Part 8 (1/2)

”Of course,” Devon cautioned, ”we don't know for sure that's where Tommy is.”

But I knew in my gut that it was. All that stuff about spirits and dreams, and visiting other worlds . . . it fit too well. Something strange was going on, and this place was at the center of it.

I felt a flutter of excitement in the pit of my stomach. Like you feel when you are about to step off a high diving board for the first time. Fear and elation all tangled up together.

”You're going to go there,” Rita said. Not a question.

I didn't respond.

”Whatever's going on there probably won't be aboveground,” she warned. ”And we can hardly just wander in the main entrance without being noticed.”

”They built a new entrance in 1936,” Devon reminded her. ”That means that somewhere there may be an old one that's still accessible. If we can locate that . . .” He turned back to the computer and started typing again.

”You two don't have to go,” I said quietly. ”He's not your brother.”

”Hey.” Rita glared at me. ”This isn't just about your brother, okay? Devon and I are on the same hit list you are. So are a lot of our friends. So on the off chance there's something out there that will tell us what's going on-and why-I sure as h.e.l.l want to be there when you find it.”

Devon nodded as he typed. ”This may take a while, Jesse. Why don't you go take a shower, get changed . . .” The words trailed off as he focused on the computer.

Get ready to leave this place of safety. Get ready to invade dark places where dangerous people-dangerous creatures-might reside.

I started to protest, but then stopped myself. There was nothing I could do in this living room right now that would make our situation any better, and meanwhile, I wanted to get clean so badly I could taste it. So I went and collected the clothes they'd left out for me, and a fluffy white guest towel, and headed off to the bathroom to wash off the mixture of soot and sweat and fear that clung to my skin. A lot of fear.

The latter didn't wash away completely, but I tried my best.

Night was falling; the woods surrounding us were dim, like a photo that had faded over time. A breeze stirred my newly washed hair, scattering droplets of water across the shoulders of my camo T-s.h.i.+rt. Yeah, camo: the kind of thing you wear when you want to hide out in the woods. That tells you something about what those two were thinking when they shopped for me.

Prescient of them.

Devon came out onto the narrow deck and joined me at the railing.

”Find anything useful?” I asked.

”An old map. Won't know how accurate it is until we get there. I cached a satellite image of the local terrain.”

I hesitated. ”Do your parents know we're here?”

”My dad knows I'm here. He thinks I'm off hiking this week, using the cabin as a base of operations. Hopefully we'll be back before he realizes that isn't the case. My mother . . .” He paused. ”She died a few years ago.”

”I'm so sorry.”

He shrugged stiffly. ”Beltway collision. Still hard to accept.” He offered me the phone. ”You want to try your mom?”

I hesitated. I did want to talk to my mother, more than anything in the world. She must have been going crazy not knowing where I was. But the mere thought of taking the phone from him made my hand start shaking, as the full implications of our situation hit home: Whoever wanted to kill me must surely have realized by now that the fire had failed, and they'd be looking for me, to try again. If they were smart they'd be watching my mother's every move, possibly even tapping her phone. The one sure way to find me.

I might have been willing to take a chance with my own life, but they'd proven they were willing to kill my family to get to me, and I didn't want to put her in danger.

I'm sorry, Mom. I blinked back tears as I waved off Devon's offer. I'm sorry I can't tell you that I'm okay. I know it must be tearing you to pieces inside, not to know what happened to me.

”Hey,” he said gently. ”It's okay. We'll be back soon enough. Maybe with enough solid evidence to give to the police. That's the goal, right?”

”And what if something goes wrong along the way?” I whispered. ”What if we don't come back? No one will ever know what happened to us.”

He nodded, and I got the sense that this was something he'd already considered. ”We can leave a note in the cabin. If I don't check in for a few days my dad will start to worry, and eventually he'll come out here and find it. That'll give us enough time to check out the caverns without interference, but also guarantee that we get backup eventually, in case anything goes wrong.”

I nodded dully. It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was the best we were likely to come up with.

”You could leave a letter for your mother,” he offered. ”I'm sure my dad would deliver it.”

”Thanks,” I whispered.

He hesitated, then put his hand over mine. It felt strong and certain and it vibrated with positive energy. I tried to draw strength from it.

”C'mon,” he said. ”We need to head out to Front Royal while the Walmart is still open.”

In my letter, I told Mom everything. Never mind how crazy some of it sounded when you put it in writing; if she got this letter it would mean that the worst had happened, in which case she had to know it all. I even drew her a picture of Tommy's kidnapper. I tried to make him look realistic, but he still came out looking like a s.p.a.ce alien in a hoodie. My hand shook as I drew Tommy's small body draped over his shoulder.

I hope you never have to read this, I thought, as I sealed my letter and put it beside Devon's. I hope we come back soon enough that no one even knows we were gone.

Rita didn't leave a letter for anyone.

9.

FRONT ROYAL.

VIRGINIA.

RITA'S CAR WAS A SLEEK BLACK AUDI, which was not what I'd expected. Turned out it wasn't her car after all. I figured that out when we stopped in a bad neighborhood in Front Royal so she could leave it on the street with the key in the ignition. She wiped the steering wheel down carefully first, then the door handles and gear s.h.i.+ft, removing her fingerprints with a thoroughness that suggested she'd done that kind of thing before. Maybe her prints were ”in the system.”

She caught my eye as she slid into the back seat of Devon's SUV, apparently reading some kind of challenge in my expression. ”I was worried about you that night,” she said defiantly. ”I wanted to see if anyone was casing your house. What was I supposed to do, walk?”

I muttered something that I hoped was appropriate. I honestly didn't know what to say to someone who would steal a car just to take a trip across town, though I was certainly grateful she'd done it.

The trip to Walmart was apparently so we could stock up on bottled water. And backpacks to put the water in. And flashlights. And rope. And chalk. And three of those folding utility knives that have all sorts of household tools tucked into them.

”Are you expecting to get lost in a cavern?” I asked Devon, trying to keep my tone light.

”No one ever expects to get lost in a cavern,” he pointed out reasonably.

He told us that if there was anything Rita and I thought we should pack, that he'd left out, we should go get it. So I headed over to the hardware department, because, as every fan of Mythbusters knows, the single most important thing to have with you in unfamiliar territory is duct tape. Rita disappeared into Housewares and soon returned with three large kitchen knives. They were the kind you see in horror movies, when the heroine is being hunted by a killer inside her own house, and she searches in the kitchen drawer for the deadliest looking weapon she can find. They were long and triangular and surely would scare off the most hardened serial killer.