“I think so.”
“Call Sugar. Find out what number she rented.” I look at the seemingly endless rows of campers. “We’ll start banging on doors.”
Pete dials Sugar’s number and Justin and Nick flank me on both sides. “Do you think we’ll get to her in time?” Justin asks, I’ve never heard him so worried.
I almost say that I don’t know. I almost cry in anguish and punch them both in the face. Instead I grit my teeth and declare, “We don’t have a choice,” before banging on the first camper door.
33
Summer
It’s the shift in Avery’s dark, evil, eyes that makes me think of my mother. Not how upset she’ll be, or the pain and guilt she’ll feel when everything’s revealed. It’s the fact that she’s a survivor. A winner. And she raised me to be one, too.
My mind latches onto this when I feel his dank, hot breath on my face, feel the perverse erection in his pants, see the glint of metal in his hand. He tears the front of my dress, exposing my chest, and touches the tip of the blade to the thin flesh covering my chest. I cry into my gag, the pain excruciating, the blood hot and dripping betwee
n my breasts. Avery laughs at me, then touches the knife to his tongue, licking the bloody tip. It’s the laughter that wakes me up, ignites the anger, and on a surge of adrenaline I smash my head into the blade, pushing it into his mouth.
His pain creates a roar in the tiny camper that I hope is loud enough for someone, anyone, to hear.
“Fucking bitch,” he says, but it’s mush-mouthed and blood dribbles down his lips. He spits bloody saliva on the floor and I dart to the door. It’s futile—totally pointless in the tiny, cramped space. My hands are bound, the door is locked, but I have to try.
The mouth injury doesn’t stop him and he lunges for me, grabbing me by my linked wrists. He stumbles, shouting, crashing to the floor, and I see that Shay has stretched her long, strong legs onto the floor, twisting them with his own. The blade falls to the ground, clattering metal on linoleum. With the jerk of her knees, she kicks it in my direction.
My hands are useless so I kick the old metal and wood door, screaming beneath the gag. Avery scrambles to his feet, crushing Shay’s legs, coming for me. I can’t get out of the door. I can’t use my hands but there’s a tiny couch built into the camper wall, just behind the kitchen table. I jump on it, scattering his tools to the floor.
“Stop!” he shouts. “You’re ruining everything!”
I bring my knee into the cardboard-covered window, feeling the pain ricochet up my thigh. I do it again and again, gagging on the cotton in my mouth, focusing to getting out of this alive. The cardboard weakens, falling from the window, bathing the filthy room in light. I kick the window and it cracks, but he grabs me off the couch and pulls me backward, tripping over Shay’s legs again before crashing into the wall. He pins me there, breathing hot and dank in my face, his hands caging me in painfully. Shay writhes on the floor.
“I should have killed you straight off, just like Gaskins would have done, you filthy, worthless whore.”
I feel the sharp point of a blade against my throat and I close my eyes, saying a prayer, one for Shay, my mother, the boys, and everyone else I care about.
“Tell my grandfather hello,” he whispers in my ear, but it’s followed by a gasp, a cough and a weird gurgling in my ear.
My eyes fly open and I see the sharp line of confusion between his beady eyes. A second later he falls, pushed aside, and Shay takes his place. In her hands, coated in blood, she holds a knife. It’s long and curved, deadly, and now covered in blood. His blood.
“Come on,” she says, yanking the cotton out of my mouth and dragging me toward the door. I take a huge panicked gulp of air while she fights with the lock, cursing and crying. The whole time I’m looking over my shoulder, waiting for him to get back up, to come after us again, but he doesn’t move.
When the lock gives and the door finally opens, sunlight welcomes us. I open my mouth to shout for help, but there’s a figure at the end of the row. Four figures.
“Over here!”
I feel the blood running down my belly. I feel Shay’s fingers in mine. I hear the voices of the boys I love, their footsteps mingled with my heartbeat, and as I fall to my knees I feel them around me and know I’m going to be okay.
34
Pete
We’ve never been good indoors, caged-up and waiting. It’s why my degree will keep me working outside and Justin’s business degree is a means to managing the marina. It’s why Whit feels stifled in that gray Citadel uniform, strapped with weapons and history, and Nick runs for miles and miles each and every day.
Waiting in the hospital is the worst kind of cage—a literal barrier sits between us and Summer, who we haven’t seen since the ambulance carried her away from the campground. Julia rode with her, holding her daughter’s hand. All we know is that she’s alive but injured. Her mind maybe as much as her body. Whit paces, worried, stressed, and angry. Justin broods, head lowered in his hands.
Nick dozes on the couch, blocking out the world, charging himself up for when she’s ready to see us. If she’s ready to see us.
I stare down the long, quiet hall. It’s hard to believe we were here earlier in the day celebrating Anita and Bobby’s new baby. Now we’re here standing vigil for the girl we love.
We heard a little about what happened, the terrible things he said, the awful things he planned to do, as Shay described them to police. Her voice shook and the officer turned her away as Avery’s body was carried from the camper, face covered. Before she got in the ambulance herself, she stopped and grabbed Nicks arm. “He said things about her relationship with you that I didn’t tell the police.” Her eyes flicked over the four of us. “Things that may get in her head.”