I felt a sudden necessity to get Mason alone. I had to find out why he was covering for me, what he wanted in return. I rubbed my forehead with the heel of my hand. I also had to prepare.
When the snow stopped, we were leaving. We'd strap our gear to our backs and I would lead us down a mountainside I'd never hiked. I pulled out Calvin's map, careful not to tear it along the worn folds. Then I crouched by the ribbon of light at the bottom of the door. I studied the markings on the map carefully. off-trail hiking routes, caves, streams, abandoned huts once used by fur trappers-every place Calvin had explored and carefully recorded.
I quickly located Idlewilde and the highway-Calvin had labeled both. The longer I studied the map, the more certain I became of our current position. Calvin had marked a cabin to the south of one of the bigger lakes, far off the main road, and jotted the note "vacant/furnished/electricity." If the cabin was in fact our current location, I'd driven too far. I'd overshot Idlewilde by approximately five miles.
I stopped. What if instead of leading Shaun and Mason to the highway, I tricked them into following me to Idlewilde? But Idlewilde was at a higher elevation, and they would be immediately suspicious if I led them uphill. For now, I would have to guide them downhill toward the highway. Away from Idlewilde and farther from Calvin.
Staring through the window, I told myself that when the snow stopped, and the clouds cleared, the stars would come out and the darkness wouldn't seem so encompassing or hopeless.
I traced my finger over the frosted glass. H-E-L-P. The letters streaked through the condensation before evaporating. I wondered where Calvin was. I wanted to believe he'd found the Wrangler and was piecing together our next steps. I had to hope it was possible. But would he find us before we left? I closed my eyes and said a desperate prayer. Guide his steps, and quickly.
Calvin knew the mountains better than anyone. And he was ingenious. He could outsmart Mason and Shaun-if he found us. He'd gotten average grades in school, but only because he hadn't tried. Mostly to goad his dad, I knew. Calvin had coasted through high school, doing the minimum required work, and the more Mr. Versteeg tried to punish him, the more lax Calvin became about school. Once, after a really bad report card, Mr. Versteeg kicked Calvin out of the house. Calvin checked into a hotel for three days, staying until Korbie convinced her dad to let him come home. When Calvin scored a 31 on his ACT, followed by an astounding 2100 on the SAT, instead of being proud or relieved, Mr. Versteeg was infuriated that Calvin had proved him wrong-that he could get into a top-tier university like Stanford his own way.
A rumor had circulated in school last year, that Mr. Versteeg had donated a substantial amount to Stanford and bought Calvin's admittance, but Korbie swore it wasn't true. "My dad would never help Calvin, especially not after the way he went about getting into Stanford,” she told me privately.
I paced the tight quarters of the storage room, trying to battle the cold manifesting itself in hundreds of goose bumps springing up on my arms. At the far end of the room, I was about to turn and march back, when my eye landed on a large antique toolbox sitting on the lowest tier of the plastic shelving. I'd been so distracted and scared, I hadn't noticed it before. Maybe there was a weapon inside.
Careful not to be heard, I dragged the distressed toolbox, mottled with rust, out onto the concrete floor. I opened the latches and raised the lid.
Familiarity enveloped me like a cold, damp cloud.
My mind tried to make sense of the shapes inside the box. Long, pale shafts and a sphere with two large sockets below the curve of the brow, and a third hole, a nose, centered below them. The limbs were bent at the joints to fit in the box. Hard, leathery skin and connective tissue held the largely decomposed body together.
Paralyzed, in a stupor, I gasped feebly. Logically, I knew that it-they-she, judging by the soiled black cocktail dress, couldn't hurt me. The body was a remnant of a departed life. It was more the knowledge that someone had died in the storage room that I found horrifying. Someone like me, trapped here. It was as if a window appeared in my brain and I looked through it to glimpse my own fate.
I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them, the dead body was still there. The skull's toothy grin seemed to jeer at me. You're next.
I shut the lid. I backed away. A scream stuck in my throat.
I could not tell Mason or Shaun what I'd seen. They likely knew about the body. They had probably put it there. I didn't need another secret of theirs to keep. My life was already in the balance enough.
Pushing the image of the body deep down, I bit my quivering lip, and tried not to think about death.
CHAPTER NINE
I've heard that when people are close to death, memories flash before their eyes. While I was waiting to see what fate Shaun and Mason had in store for me, my mind brought up memories of Calvin, who I desperately hoped was on his way to find us.
The first time I went camping with the Versteegs, I was eleven years old and Calvin was thirteen. It was July, and the mountains were a cool relief from the heat of town. Korbie and I were finally old enough to sleep outside alone, and Mr. Versteeg helped us pitch a tent on the deep green lawn behind Idlewilde. He promised to leave the kitchen door unlocked, in case we needed to use the bathroom in the middle of the night.
Korbie and I had tubes of lipstick and colorful tubs and pots of blush and eye shadow spread on the tent floor, and we were taking turns giving each other Katy Perry makeovers. When we finished, we were going to film our own music video of "Hot N Cold."Korbie had aspirations of fame, and couldn't wait to get started.
Korbie was applying Candy Apple Red to my mouth when we heard fake ghost noises coming from outside. A beam of light danced erratically through the tent fabric.
"Leave us alone, Calvin!" Korbie yelled.
"Calm down,” he said, unzipping the tent and crawling inside. "I'm dropping off the flashlight. Mom said you forgot it."
"Fine,” Korbie said, yanking the flashlight out of his hands. "Now get out. Go play with Rohan Larsen,” she added in a mocking tone.
Calvin bared his teeth at her like a dog.
"What's wrong with Rohan?" I asked. Korbie had invited me on the camping trip, and Calvin had invited Rohan. I thought Calvin and Rohan were friends.
"My dad made Calvin bring Rohan,” Korbie announced with smug superiority, "but Calvin can't stand him."
"My dad likes Rohan because he's good at tennis and he's smart, and his parents are loaded,” Calvin explained to me. "He thinks Rohan will rub off on me. He won't even let me choose my own friends. I'm in junior high, and he's arranging playdates for me. It's stupid. He's stupid."