Chapter 17
Mommy’s head rolls to the side. Amelia’s arm slides around me, pulling me close, and for a second—just a second—we’re all stitched together. Even Grover looks different. Grieving, but also lighter—like something broken snapped back into place.
The quiet moment doesn’t last long, though, because a whir of helicopter blades beat in the distance. I jerk away from Amelia; the vibration rattling inside my chest. I can taste the smoke in the room.
“They found us!” I leap to my feet, still holding Andrew. “Andrew! Wake up, buddy. We’re going home!”
Grover steps in front of me. “You’re not going anywhere.” His voice is sharp, scary. I’ve never heard him like that. “You think I was out there for fun? I was trying to lose them—pull them away from here. I’m going to jail if they catch me.”
I lower Andrew to the ground and turn on Grover. “You promised that today—you’d take us home!” I jab a finger at him. “I’m sorry Mommy’s gone, but there’s nothing left to stop you!” I’m toe to toe with him—all four foot nine of me against a giant, but I don’t care. I’m not backing down. “We’re leaving—even if I have to drag you myself.”
He raises his hands like I’m a fire-breathing dragon. “Okay,” he says. “I’m sorry. But let me at least bury Mommy. I’ve already got a grave dug in the back. After that, we can go.”
Something in me doesn’t believe him, but I nod anyway, then lead Andrew by the hand and help Amelia limp behind us. Once we’re out of earshot, I whisper, “I don’t trust him. Do you?”
Amelia drops to the ground, wincing. “No, I don’t. We’ve got to take matters into our own hands.”
I kneel beside her. “Let’s figure it out while I bandage your leg. The stuff in the first aid kit will hold better than the plantain leaves.” I open up the backpack, spotting a mirror. Palming it, I slide it into my pocket. “When Grover heads to the back of the cave with Mommy, I’ll sneak out and see if I can signal anyone with the mirror—there won’t be much time.”
Andrew chews on a stick of dried meat he found in our food bowl. He taps my arm. “Use the frares,” he whispers.
I freeze. “The frares?”
“Yeah, dey go up dere.” He points up.
I sneak a glance at Grover carrying his mother across the space. His body droops. Guilt knocks on my heart like a tiny hammer, but my goal hasn’t changed. I’ve got to get us out of here—with or without Grover.
I turn to Andrew. “We don’t have any. We checked—dumped everything out. No flares.”
“In here.” His little hand grasps the metal frame of the pack. “Dad don’t want ‘em ta break.” Bells ring inside my brain. Of course! I knew this pack felt lopsided, but I was so tired I didn’t work it out.
I kiss the top of his head and yank the backpack, unscrew the frame, and slide the flare free. Pulse racing, I bolt toward the cave mouth, tearing through the branches covering the opening.
Helicopter blades beat far in the distance. They’re heading away from us! Twist. Click. Whoosh. I lift it high. Come on…come on, see us! A red fireball explodes above the mountain, painting the snow orange. I toss the tube and race for the cave.
Flattening myself against the wall just inside the entrance, my heart beats the same thump, thump, thump of the helicopter blades pounding inside my ears. Can Grover hear it—will he know I was outside? The room is still. Just wind and the scratch and scrape of a shovel against stone somewhere deeper in the cave. No, he’s burying Mommy. He won’t know.
I take a deep breath. What if no one saw it? What if it didn’t get past the trees? What if I wasted the one miracle we had?
Keeping to the shadows, I crouch-run until I’m back on my knees facing Amelia and Andrew. “I set it off,” I say, trying to slow my breathing and my heart rate before Grover gets back. “I’m not sure it worked. I hope so, but I didn’t stick around to find out.”
Amelia doesn’t answer. Her head is down, finger tracing the design on the quilt. She sniffs and wipes away tears with the back of her hand.
Andrew shuffles over and climbs onto her lap. “Okay, Mealya?”
Okay, this is not the time for a counseling session. This is life or death—freedom or captivity. “Amelia?” I say, shaking her arm. “I need you to focus. We need to finish bandaging your leg so we can get out of here. We may need to make a run for it.”
Grover’s soft voice hums in the distance, the same lullaby he sang the other day. It’s all so…unbelievably sad.
I rock back on my heels and glance over my shoulder. His shadow drifts along the cave wall. “He’s coming.”
Grover staggers toward us, wiping his hands on his pants. “It’s done.” He sighs like a grizzly landed on his chest and sits with his head in his hands. I turn away to hide my face, bandaging Amelia’s leg with the bit of gauze that comes in the first-aid kit. He’ll take one look at me and know what I did.
Grover lifts his head suddenly, eyes focused on the entrance. “You hear that?”
“Hear what?” The words come out so fake and high like someone else’s voice.
He hesitates—not for long. And for one terrifying second, I think he’s going outside. Then he’ll for sure find the flare, see the scorched snow—but he just shakes his head, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Nothin’—I’m just tired.”
I swallow hard and finish wrapping Amelia’s leg. My hands shake so badly I can barely get it tied off. We stare at each other, passing invisible messages through our brainwaves. Both hopeful, but not very confident.
The cave is quiet—except for our breathing—and the soft, wet sound of Andrew sucking his thumb. Believe me, I’m listening for any outside noise—even the snap of a stick—that gives a hint that someone’s out there. I’m just about ready to give up and bring up the whole taking us home conversation again when there’s a shift in the air—a low vibration that shakes the cave. And it’s not wind.
Andrew’s head pops up, his thumb hanging between his lips. Amelia grabs my sleeve. Grover meets my eyes, and he knows.
Boots crunch on the snow outside, and shadows stretch across the walls. There’s a low rumble of men’s voices—muffled and careful.
“Someone’s coming,” I whisper, reaching for Andrew.
Men in orange vests burst through the entrance, guns raised. Someone shouts, “Don’t move!”
Time slows as Grover stands, ready to bolt. His eyes are wild, and he shifts his feet, panicked.
Andrew throws up his arms and screams, “Daddy!” Just as I yell, “Wait—don’t shoot!”
A crack splits the air, and Grover falls, his shoulder jerking.
The room explodes in slow motion: men shouting and running toward us—swarming us like bees on honey. Arms come around us. Solid and safe. I breathe in wood smoke and pancakes. Dad.
“Please tell me he’s not dead!” I scream into my father’s chest. Sweat covers my body, my head pounds, and my ears squeal—I can’t make it stop. “Please!”
“He’s not dead, Darcie. He’s okay. Just a dart to the shoulder. He’ll be alright,” he says, stroking my hair and kissing the top of my head. “It’s over. You’re safe.”
Andrew is caught between us, but he wriggles free and runs to Grover, throwing himself on top of him. “Are ya hurt, Gro-ber?” He sits on his chest, his little hands tugging away the animal pelts.
“A little, but I’m okay.” Grover closes his eyes like he can’t stand to look at us.
Andrew holds the big man’s face in his hands until he opens his eyes. “Don’t worry, Gro-ber. Daddy’s here.” And then that kid—he leans over and kisses Grover—right on the lips. “S’okay now.”
Grover turns toward Dad, offering a sad, crooked smile. Dad doesn’t respond, just scoops Andrew up. “Let’s let the medical people do what they do,” he says, clearing the way for the paramedics.
A tall man in a huge green parka bursts into the room, shoving his hood from his face. “Amelia?” He’s running—panicked. When he reaches her, he falls to his knees, pulling her close. His body trembles as he sobs. “I thought I’d lost you…Thank God.”
Amelia’s dad locks onto Grover. Both men go still, eyes widening. For a moment neither of them speaks—just stare, like they can’t decide if they want to remember something they’ve forgotten.
Amelia pulls back. “Dad? Why are you here?”
“Where else would I be? I had to find you.”
Amelia looks stunned that he came. He looks stunned that she ever doubted he would.
But Grover? He’s the most stunned. “Richard.” Grover reaches out a hand. “Where is she?”
“Like you don’t know.” He turns, scooping up Amelia. “Stay away from my daughter.”
“Dad? Who are you talking about?” Amelia stretches out her neck, staring after Grover as we funnel out of the cave to the waiting helicopter.
Outside the wind burns my face, and I close my eyes against the shock of brightness—sunlight on snow, but I’m just so thrilled to be free of that dark hole that I force my eyes open. I want to see the blue sky and breathe in the cool, clean air. I’m never going into another cave as long as I live.
“Wait,” Dad says. “I need to let your mother know.” He pulls a walkie-talkie from his cargo pants. “Momma Bear, this is Papa Bear. Come in.” He gives me a wink.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Marcum!—just tell me straight!”
“Safe and sound. They’re…perfect.” He blinks away tears. “We’ll meet you at the hospital. Over.”
There’s crying and incoherent speech on the other end. I hate what I’ve put them through.
“Dad?” I have to yell over the sound of the blades. “I’m..” I swallow the lump in my throat. “…so sorry. You trusted me, and I… seriously deserve like… a year of grounding.”
Dad holds Andrew in one arm, wrapping me up in the other. “Darcie girl, you’re the bravest, most amazing sister Andrew could ever have. You’re a hero.” He swallows. “… we’re so thankful. For now, let’s just get you home.”
Andrew clings to Dad’s neck, and I’m wrapped around his side. He lifts us into the helicopter. I sit opposite Amelia and her father, who aren’t saying a word. Dad hops in and slides the door shut.
Across the way, rangers carry Grover’s stretcher to a separate helicopter. Police officers with holstered weapons walk on either side. Taking him to jail isn’t right. I mean, he did take Andrew—but he also saved us. He’s the hero, and heroes aren’t supposed to get arrested.
Once the doors close, the warmth inside the helicopter cabin hits us like a wall of safety, and suddenly we can’t stop talking. We tell all of it—the creepy, gross, and terrifying parts—but also the good and really beautiful parts. Our dads are quiet—listening to every word.
“We have to help him.” I say. “He can’t go to jail for this—we’re alive because of him.” My voice wobbles. “He’s…a good guy—just a little messed up.”
Amelia’s father tightens his jaw. She sees it too. Something isn’t adding up.
Andrew pops his thumb from his mouth and sits up straight, all serious. “He my friend.”
And something about the way he says it—so purely Andrew—makes the whole helicopter go quiet, even the blades.