.”
He checked with his free hand and found a holster. As he slid the knife free, he wondered where her purse was and what she carried in it. A tiny nuclear warhead?
He had Cheyenne put her hand on the bag while he set to work on the T-shirt with the six-inch-long knife. With a feeling of triumph, he finally managed to saw a strip from the bottom. He pushed it under Jaydra’s torso and then grabbed it from underneath. But the T-shirt, which had gone around Jaydra without much room to spare, was not nearly long enough to be tied in place over the bandage.
Jaydra’s lips moved again, but now there was no sound behind them. Griffin thought she said, “Hurry.”
“I’ll have to cut some more strips and tie them together.”
As he frantically sawed at the wet fabric, he heard sirens. Relief washed over him. An ambulance would have real supplies, not an empty dog poop bag and bloody strips of torn T-shirt.
But when he looked up, Griffin saw only two cop cars speeding up the road. No ambulance. No firetruck. He didn’t stop hacking at the T-shirt. Jaydra’s eyes were only half open, her head slumped to one side. She must be unconscious.
He wouldn’t let himself think that she might be dead.
Less than a minute later, the two squad cars skidded to a stop about thirty feet away from them. The cops were out in a second, both of them shouting, their words overlapping as they crouched and drew their guns from behind the protection of their open doors.
“Drop the weapon! Drop your weapon now!”
Weapon? Who were they talking to?
The cops caught Griffin’s eye. He swore. He had forgotten all about Dwayne. He must have regained consciousness and then managed to slip his cuffs in front of him. Now he was creeping up behind one of the cops, a youngish guy with a strong nose and ears that stuck out from the side of his head.
The cop’s narrow eyes were fixed on Griffin. “Drop your weapon!” he shouted again, and the other cop echoed him.
Griffin got to his feet and shouted, pointing with the knife. “Watch out! Dwayne’s behind you!”
“Drop your weapon!” the first cop yelled again, his gaze never wavering from Griffin.
“Drop it now!” the second cop shouted.
Griffin realized the cops were looking only at him. That they were shouting at him.
And, a second later, they were shooting at him.
CHAPTER 31
BLOOD EVERYWHERE
TJ
After he finished getting sick in the ditch at the edge of the road, TJ straightened up. Getting free of the fire had left his mind just as empty as his belly now was. His hair was singed, his skin pockmarked with burns, his hands still cuffed behind him.
He looked around blankly. The sun was just beginning to rise. Two of the walls of the barn had collapsed, and the other two were sagging. Inside what remained, the van was burning, thick black smoke billowing from it. The recent rains and the fact that the barn was surrounded by gravel had kept the fire from spreading farther.
TJ began to stagger back to Cheyenne, who was sheltering at the back end of the Escalade. He moved toward her, even though it also meant moving closer to the fire, which was beginning to nibble at the SUV’s front bumper. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore, but Cheyenne was still a touchstone, a reminder of the dreams that had kept him sane for months.
The woman Dwayne had shot lay dead on the ground in front of Cheyenne and Griffin. As he got closer, TJ saw there was blood everywhere. Blood on Cheyenne’s lips and hands. Blood on Griffin’s hands. Blood on the gravel. Blood on the dead woman’s half-naked torso and trickling from her lips.
The sight of it, red, wet, and shiny, made TJ feel a familiar panic. Blood was meant to stay inside of you, a secret you didn’t need to know and that should never be shared. He slowed to a stop and averted his eyes.
Two cop cars came racing up the road, turned onto the property, and skidded to a stop at an angle. The cops jumped out, guns drawn. From the shelter of their doors, they started shouting at Griffin to drop his weapon.
Instead of obeying, Griffin pointed a knife at them. He started yelling, his voice arcing high with panic. “Watch out! Dwayne’s behind you!”
And then TJ saw what Griffin was trying to tell them. Dwayne, his hands cuffed in front of him, was sneaking up behind the cops.
When Griffin didn’t drop the knife, one of the cops fired two bullets in quick succession. The first hit Griffin where his neck met his shoulder. TJ winced at the spray of blood it released. As Griffin fell to his knees, the knife dropped from his
hand. The second shot just missed him as he tumbled face-first into the dirt.
Cheyenne was screaming Griffin’s name. Her dark, sightless eyes were huge as she turned her head back and forth.
Dwayne was now just a few feet behind the nearest cop, who was still only focused on Griffin. Dwayne raised his cuffed hands high as he got ready to loop them over the cop’s head and then yank back, strangling him.
It was becoming clear to TJ what would happen next. Dwayne would use the dying cop as a shield, he would take his gun, he would kill the other cop, and he would eventually get one of their handcuff keys and free himself. Along the way, he would kill everyone, most likely including TJ, all while wearing the same smile he had when he burned Cheyenne’s hand.
TJ hurried to Griffin’s body. He turned sideways and squatted until the fingers of his cuffed hand grazed one of the two guns the boy had stashed in the back of his pants. He stepped in front of Cheyenne, still turned at an angle, his body hiding the gun from the two cops. Behind him, he steadied his gun hand by curling his left hand around it and pointed it at Dwayne. If he hit one of the cops, so be it.
He just knew he had to stop Dwayne.
CHAPTER 32
ALL ALONE
CHEYENNE
Cheyenne lay with her body across Jaydra’s, trying to shelter her from whatever awful things were happening around them. Bullets were flying in all directions. One of them seemed to have found Griffin.
“Griffin? Are you all right?” she yelled, but there was no answer.
She pressed one hand against the plastic bag that was supposed to be keeping the air out of Jaydra’s lung. Cheyenne would not let herself think about how still Jaydra was. About how she hadn’t even groaned when Cheyenne threw herself across her when the shooting started.
With her free hand, she groped desperately for Griffin. Was he dead or dying too?
All she found was fresh blood. The air was thick with oily smoke, and it seemed, if possible, to be even hotter than before. Was the Escalade on fire?