 
### Survival in Style

### by Emily Asad

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Emily Asad

1st Edition

Cover Art Copyright: Lynne Hansen 2012

http://lynnehansen.zenfolio.com

http://lynnehansen.com

Other books by this author at www.smashwords.com

Code Name: Whatever

Destination Paraguay

Dedicated to Steve and Suzy Hames for making me sample wild foods, and to Chris and Cory for not letting me chicken out

Special thanks to Sarah Frank Brunn for the encouragement

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only, and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to www.smashwords.com to purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Boundary Waters

Chapter 2: Bullet Holes

Chapter 3: Traces

Chapter 4: The Ranger

Chapter 5: Secrets

Chapter 6: Plea Bargains

Chapter 7: Distractions

Chapter 8: Moonbeams and Memories

Chapter 9: Pressing On

Chapter 10: Nightfall

Chapter 11: Limping Progress

Chapter 12: Strength

Chapter 13: Enemy

Chapter 14: Fire Island

Chapter 15: Eternity

Chapter 16: Red, White and Blue

Chapter 17: Better Than Normal

Chapter 1: Boundary Waters

"Oh, for cute. Look at the giant otter!" gurgled my mother in that too-sweet voice she uses when she's sure of victory. We'd been driving for almost six hours. The trip from Minneapolis to Fergus Falls should have taken three, tops, but Mom insisted on stopping at every little antique shop along the way. I knew her game. She wanted to make me late for my plane.

I looked out the window. Sure enough, there was a sign that said "Grotto Park," and beyond it was the largest cement otter I'd ever seen. "Big deal," I mumbled.

"I bet he's about forty feet long. What do you think, Alana?" When I did not answer, she elbowed me. "What do you think?"

"Yeah, Mom. He's enormous."

"You hungry? I'm sure there's a buffet somewhere."

I wasn't about to tell her how hungry I was. I had eaten a light breakfast because I don't like long road trips, much less flying. We had already missed my flight; it was supposed to leave at 10:55 and it was already 1:30. Another hour wouldn't have made a difference, but it was the principal of the thing that made me just want to get there with no further detours. "Airport, please," I said through gritted teeth.

"Whatever makes you happy," Mom replied, trying to keep that little smile off her face.

Ten minutes later we pulled into the Einar Mickleson airfield, a tiny little strip in the middle of nowhere. The runway was empty.

Mom pulled to a stop in front of the main building. "Oh, too bad, baby. Guess you'll be spending the summer with me."

I sat there, fuming, trying to think of something to say. Anything. Words came to mind - _unforgivable, selfish, betrayal_ \- but I knew that if I voiced them, she'd give some perfectly reasonable explanation that would leave her looking like the victim and me looking like a criminal. It's not like I don't understand why she doesn't want me to visit my father; it's just that I don't agree with her reasons.

See, she and my dad were high-school sweethearts. They met in tenth grade and dated all the way through prom, when Mom got pregnant with me, so they got married. Mom babysat me during the day and worked at night so they could afford to put Dad through college. It was supposed to be her turn when he graduated, but somehow life kept getting out of control. The funny thing is that I remember them both being so happy and always laughing with each other when I was younger. They're both artists, you know, and I think that's what attracted them to each other - but I also think it's what drove them apart. When Dad's jewelry lines started gaining popularity, he attracted a sponsor who paid him good money to experiment with form and materials. A real dream come true for someone like my dad. But Mom's dreams always got pushed to the corner. She wanted to be a costume designer. While her costumes were sometimes featured in plays around town - all the schools including the college knew that she was a great seamstress \- she only ever found steady work as a wedding-gown designer, working for Mrs. Nelson, a sweet lady who's a year younger than my mom. So Dad got to design his own creations, and Mom got stuck working on other people's ideas.

They started arguing when I turned eleven, right after Dad got his sponsorship. And when his name started appearing in jewelry magazines, they started fighting. The paperwork for their divorce was finalized last summer - on my fifteenth birthday. What a horrible birthday present, right? But Dad had to fly to Italy and wouldn't be back for a month, and Mom was in a hurry to move on. My birthday just happened to be the only day they could both agree on.

So for the past year, they've used me like a bullet to shoot insults at each other. Mom won't let me forget that Dad's the one who left and ruined my birthday, and Dad won't let me forget that he can now afford to give me everything I've ever wanted. That's probably why he invited me to his cabin in Ontario for the summer, to make up for my birthday last year. I don't care what his reasons are. I miss him and I'll do anything to see him.

But how was I supposed to explain that to my mother? She won't let me say anything nice about him while she's around. So I sat there in the car, fumbling for words, watching my entire summer slip away.

"We passed Mable Murphy's," Mom said, pushing on the gas pedal. "Looked like a decent restaurant. Let's go get lunch before we head home."

I don't know what possessed me. Maybe it was the fact that arguing with Mom was useless. Maybe it was how fast the car was picking up speed. I just snatched my backpack, opened the car door, and jumped onto the sidewalk.

The car lurched to a stop.

"What are you doing?" Mom called through my open door.

I lost my balance and fell to the sidewalk, splitting my jeans and skinning my knee. I didn't care. I slung my backpack over my shoulder as I headed inside. Knowing that Mom would park the car somewhere rather than get a ticket, I used my precious few minutes to find the Boundary Waters airline counter. It was easy to find in such a small airport.

"Excuse me," I gasped, rushing to the counter, "but I missed my flight and I need to reschedule. Can you help me?"

She held out her hand. "You betcha. Do ya have your ticket?"

I nearly laughed when I heard her broad Minnesotan accent, which is much stronger up in the northern parts of the state than it is in Minneapolis. But I held my tongue and passed it to her.

"Alana Morgan?"

"That's me."

"Oh, _you're_ Alana Morgan," she nodded, as if we had met before. "Hold on. I think the pilot was holding the flight for you."

"Really?"

"Yah, sure. Let me call him."

While I waited for her to place the call, I glanced over my shoulder, nervous and hopeful at the same time. Sure enough, Mom had parked and was walking through the large glass doors toward me.

She may drive me nuts, but my mother also makes me jealous sometimes. She's gorgeous. And I don't mean in that "older-woman" way. I mean that she's _gorgeous_ , the way her reddish-brown hair forms a halo around her head, the way she walks gracefully through a crowd, like she's floating instead of using feet. I inherited her high cheekbones and mahogany hair, but people always tell me how much I have my father's nose. I also got his light brown eyes instead of her glorious green, and my hair refuses to be controlled. Plus I never float; I'm more likely to trip instead.

She stormed toward me, her lips pressed together in the thin line that told me she wasn't quite angry yet, but that if I caused any more trouble, she'd indulge her dark side.

I took a few steps away from the counter so she wouldn't hear the attendant on the phone.

"Alana, your jeans!" Mom scolded, casting a glance at my knee.

I knew she wasn't referring to my bleeding skin, but rather to the fact that she had spent several hours designing and tailoring those jeans for me. They were her favorites, which is why I wore them today, just like I wore the olive green shirt to bring out the highlights in my eyes, and my new (and very uncomfortable) brown leather hiking boots with wool trim. For Mom, appearance means a great deal. I prefer comfort, but I'd also prefer to not start battles, which is why I let her pick my travel outfit in the first place.

"It doesn't hurt," I said in a tight voice. "They're calling to see if they can reschedule."

Mom pasted a martyred expression on her face. "Wouldn't that be nice? But you know how remote your father's cabin is, so far away from everything that's comfortable and safe. There won't be another flight until next week."

I felt my dam of emotional control bursting, and I fought to control it. "You would know, wouldn't you? We could have drive over to Duluth, where there are several flights. It's the same distance from Minneapolis as it here. But no. You wanted this to happen, didn't you?" When she did not meet my gaze, I knew it was true.

"But think, darling," she murmured. "Now you can spend your sixteenth birthday with me. Won't that be special?"

"Just dandy."

"Don't pout. Maybe this will make you feel better." She fished around in her big purse and pulled out a gift-wrapped box the size of a large coffee mug. "It's from your father. He wanted you to wear it for your flight, but now you can wear it for me, hmm?"

I stared at the box. "Is that the present Dad emailed me about, two weeks ago?"

No answer.

"Have you been hiding it this whole time?"

No answer.

I felt my own lips tighten into a thin line. "Were you going to give it to me if I got on the plane?"

She hesitated, and then replied, "No. The jewels in here are too expensive. What if you got mugged?"

"Seriously?" I said, my voice rising. "Who gets mugged on an airplane?"

"Shh! Keep your voice down." She smiled at the few people who were looking in our direction. She lowered her own voice to a whisper. "You can have it when we get home. How about opening it tonight?"

"I'll take it now, thank you." I held out my hand and locked eyes with her.

The attendant interrupted our silent showdown. "Miss? He's on his way over right now. You're his only passenger for the next few days, so he waited. You can go out to the tarmac whenever you're ready."

Mom looked stricken, like her sewing basket had just exploded. I took the opportunity to snatch the present from her hand. "Lead the way," I told the attendant.

Mom grabbed my arm. "You are not getting on that plane."

I ripped my arm out of her grasp, wondering who was the child in this relationship. "I'll call you when I get there," I said.

She pointed at the box. "That's thirty _thousand_ dollars of jewels," she whispered. "At least leave it with me so I can keep it safe."

I balked. Would Dad really have sent me something so expensive? "It's probably just some earrings," I told her.

"No, I looked at them when they arrived. It's an entire set. And before you ask me what I was doing opening your present, let me tell you something. I was married to that man for almost fifteen years so I know as much about jewelry as he does. They're not fake. I won't let you do this."

"If Dad wanted me to wear them when I meet him, then that's what I'll do. Please, Mom? I'll put them on for the flight and take them off as soon as I get there. Please?"

"I said... Oh, but if I say it again, you'll get all angry and say I never let you do anything. Fine, then. But tell you father I think this is too much responsibility for a child."

"So does this mean you'll let me go after all?"

No answer. I pressed my luck. "Look, I'm getting on the plane now. Do you want to walk me out or not?"

By the look on her face, I could tell she was crafting some argument that would make me feel super guilty for abandoning her. But then, to my surprise, she nodded. "I'll go get your luggage," she said.

I waited at the counter, halfway wondering if she was going to get in the car and abandon me, but she returned with my rolling suitcase and a large bundle wrapped in gold foil. "You father's not the only one who can give gifts." She shoved the bundle into my arms. "Open mine first."

I put Dad's box onto the counter and unwrapped her gift.

"I guess you won't like mine at all now," she sniffed. "I can't afford stuff like that."

A large piece of hunter green cloth tumbled into my hands. I shook it out, revealing hidden lines of Velcro and some tiny gold tassels dangling from a hood. "A cloak?"

"It goes with your father's present. I couldn't let him outshine me. Here, put it on."

I nearly protested. After all, it was late June, and too warm to wear a cloak. But Mom was already pouting, so I let her slip the poncho over my shoulders.

"I love how the sun picks up the red in your hair," she murmured, pushing me into a sunbeam that lit up the tiles on the floor. "Do you want me to explain it to you?"

Through the window beyond the attendant, I could see a little white airplane roll up to the gate. I guessed that it was my ride. I had kept them waiting long enough. "I'll figure it out. It's great, Mom. I love it."

"Do you?"

I gave her a hug. To my surprise, she was shaking.

"Don't forget to call," she said. She held my hand as we walked out to the runway. When she saw a young man in faded jeans and farm boots standing near my plane, she called, "Yoo-hoo! Young man. Come here."

As he approached, I could see that he was my age, maybe a little older, with thick black hair stuffed under a worn-out baseball cap. His eyes were a snapping black color, striking against his lightly tanned skin. I tried not to stare - really, I did - but he had the sort of face that people look at twice. He touched the brim of his cap in the old-fashioned way my father does when he meets people on the sidewalk. "Ma'am?"

She held out a ten-dollar bill. "See that this luggage gets safely packed, will you? And be careful. It's fragile." At his hesitation, she said, "Go on. I bet it's the only tip you'll get all day. Or were you waiting for a twenty?"

He arched an eyebrow. "I don't work here. But I'd be glad to help - free of charge." He took my luggage and reached for my backpack.

I shook my head, embarrassed, and tried to get my suitcase away from him.

Mom continued to hold out the money. "Take it anyway."

"Northern hospitality," he said, and then walked toward the plane.

"Mother, that was awful of you," I growled.

"He's just a local. He'll get over it." She patted my back and then turned away.

"You're not staying to wave goodbye?"

"What for? You're not staying, so why should I?"

As she floated away, I heard her call over her shoulder, "Keep your phone charged. You never know when I'll call you."

Probably every minute of every day, I thought. I waved at her even though she wasn't looking.

"You coming?" called the young man. "Or do you need me to carry you, too?"

I blushed and started toward the plane.

Chapter 2: Bullet Holes

The plane was so small that there were no overhead storage compartments, so I had to shove my backpack underneath my seat. With four seats to choose from - two facing backward, right behind the cockpit, and two facing the cockpit itself - I figured I'd have plenty of room to stretch my legs. I didn't realize that I was frowning until the pilot said, "Great, another spoiled rich brat with plenty of attitude. I waited three hours for this?"

"No, you waited three hours so you could get paid," the young man said, taking the co-pilot's seat as if he belonged there.

"Thank you," I said, but my words got lost in the echo of the engine.

The boy must have thought that the roar covered his voice, too, because he said, "She's kind of pretty, Chris. This could be a good trip."

I pretended like I didn't hear him. "How long is the flight?" I called. They didn't hear me, so I had to call louder.

"Three hours," the boy replied. He turned and flashed me a friendly grin, which, to my surprise, caused my stomach to do a flip-flop.

Chris thumped him on the shoulder. "Tony. No flirting with the customers," he grunted. "Now hand me that checklist."

Tony winked at me before passing a clipboard to the pilot.

Embarrassed and flattered at the same time, I looked around the cabin and spotted my suitcase secured behind the seats in a webbed net. I considered throwing my cloak back there, too, but then I realized it was kind of chilly on the plane. I was glad Mom made me wear it.

The pilot noticed me looking around. "Your suitcase is in the net," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "Tony didn't drop it or anything."

"Thanks," I said

"And he didn't steal anything, either."

I wiggled around on one of the forward-facing seats, trying to find a comfortable position before fastening my seat belt.

The pilot continued to watch me. "Not cushiony enough for you?"

"I drove up from Minneapolis this morning. I've been sitting for a while."

"Well, it'll be another three hours," he said, sarcasm thick in his voice. "Were you expecting a flying limousine?"

"This is good," I mumbled. Why was he being so mean? Was it because Mom had made me so late? "Thanks for waiting," I said again.

He just shrugged.

"Lay off, Chris," said Tony. "She doesn't know you're joking."

I turned my face to the window in an attempt to tune out Chris's further comments. If that was his style of joking, I'd hate to earn his real disapproval. Was it my clothes? A lot of kids at school called me a rich snob, which couldn't be farther from the truth. It's true that I carry a purse and a backpack that look like designer fashions, and that my clothes are perfectly tailored. But that's because Mom insists on making my wardrobe herself. She says I'm her best source of advertisement, and even if she doesn't sell anything, I'm still her living dolly. I guess you could say that I'm her only dream come true, which is why I don't fuss too much.

Don't get me wrong. I love her clothes; she always chooses the most comfortable materials, and everything is always the right size. But sometimes I resent my wardrobe, too. I'm more of a nerd at heart, but the other nerds at school don't hang around me because they think I'm one of the cheerleaders. The cheerleaders don't like me because I'm too quiet and I always have my nose in a book. And half the time, I don't like myself. I'm not the person I want to be. I wish I were more outgoing and friendly, instead of so shy. I wish I could just waltz into a party and make people smile, but the truth is that I hate small talk and I hate parties and I'd rather be playing my guitar or sketching landscapes. Mom's clothes are a constant reminder of elegance and sophistication, or the way I want to be, instead of how I am now. Sometimes I wish she'd just let me wear something lazy, like a tee-shirt and sweatpants. Instead, she wraps me up in a living sermon; when I wear her clothes, I'm supposed to be ladylike.

I didn't blame the pilot for thinking I was the sort of person I dressed to be. But if he had looked past the clothes into my heart, he'd have seen that I was just a lonely kid who hated flying, and only did it to go see her dad.

I squeezed my eyes shut as the plane climbed high into the sky, pushing me back into my seat. The noise in the cabin was deafening, and the plane felt as if it would shake itself to pieces any minute. The strong scent of fuel made my stomach churn; I was glad I had skipped lunch, because I might have made a mess otherwise.

When we leveled out, the farm squares below looked like brown and green patches on a quilt. I squeezed Dad's present so hard that the sides got dented. To take my mind off the constant vibrations of the plane, I read the note that was attached to the wrapping.

_To my cupcake on her 16_ th _birthday. Wilderness Glamour Prototype: my latest collection. Wear it when you meet me. Can't wait to take you camping. Dad._

I grinned. Wilderness Glamour? It was an awful name, but it sounded exciting. I opened it up. There were several pieces inside - earrings, a bracelet, a watch, a ring, a belt with a fancy buckle, even a necklace of sorts. Most of it was easy to figure out, like the belt. Its woven fabric had hidden little pouches of moist wipes, bug spray, matches in a plastic tube, and tiny first-aid items. There was no denying Dad's fascination with woodland fairies; the golden belt buckle was etched with miniature runes and dainty Celtic designs. Those same designs were repeated in the earrings, which doubled as fishing lures.

I didn't see much of a market for the belt or earrings, but the ring-watch was adorable. Made of platinum and eighteen-carat gold, it was encrusted with diamonds, and there were ruby dots for each cardinal direction. I pointed my finger around the cabin and watched as the compass kept steady with North.

The brooch was a tube the size of my thumb, gold like the other pieces, and covered with a delicate vine design. I squeezed and pushed and shook it; nothing happened. Finally it occurred to me to flip it open. It was a petite cigarette lighter. Since my parents would have killed me if I ever tried to smoke, I had to imagine myself lighting a bonfire instead. I pinned it to my cloak, aware of the ironic symbolism of Mom's cloak and Dad's jewelry complimenting each other so nicely. I hoped it wouldn't be the last time Mom and Dad would be in the same place together.

A sudden bit of turbulence made the tiny airplane shake and then drop. My gifts nearly spilled off my lap. I decided to wear them for safe-keeping. It wasn't easy getting the earrings on without a mirror, but the belt was comfortable enough.

Some of the pieces confused me. The watch told time, of course, but I couldn't figure out the other buttons. One of them began pulsing a bright blue light when I pressed it. No matter what I pressed, I couldn't turn it off. The crystal face lifted off, and I remembered how Dad had once mentioned burning ants with a magnifying glass as a boy. It snapped back into place easily. I didn't mess with any of the time zones because Dad had already set it. Then I put it on my wrist and checked out the other pieces.

After staring at the necklace for a while, I remembered Dad's penchant for hidden springs. When I pushed on its sides with my thumb, it popped open. There were three fishhooks and some fishing line inside. I shook them out, revealing a tiny picture of Dad and me on one side and the inscription "Happy 16th" on the other. The locket part was obvious, but his choice of chain puzzled me. It was stiff and encrusted with a really rough powder - diamond powder, I suspected. Instead of a traditional hook clasp, it had two rings big enough for me to stick my thumbs through. I didn't like it, but Dad asked me to wear it, so I did. But I'd be taking it off as soon as I saw him.

Now, the bracelet was the ugliest things I'd ever seen! Set in the center of a two-inch-wide bronze wristlet, it had an unformed, unpolished stone of dull gray that couldn't possibly be a gemstone or anything else precious. It was cold and heavy and didn't seem to do anything. Its raised edge wasn't even sharp enough to cut anything. I decided to ask Dad about it.

I'd been up since five that morning, so I let my eyelids close. The crinkling sound of peanut packets being dropped in the empty seat next to me forced them open.

"Sorry," Tony said, staring down at me. "Didn't mean to wake you. Thought you might be getting hungry."

I blinked, disoriented by his magnetic black eyes. Realizing that I was staring at him, I turned my attention to the peanuts. "Thanks. How much longer?"

"About two hours. We're nearing the Canadian border right now. You did bring your passport, right?"

I nodded.

"Good. Get back to sleep, if you can." He ducked back into the cockpit.

I couldn't help but notice how nicely his shirt stretched across his back, his shoulder blades causing his muscles to ripple under the fabric. He was definitely what my friends would call a hottie. Still, I had to frown when Chris took his hands off the controls and handed the plane over to Tony. Was this a flight lesson, and I was part of an experiment? I wanted to object, but nobody could hear me up there anyway, and Chris would probably make more fun of me. So I sat there, tense, to see how long Tony would fly the plane. It wasn't long, maybe two minutes, but it felt like forever. I was glad when Chris took the controls back.

Down below, the scenery had changed from farmland to forest. Gone were the straight brown lines in plowed fields. Gone were the occasional farmhouses, or even any houses of any sort. The pine trees were so thick that I couldn't see the ground, except for the occasional lake. It was like flying over an ocean of green, with trees in all directions as far as I could see.

A glint of sunshine caught my attention. I spotted a helicopter not far from our airplane. It was so close that I could make out the pilot in the cockpit and two men strapped in side chairs with their legs dangling out the open door. I waved at them.

They raised rifles and pointed toward the plane.

"I didn't know people hunted from helicopters," I shouted.

Chris laughed at me. "You can't hunt from a helicopter," he replied. "Too high up."

"Hunters?" Tony asked, craning his neck to see.

"Maybe they're hunting birds," I suggested.

"And how are they going to retrieve those birds, princess?" Chris pointed out.

"Well, they're pointing at something," I insisted. Just then, I saw silent yellow sunbursts around the muzzles of the rifles. "Us!" I cried. "They're pointing at us!"

"Swerve!" Tony ordered, putting his hand over Chris's on the controls.

We swerved, but not fast enough. A bullet ricocheted off the propeller. Chris slumped forward, limp, causing us to veer sharply off course - which was a good thing, since the next volley of gunfire missed us. Even so, I whacked my head on the window hard enough to see a blank wall of white with sparkly blue stars for a few seconds.

"I knew they'd find me," Tony said.

I didn't have to strain to hear the panic in his voice.

Tony shook Chris, trying to wake him up. It was no use. "Help me," he called.

I stared at Chris. Bright splotches of blood blossomed around the neck of his white shirt. My stomach clenched. "I can't," I gasped.

Tony turned to face me. "Help me or we'll crash."

The quiet seriousness of his voice scared me more than the rifles or the blood. I unlatched my seat belt and climbed into the seat behind the pilot. I closed my eyes as I grabbed Chris's shoulders, pulling him into an upright sitting position. "Is he... dead?"

Tony just nodded as he grasped the controls. "Try to stay down."

As if that would help! The walls were only an inch thin.

It was a nauseating game of zig-zag. Tony alternated his pulls and pushes, causing the little plane to lurch up or plunge down. We seemed to be outmaneuvering the shooters until several bullets tore into the tail of our plane.

"Why are they shooting at us?" I asked.

"Bad guys," Tony answered, as if that explained everything.

"No. Really?" I wanted to be more sarcastic, but I felt my stomach clench. I've always hated flying, and this was my worst fear coming true. The next steep drop bucked me so high into the air that I knocked my head on the ceiling. My bumpy landing back on the floor was all I needed to start vomiting - right into Dad's empty gift box. I knew I'd be covered in bruises and probably have a concussion, too, if we survived this. If we survived? The realization that I could actually die washed over me like ice in my veins. "Oh, my God. We're going to die."

When my stomach stopped squeezing, I put the lid on Dad's box and prayed that it would stay closed. Then I crawled back up to the seat. "We're going to die," I announced.

"Not yet," Tony said. His face, drawn and white, told me that he was just as scared as me.

"Well, who are they? Why are they shooting at us? What do they want?"

"Look," he said, his words clipped, "I can either fly or talk. Which will it be?"

I glanced at Chris to see if he was blocking the controls again. From his slumped angle, I knew he was dead. I turned around and fastened my seat belt. The sharp scent of fuel tickled my nose. "We're leaking gas," I told Tony.

"Hold on," he said, and I heard him muttering to himself. "Left rudder, left turn..."

We banked, giving me a clear view of the helicopter again. They were so close. They fired at us, and Tony sank forward onto the controls. Our plane began a nosedive. One of the men waved bye-bye to me and I watched, helpless, as they cut a wide u-turn in the sky and flew away.

The ground was coming up awfully fast. Everything was so clear - two small lakes on one side, a hill with a bare patch and a large boulder, a doll-sized cabin off in the distance with white smoking coming out its chimney... I felt a strange sense of calm, almost like I wanted to laugh instead of scream, until I touched Dad's brooch pinned to Mom's cloak. Then I lost it. "Tony? Tony?" I twisted my neck to look over my seat. "Please don't be dead," I begged.

He sat up. "Had to play dead, or they never would have left." He grabbed the controls and tried to pull the plane's nose up. Nothing.

"I thought you could fly this thing," I said.

"Fly, yes. Land, not yet. I only started taking lessons a month ago." He looked at me. "Better brace yourself."

The thought of our dead pilot and the stench of my own vomit made me hysterical. I remembered the radio. "Call for help."

"Can't risk it," he replied.

"What?" Dizzy with fear and vertigo, I knew he was keeping a secret. I fumbled with my seatbelt, ready to vault over the seats and get to the radio, when he spoke in a low voice.

"Looks like it's gonna be the lake, so there's hope. Cover your head."

Somewhere, out of the corner of my eye, I even spotted a single cabin with smoke rising from its chimney. The treetops were so close. We missed them all and plunged into the heart of the lake. I'd been rear-ended once in Minneapolis; some lady didn't see the stoplight, and she just ran into us. It gave me whiplash. This was way worse than the car accident. The jolt nearly knocked me unconscious.

As we sank into the water, I became very aware of things. I could smell the leaking fuel - even taste it - and I noticed little dirty flecks and swirls as the murky lake water pouring in around my ankles, my knees, my neck. Yet I couldn't move. "I never got to go camping with Dad," I said. It was my last thought as the cold water washed over my head.

Chapter 3: Traces

I don't know why I just sat there like an idiot, even when I started inhaling water and realized I was drowning. Maybe my head had gotten whacked a few too many times. All I know is that when I felt hands on my seatbelt, I remembered Tony and I didn't want him to drown trying to save me.

Somehow he guided us out of the airplane. It could have been a window, a door, or the cracked windshield; I was too busy fighting my instinct to inhale the water and trying to swim to the surface to really know for sure. Boy, did the air taste sweet! I kept coughing and coughing, and I felt like I was being dragged back down by a heavy weight.

"Take it off," Tony said in my ear.

I didn't understand. But when he started fidgeting with the clasp on my new cloak, I actually pushed him away. "My mother would kill me!"

"Suit yourself," he said, and began swimming away.

It really didn't occur to me to take it off. I'm telling you, my head was pounding and it was all I could do to paddle. I never was a good swimmer. Plus, the wet folds kept getting in the way. Instead of moving forward, toward the muddy bank, I just kept going under. Suddenly, I felt Tony's arm around my shoulders.

"Calm down," he said. "I'll get us there."

I should have helped by kicking or something. Instead, I just relaxed and let him fall into a rhythm. It's funny what a person remembers when they're faced with death. I looked up at the blue sky - not sky-blue, as my mother would have said ("Be specific, Alana, we're talking about colors here"), but more of a Columbia blue - and saw Dad's fishing boat in a cloud. I swear I heard every argument they've ever had, each word as crystal as the icy water Tony pulled us through, and yet I couldn't remember what they said.

When we reached the shore, Tony kept tugging at me. "Stand up. They'll check."

I still had no idea what he was talking about. "Just let me rest a minute."

"Not yet. We have to get under the trees."

"Hang on a second."

He hauled me to my feet. "Listen, Little Miss Concussion, you're probably not thinking straight right now, so just do as I say!"

"My name is Alana, and quit pushing me!" I shouted. My legs were already weak and trembly. I collapsed to my hands and knees.

He squatted beside me. "Please? Think about it. They just shot us out of the sky and probably watched the plane go down. And you're sitting there making _puddles_ for them to find. Don't you hear that?"

The distinct chop-chop-chop of helicopter blades punctuated the air and reminded me of what had happened before the water nearly killed me. "Oh, right," I said, feeling stupid. When he jerked me to my feet again, I didn't fight him. We ran to the nearest pine tree and scooted under its low branches.

"Be right back," he said. As he ran back to the shore, he tore up long stalks of grass and whatever other plant was growing, and then threw them on the spot where I had dripped. Then he ran back to the pine - and just in time, too.

The helicopter appeared over the treeline and dipped near the lake. They arrived just as the middle of the lake erupted into giant bubbles, like some ill-mannered water ogre belching after a meal. They skirted the shores in a slow and thorough search for us, but Tony must have hidden our traces pretty well. As soon as they completed the circle, they flew away.

We both breathed our sigh of relief at the same time. As he glanced at me, I noticed those gorgeous eyes of his again, and caught the last faint whiffs of his cologne. "Thank you," I said.

"You feeling better? We need to go."

I pushed my wet hair out of my eyes. "Where to? Do we even know where we are?"

"Doesn't matter. Anywhere is better than here."

All gratitude left me, replaced by temper. "What just happened? Are you some criminal or something?"

He didn't answer.

"Well, I suppose it's kind of a relief if they're after you," I babbled. "I thought they were after my jewelry."

"Why would anyone want your jewelry?"

I closed my hand over my new locket. "No reason. But I distinctly remember you saying 'I knew they'd find me,' which means all of this is your fault. What did you do?"

"We have to go," he repeated.

"I'm not going anywhere with a criminal." I wrapped my arm around a branch to emphasize my words.

"I'm not a criminal."

"So what, then?"

"We don't have time for this! What if they come back? Let's go!"

"I saw a cabin not far from here," I suggested. "The sun almost blinded me, so it's in that direction. Maybe it's a ranger station? Rangers are police, right? If we head there..."

"Police?" he interrupted. "I'm not so sure."

"So you _are_ a criminal."

He ran his fingers through his hair. "Look, I'm sorry I got you into this mess. Yes, it's my fault that they're after us. But I also saved your life."

I released my death grip on the branch. He did have a point. "So why not the ranger station?"

He stared at the ground a minute, thinking. "I guess it's as good a place as any," he said after a minute. "Which way did you say it was?"

I'll be honest, it made me nervous to leave the open lake, where at least I could see over the trees. As we headed deeper into the forest, I started to feel claustrophobic. Towering sugar-maple trees and thick-trunked oaks reminded me of how puny and fragile I was. Tall birch trees rattled their hard gray leaves at me, whispering secrets I'd never understand. Some of the logs we had to climb over reached my waist; at least the forest floor was thick with moss to cushion my stumbles.

As I brushed my fingers through my hair, I realized that my cloak was completely dry, unlike my shirt and jeans. "Water-resistant material," I murmured. "Way to go, Mom." I took it off and folded it over my arm so my shirt could dry out in the sunshine - at least, the little that filtered through the trees above.

Tony gestured toward my boots. "This the first time you've worn those?"

"Just bought them yesterday," I replied. "Do you like them?"

He shook his head. "Only a city girl would wear new boots for a hiking trip."

"Well, I didn't know I'd be hiking today," I retorted. "I thought I'd have a week to break them in before I went camping with my dad."

"Are they real leather?"

I glared at him. "What do you think?"

"I think they'll shape to your feet faster now, though you might get a blister or two in the process."

"That's a nice attitude," I sneered.

"Look who's talking."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I folded my arms across my chest - both to let him know I was angry, and because I was still chilly from the lake's icy water.

"I mean," he said, holding a branch for me so it wouldn't smack my face, "that you ordered me around like a servant, copped an attitude with my friend, who's now _dead_ , and you wouldn't give up your little princess cape out there, which cost me a lot of extra energy and time. You didn't even tell Chris thank you for waiting. So don't talk to me about attitude!"

"I said thank you," I replied, "but I think the engines were too loud to hear..." I broke off my sentence as I caught a glimpse of his face. He seemed really upset about Chris; maybe that's why he was being so cross.

"Doesn't matter now," he said. "Just don't expect any more rescues."

"I can take care of myself, thanks. At least I'm not some common criminal who's avoiding the police! At least tell me why we're in this mess."

He said nothing. We walked for a while, our wet boots making squishy conversation as we hiked through the pathless green overgrowth. I tried to respect his grief, if he was truly upset about his friend, but after a while the silence bothered me. "I guess this counts as my first adventure," I offered.

"Adventure is just stories about suffering told by the ones who survive," he replied.

"Boy, what a grouch," I muttered under my breath, hoping he'd hear.

If he did, he didn't respond.

I hoped we'd get to the ranger station soon.

Chapter 4: The Ranger

After about twenty minutes, I forgot to be angry. "There's the river," I pointed, relieved that I hadn't been imagining things. "The cabin shouldn't be too far from the river."

"Let's stay in the trees," Tony said. "Just in case they fly over again."

I shook my head at the irony of hiding from a helicopter. The insides of my thighs began to chafe where the wet denim had rubbed. My toes also cried for mercy from the hard leather of my new boots. I slapped a mosquito at least once a minute, and I was watching the ground for snake holes and loose rocks so much that I sometimes forgot to watch for branches. Tony did what he could, holding them back for me, but he walked so fast that sometimes the branches came slicing back with inches to spare.

When we stumbled across a real path - packed dirt, clear-cut so the only saplings that grew near were on either side - I felt some hope at last. That hope solidified when we saw a large sign that proclaimed, "Ranger Station: 2 Miles."

Tony grunted. "Miles, huh? That means we didn't cross into Canada."

The path took a sudden sharp turn away from the river bank, but we felt certain we were going in the right direction. Another bend in the path brought us a welcome surprise - a ranger, dressed in full uniform with his gray button-up shirt, green trousers, and khaki straight-brimmed hat. His gold badge glinted in a sunbeam, and he was striding straight toward us.

He looked startled. "You're alive!"

We stopped. I could practically see Tony's muscles tensing.

"Got a radio call that a plane crashed near Turtle Lake. You guys the survivors?" He stopped a few paces away from us.

"We're just out for a hike," Tony said, taking a half-step in front of me as if he was a human shield.

The ranger laughed, a bit forced. "This far out in the middle of nowhere, without any camping equipment? Good one. Nah, I got a fax with your face on it. You're Tony Wexler." He turned to me. "And who are you?"

Tony clenched a fist. "No fax with her face?"

"Not unless there was a second page," he replied. "Doesn't matter. Come on up to the cabin. You can dry your clothes there and wait for your folks to come pick you up." He reached for my hand and shook it. "Ranger Nelson, at your service. But most folks just call me Smoky."

"Like the bear?" I asked, studying him. He seemed like the sort of person accustomed to soothing wild animals, but he also seemed fake somehow, with his big toothy grin.

"Ha! Just like the bear." He turned around to lead the way.

I started to follow. Tony caught my arm.

"I don't trust him," he said, his voice so low that I had to bend close to hear. "How could he have gotten a fax so soon?"

"Maybe some campers saw our plane fall and reported it," I guessed. "I mean, surely they get cell phone service out here." I whacked my forehead, realizing that I'd left my own cell phone in my backpack, back on the plane. How would I live without my cell phone?

"Spies everywhere," he whispered. "Can't trust anyone."

"What's your problem? He's a ranger. They're the good guys, right?"

"Let's hope so."

"Look, I'm still cold. If he has a clothes dryer - or even a hair dryer - I'd like to use it."

Tony still did not release my arm. "Wait. It's too early for anyone to notice we're missing. We're not due for another hour or so."

"What are you kids whispering about?" called Nelson, turning around.

"Nothing," I said. I shot a dirty look at Tony, and then rushed to catch up to the ranger, leaving Tony standing in the middle of the narrow path.

"Got some hot cocoa at the cabin," Nelson said, taking a step toward Tony. "I know it's the end of June, but that water's always cold. Fireplace is running, too. Don't know why I bothered today, but now I'm glad I did..."

Tony pasted on a fake smile. "Sounds good," he said.

_Stupid, stupid,_ I chanted to myself. I don't know why I thought that, but once I did, the words in my mind kept cadence with my footsteps. And there it was again, that frown that seemed to be becoming part of my daily face. "Frowning causes wrinkles," Mom always says. _Oh, shut up, Mom_ , I thought, trying to get my forehead to relax. But what if Tony was right? The ranger seemed nice enough, if a little fishy. Even so, who hides from rangers? Then again, who hides from helicopters?

I stumbled over a tiny little stick as I thought about the past hour. I'd been shot at, survived a plane crash, and nearly drowned. And Mom probably still though I was mad at her, and the last time I'd talked to Dad, I had been really snippy. What if I had died? What if I was still going to die? _Shut up, shut up!_ I told myself, forcing my thoughts into silence.

"Might want to put some bandages on those blisters," Nelson said, turning back to look at me. "Before they get any worse."

I raised an eyebrow. "How did you know I was getting a blister?"

"Wet leather, new boots. Bad combination. You must be from the city."

I frowned. Add another name to the Let's Pick on Alana list.

"Actually, sit there." He gestured to a large boulder. "I have some ointment that might help."

Tony kept an eye on him as he removed my socks and wet boots and tended my growing blisters.

"Prevention is the best cure," Nelson said as he worked. Apparently he liked the sound of his own voice, because he launched straight into a story about last year's national forestry conference.

As he talked, I kept glancing back and forth between him and Tony. He was staring at the ranger's pistol in its hip-holster. Poor thing, I thought. I wonder what he's done to live in such fear. He's not that much older than I am...

"...like those poor fish," Nelson was saying. "It's really sad when that happens. There, all done. Put your boots back on and let's get home."

Nelson continued to talk as we hiked up the trail, quite content to play the tour guide. "Folks come from all parts of the state for this trail. "You got the waterfalls off to the east and the cliffs to the north. They're so steep that even your fussiest mountain climbers are pleased to see them. Then you got Turtle Lake over there to the west, where you kids probably landed. Full of bass and pike and other fish that's good to eat..."

"And south?" I asked.

"Just Dead Island Lake, nothing special. But she's half a mile long. You can't miss her. If you walk straight to her and turn a little west, it's only a day's walk to Otter Paw. That's the nearest town from my here."

"How near is near?" asked Tony.

"'Bout four days if you're hiking, three hours if you're taking a car, half an hour in a hydroplane, or eighty miles if you want to get technical. Depends on the wind and who's walking." He grinned. "Course, you can always take a canoe on the river and get to Scout Lookout; it's closer, but it's just a trading post and not a real town. Not even a movie theater or a clinic." He looked at me. "And no mall, either. Nothing for you city slickers. Just a bunch of hermits living alone. A real paradise."

I was about to protest my ability to live without a mall, but he had already launched into another conversation. He was probably lonely from living in the middle of nowhere. So I let him talk. He complained about campers who didn't properly douse their fires and warned us about how it was one of the driest seasons he'd had in a while. "Supposed to get four inches of rain in June," he said, "but it hasn't really fallen yet... Any little spark will set a forest fire when it's like this." He complained about people feeding the bears even though the signs said not to. He fussed about illegal hunting, about people who grew marijuana plants under the cover of a national forest preserve, and about folks who simply did not take time to enjoy the sight of a lady slipper, Minnesota's state flower.

His words almost lulled me into security, except that he had a habit of brushing his pistol every few minutes with his fingers as if it were a good luck charm. I couldn't tell if it was a nervous habit or if he kept expecting something to happen. In either case, it made me anxious - Tony, too, because he trudged alongside me in stony silence. Still, it seemed laughable that this talkative ranger could be a threat. Besides, I had learned more in the last fifteen minutes about the biological cycle of the forest than in all my science classes combined.

"So I guess Chris drowned, then," Nelson said, finally directing the conversation at Tony, who had tried to ignore him so far.

Tony jerked his head in Nelson's direction. "Sorry?"

"Your pilot."

"You mean Mike?"

Nelson paled.

Tony stopped walking lifted a finger to point at him. "How did you know Chris was piloting today? That was a last-minute switch. Not even the control tower at Boundary Waters knows about that; Chris and Mike were gonna do the paperwork when we got home." He kicked a stone. "I guess I know who's the leak, now, huh? Mike's not the guy I thought he was."

Nelson's hand twitched near his pistol. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said with his fake smile. "When they reported the crash, I called control. That's all."

Tony gestured to Nelson's gun. Chin up, and in a calm voice that sent chills down my spine, he said, "My flight details are never reported. Admit it. You've been bribed."

Nelson flinched, then pulled the gun out and pointed it at Tony. "Don't give me any trouble, kid." When I gasped, he pointed it at me. "You, too. Stay where I can see you. Now let's go."

Chapter 5: Secrets

The ranger circled around behind us like a sheepdog afraid of strays. "You heard me. Move!"

We started up the path again. "What's going on?" I asked, turning a little toward Tony.

He took a deep breath. "I guess you deserve an explanation, since it's gotten this bad."

"It's never been this bad before?" I asked, attempting some humor to hide my terror.

The fear that sparkled in his black eyes caused my stomach to churn. For a moment, I thought I would vomit again. So far, he had been the perfect picture of composure. Under gunfire, he took control of the plane; under water, he had unbuckled me and led us to safety; and his presence of mind in covering our wet tracks by the lake had probably deceived the helicopter. _If he loses it, I'm doomed,_ I thought. I cleared my throat. "How bad is bad?"

"I can't see a way out," he said. "That's never happened before."

I waited for him to explain. He was so quiet that I had to step carefully so the crunching leaves and snapping twigs wouldn't drown his words, which were so measured and calm that it sounded like he was reciting a speech.

"A couple years ago, I saw a violent murder. See, my dad's a locksmith and it was summer so I was at his office. He got a call from one of his regular clients about a safe being stuck. So we drove over to unlock the safe. It was in a mansion, real nice. I had never been there before. Anyway, Dad unlocked the safe."

"Let me guess," I said, "there were drugs inside. Cocaine or something. No, wait - stolen guns, right?"

"You watch too many movies."

"Sorry. Go on."

Well, the safe was pretty big, more of a vault, really. Dad's policy is to unlock but never to open. But he thought he heard somebody inside the vault, so he opened it. Turns out it was..."

"A kidnapped child," I broke in, trying to keep my excitement quiet.

"A kitten," he said, "his wife's kitten. It sitting on piles of wild ginseng roots."

"Okay," I said, waiting for the punch line. "Was it a stolen kitten, at least?"

He half-smiled. "Hard as it is to believe, the ginseng is what's illegal."

"We're talking about the stuff that's in tea, right?"

"Wild ginseng. It turns out that Minnesotan ginseng is the some of the most potent in the entire world."

"I don't get it."

"Me, neither. But I guess people want it enough to pay five thousand dollars a pound. Did you know there was a ginseng rush right here in Minnesota back in the 1860's, so bad that they had to pass laws to preserve it? Quit gawking at me. I'm not making this up."

I had so many questions - how did the kitten get in there in the first place, were the roots in bags or boxes or just loose, why did anyone keep ginseng in a safe... Tony shook his head before I could ask any of them.

"The point is," he said, "Dad wasn't supposed to open the safe. But he did, and he got a good glimpse of what was inside. And Mr. Drosnin knew it. He told us that if we mentioned it to anyone, he'd have us killed. The entire family, Mom included. Dad promised not to tell, of course, and we almost got away. But one of Mr. Drosnin's men got nervous as we were driving away. He pulled his gun as a friendly reminder as we passed through the gate. Well, one of the guards at the gate was actually an undercover cop and he thought we were in trouble. So he pulled out his gun and told the guy to put it down. Well, that started a gunfight. The cop was hurt but not killed, and we drove away as fast as we could. You with me so far?"

I nodded, a bit confused, but it sounded like he had told this story dozens of times.

"Anyway, we made it to a police station. They were so excited. They told us that they'd been trying to nail Drosnin for years but nothing would stick, and that our testimony would open the door for them to prosecute. They didn't even let us go home; they picked Mom up from work in a squad car. We didn't get to pack any clothes or books or anything. We were put in the Witness Protection Program that night. Spent the night in a safehouse, and then another week rehearsing our new identities until they figured out where to hide us until the trial. It's been run, run, run ever since."

"But why? I thought protection programs were safe."

He shook his head. "There were leaks. Drosnin's a really big fish in the smuggling pond - not just ginseng, but everything black market, from jewels to baby tigers to medicines. He has money and power, and he wants us dead. Right now he's in a comfortable jail cell, waiting his trial, but he's already managed to find out where we were twice in the past five years. Talk about connected..." His smile was wry and sad. "That's why I didn't call for help when the plane was going down. That's why I didn't want to come to the ranger's station."

I felt a twinge of guilt when he said that. I was, after all, the one who suggested it. "But what does that have to do with our favorite ranger back there?"

"Wild ginseng grows right here in our national parks. Rangers are supposed to protect it... well, now I guess we know who's been arranging the harvests."

"I didn't know," I whispered.

He shrugged. "Not your fault. But I'm scared. They found me today, which means they must know where my parents are. Did they kill them, and then come after me? I wish I knew."

"I'm so sorry."

"The worst part is that we actually rehearse for things like this. Wilderness survival, self-defense, home school... My family agreed that if we were ever separated, we'd stay separated until the trial was over, for safety's sake. I promised not to look for them, and they won't look for me. So I won't know if they're safe or not until after the trial!"

I turned back to check on Nelson, who still had his gun trained on Tony's back. He scowled at me. "When will that be?" I whispered.

"Four more days," he spat. "Wednesday. And here I am, in the middle of nowhere, and as soon as we get to that ranger's station, we're dead." He looked me straight in the eyes. "I'm sorry you had to suffer because of me. I'm as helpless as you are."

I gulped.

"Enough chatting, you two," Nelson called. "Step away from each other. No planning or plotting or whatever you're doing."

"She doesn't know anything," Tony replied over his shoulder. "She's an innocent bystander."

"I'll leave that decision to someone else."

Tony looked at me, desperation written all over his face. "Run," he said. Then he pushed me. "Run!"

He darted one way, I went the other. Nelson went after Tony. I glanced back and saw them wrestling, and then a shot echoed through the forest. Birds shook the treetops as they flew away in one frightened flurry.

"Don't make me shoot you!" Nelson shouted at Tony.

I was so scared that I nearly ran into a tree trunk. I hid behind it instead.

"You're supposed to be dead," Nelson continued. "It doesn't matter to me when or where. Get up!" He pulled Tony to his feet and jabbed the gun in his back. Then he turned in my direction. "I see you behind that tree. If you don't get your butt over here, I'll kill him and come after you."

"Run, Alana," Tony called.

"Shut up, hero." Nelson cuffed Tony on the head. "What will it be, princess?"

What was I supposed to do? Running into the forest and hoping to find help would have been pointless; I'd have gotten lost and then starved to death anyway. "Don't hurt him," I said, stepping away from my tree.

"Good choice," Nelson snarled. "One mile left. March."

Chapter 6: Plea Bargains

I wasn't prepared when the ranger station peeked into view. There were three buildings - one long and narrow and made of concrete, probably for injured animals or winter supplies; one with toilets and showers in men's and women's stalls; and one that served as Nelson's home and office. The log cabin was charming, really, nestled against the bright emerald fir trees with its matching green roof. Its chimney spouted light gray smoke, like in a postcard. A red bird-feeder dangled from a red metal post so the squirrels couldn't reach it. Dandelions dotted the neatly trimmed lawn, and the scent of firewood and fresh dirt filled my nostrils. It looked like a resort, not a potential prison.

We crossed the lawn to the log cabin. Nelson opened the door for us, keeping his gun where we could see it, and made us walk through the entryway to the main room. It was a tidy home with a little wooden desk in the corner, a large hand-hewn table, and a kitchenette. Through the door to the adjoining room, I could see his cot-like bed with a bright quilt. On the far end of the room was a giant cage that looked like it could house a grizzly.

"Get in," Nelson told us. He shoved us inside and pulled the cage door shut. "And check out the key," he said, pointing at the opposite wall. "Too far away for bears to reach, even if they knew what to do with it. And too far away for two young and very ugly _cubs_ to reach." He laughed at his own joke.

I wrapped my hands around two cold metal bars, glaring at him.

"Yep," he said. "If that'll hold a full-grown bear, you two don't have a chance. Now excuse me while I make a little phone call." He disappeared into the second room. I heard the beeping of cell phone buttons, and then his words. "Yeah, it's me. Look, I got the boy, but there's a little problem... no, nothing like that... There was another passenger, a little girl, claims she didn't know him before they flew today... About fourteen or fifteen, I'd say... What? No, pilot's dead... No, I didn't have time to find it, but I bet it's already sunk by now... Don't worry about that. They're not going anywhere. Got 'em locked up good... What? Now wait a minute. I told you I don't do that kind of work. No blood, remember?"

I looked at Tony in horror. He put his finger on his lips.

"Tell Drosnin I said no way! ...Good, glad that's clear... What if someone shows up looking for them? ...Of course it could happen; didn't you say the kid had his own care officer at the station?... No, no, you're right. I'm sorry... Fine, then. But tell him I want extra since there are two of them... Bear cage, I said. Okay, thanks. Bye."

He came out looking smug. "That was Mr. Drosnin. Or, should I say, your friend Mike, who speaks for him. He'll be by tomorrow morning to pick you up."

Tony pounded on the bars. "Do you know who Michael Drosnin is? International smuggler, known criminal?"

Nelson snorted. "Of course. I used to work for him through high school - lawn maintenance with my father. He understood how much I loved nature, so he put me through college so I could become a ranger. I don't care what he does or how he gets his money. He was good to me. I help when I can."

"Sounds like he set you up to be his stooge for the rest of your life," Tony scoffed. "You're still doing lawn maintenance for him."

Nelson smacked the cage bars. I flinched. He put his face so close to the bars that I could smell the clove gum he chewed. "I'm beyond that now," he growled. "I have a degree. I make an honest paycheck doing what I do."

I couldn't believe his hypocrisy. "You call this honest?"

"See? He's still using you," Tony pressed.

"Everyone can use a little extra cash," he shrugged. "Especially when you're about to get engaged."

"Noble excuse, then," Tony continued. "It's fine if it's for a girl..."

"Quit it," I told him. "He's the one with the gun." A sudden idea ran through my head. I raised my voice to Nelson. "How much did he offer you? For us, I mean, not for helping with the ginseng."

Nelson raised an eyebrow at me. "Enough."

"Enough to buy a new car?"

He shrugged.

"I can pay more," I said. "Maybe not in cash, but..." I removed my jeweled brooch from my cloak and passed it to him through the bars.

He hesitated, then snatched it. "Pretty," he said, holding it against the window. The sunlight sparkled off the rubies and diamonds, casting a prism of rainbow twinkles on the wooden floor. When he flipped the lid, the lighter ignited.

"Took me forever to figure that out," I said, a little jealous.

"What's this?" he said. "Some stupid toy?"

I felt myself blushing. "My father's a jewelry designer. That's a piece in his latest line - Wilderness Glamour. It's a real, working cigarette lighter..." He stared at me like he didn't understand. "For when a person gets lost in the woods?" I turned to Tony for support, but his expression was just as incredulous. I realized how silly I sounded. My blush grew really hot and spread all the way down my arms.

"Now, I haven't heard that before," Nelson hooted, bursting in the most obnoxious laughter I'd ever heard. "Rich people and their delusions... Well, this little trinket is cute, but I doubt that your daddy would let you run around with real diamonds or rubies." He started to pass my brooch back to me, but then he added, "Still, my girlfriend is always pestering me to get her stuff like this. Maybe this'll get her off my case for a while."

"It's real," I insisted, feeling like a freak. "That piece alone is probably two thousand dollars."

"Right," he smirked. "And your watch has real emeralds."

"See for yourself." Like a fool, I unclasped it and handed it to him.

He frowned. "Now, this one does look real." He started poking at it, like I had done. The pulsing blue light stopped blinking. "What's it supposed to do?"

"I haven't figured it out yet."

"Hmm. Nice try, kid, but no cookie. I'd rather have cash any day."

"But the whole collection is worth thirty thousand or so!" I gestured to my earrings, but Tony pulled me away from the bars so Nelson couldn't take anything else.

Nelson just pocketed my brooch and the watch. "So maybe she'll leave me alone for a really long time," he said. "Look, do you think I'm stupid? If these are real, someone would ask where I got them from. Besides, I'd have to drive into the city or something to sell them, and I don't like to leave my cabin. Especially not this time of year, when idiots like you go roaming through my woods and start forest fires with their careless sparks. You're cute, though. It was a good story; I'll let you keep your fake earrings."

"They're real," I mumbled.

Tony shook his head at me.

Nelson laughed again. He crossed the room to the kitchenette and filled a big stainless steel bowl with water, plus another bowl with crackers. "Lunch," he told us, placing both bowls just outside the cage where we could reach them.

"What are we, dogs?" Tony asked.

"Hey, I don't get many opportunities to entertain up here," Nelson replied. "At least they're fresh. And I have work to do today. In fact..." He paused and wrinkled his brow. "What is that smell?"

I sniffed the air. "I don't smell anything."

"They don't call me Smoky for nothing," he said. "I'll be back in a bit." He snatched his binoculars from a hook near the door and ran outside.

Through the window, I could see him climbing the ladder to a high tower. He went up fast and came down even faster. He came back inside and grabbed his car keys. "Fire," he grunted by way of explanation. "Gotta run." I nearly rolled my eyes when he paused and added, "Don't look so surprised, kids. I am a ranger, after all. I love my job."

He gave a tug on the cage door to make sure we were securely locked inside, and then he left. Whistling.

The ridiculous sound echoed as he got into his Jeep and drove away.

I sat down on the cage floor. "Unbelievable." I kicked at a bar for emphasis.

To my surprise, Tony was grinning.

"You remember when I said I couldn't see a way out of this? I just found one." He withdrew a slender black case from his pocket. The dull leather looked worn and old.

"What's that?" I asked.

"My dad's a locksmith, remember? And I, of course, am a locksmith in training. Been picking locks since I was three." He withdrew two flat metal picks and inserted them into the cage lock. After poking around for a few seconds, it clicked open. "You may kiss my feet now."

"Gross." I smiled back at him and stepped out into freedom. I kept an eye on the window, though, afraid that Nelson might come back. "I thought escapes in adventures were supposed to be harder."

"I'll take what I can get. And besides, a Boy Scout is always prepared."

A surge of hope ran through me. "You're a Boy Scout?"

"Nope, but I always wanted to be one." He gave me a three-fingered salute.

"Oh."

"Don't just stand there. Gather what supplies we can find and then let's make a run for it." He hurried to the desk and found a leather pouch with broken straps. He tied the straps together; it was long enough to loop over his shoulder and across his chest to the other side of his body. He opened the pouch and found a wrinkled map with markings all over it, like Nelson had crossed off roads or hiking trails.

Meanwhile, I combed through Nelson's cupboards and drawers. The man had serious bachelor issues; all I found were three chocolate power bars, two Army-issue meals, and twelve plastic packets of water. "Jackpot," I said. I loaded them in my arms and joined Tony at the desk. "Hey, can I see your picks?"

He handed them to me and shoved our rations into the pouch.

The silver instruments were arranged from tallest to shortest, with some being flat and others rounded or hooked.

"Help me look for anything else," he said.

I put his case on the desk and headed into the bedroom. "At least we won't have to eat grubs," I joked.

He froze. "Do I hear whistling?"

We both looked at each other at the same time.

"Quick, back to the cage!" he whispered. He dropped the pouch - now bulging - beside the desk. We dashed back to the cage.

"Oh, wait," I said, putting my arm out, but he was too quick. The door slammed shut.

"What?" he asked.

I couldn't say it. I just kept staring at his lock-pick kit sitting on top of the desk.

His eyes followed mine. "You didn't," he gasped.

Nelson threw open the front door and hustled to his bedroom "Welcome me home," he sang, wagging his finger at us. "You kids have thrown me off my game. I never forget my cell phone." He grabbed it and headed toward the exit.

I couldn't let him leave. "Wait," I called. "I... I have to go potty."

"So go," he said. "Pretend you're a bear. I'll clean up the mess tomorrow when you're gone."

"Oh, my God!"

"Have some decency," Tony growled.

"Please," I whimpered. "I promise I won't try to escape. Even my parents call me Teaspoon when we go on road trips..." I tried to work up some tears - which is never easy for me, because I tend to get angry instead of crying - but I'd been through so much that day that it was easier than I expected. Two tears welled up and splashed down my cheeks.

Nelson relented. "Be quick. I have to douse a fire." He got the keys from the far wall and unlocked the door. As it clicked open, he pointed at Tony. "Don't you get any ideas. My gun is still loaded, you know."

Tony stepped to the back of the cage, hands up. "I wouldn't dream of it."

I eased my way out of the cage, and then walked past the desk as innocently as I could. It was too near the front door for Nelson, and he stepped in front of me.

"Where are you going?"

"Outhouse," I gasped.

"We have indoor plumbing nowadays, even in the middle of nowhere." He pointed at the bedroom.

When he glanced over his shoulder to check on Tony, I snatched the black case and stuffed it my pocket. My heart raced so fast that I could feel my pulse in my neck.

"Hurry up," Nelson said, giving me a little push.

I took the opportunity to really go to the bathroom - I figured it might be the last chance I got to use a real toilet for a while - and then returned to the cage.

Nelson threw the keys at their hook, but they missed and fell to the floor. Still, he was in such a hurry that he left them there. He didn't even whistle. He just slammed the Jeep door and sped away.

Chapter 7: Distractions

I pushed the lock-pick kit into Tony's hand. "That was so close!"

"Good recovery," he said with a nervous laugh. "I thought for sure he saw us through the window." He selected the two picks again and bent over the lock.

"I wondered if he would notice the straps on his bag were tied."

"Pretty clever, to pretend you were heading for the outhouse."

I smiled at the compliment. He was so sweet. Then I caught my breath, quite aware that I was staring at him. I got angry with myself. _No boys!_ I scolded. _Mom and Dad dated all through high school, and look at them now. Do you want to end up miserable like them? You promised yourself you wouldn't date until you finished college. Don't forget!_

But he had been such a gentleman, so protective of me, that I found myself trusting him. And he was just so darn handsome with those black eyes of his, and those biceps that peeked out under his short sleeves. Still, what did I know about him? He was a magnet for trouble, that's what. Right then and there, I steeled myself against falling in love with Tony Wexler.

He pushed the door open. "Let's not waste time," he said, snatching up the pouch.

I cleared my throat. "I wish we had keys to that truck," I said, jerking my head in the direction of Nelson's second vehicle. "I don't suppose you know how to hotwire a car?"

"Nope." He looked around. Through the trees, the river glinted in the sunlight. "Is that a dock?"

I squinted my eyes. "Looks like it. And... a boat!" I remembered what Nelson said earlier. "If we can just get to the trading post, we can call someone for help. We _can_ call for help, can't we?"

"There, yes. Nobody should know us there. And I trust my charge officer; it's just the rest of the police I'm not sure about. We've been trying to find the leaks for months."

We ran down the path to the river. As we approached the boat, Tony slowed down, knitting his eyebrows together.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Using this boat is the logical thing to do, isn't it? The trading post is the best place for us to go."

"Yes, so what are we waiting for?"

"That's the kind of thinking that will get us caught," he explained. "We have to think abstractly. Do the unexpected." He started the motor and then gave the boat a gentle shove with his foot. It puttered downriver. "There. Now they'll think we're off to the trading post. I hope it doesn't get caught in a bank or something."

My shock faded to understanding. "So where to, then?"

"You heard Nelson. Nearest town is Otter Paw, four days away if we hike." He took the map out. "Can't go north or west; too steep, and we're not cliff-climbers. Unless you have special skills you haven't told me about."

I shook my head. "I spent a day at a Nature Camp when I was in sixth grade, where they taught us to eat bark and berries. Well, maybe not the bark, but definitely the berries. And roots, and some petals. I was the only kid who actually swallowed them, though; everyone else nibbled or spit them out."

"See? That might be handy. Now, we don't want to go back east. That's where our plane is. There will probably be a party looking for it."

"That leaves south, then. Dead Island Lake, didn't he say?"

"Yeah." He aligned himself with the sun and glanced at his shadow. "That way should be south."

"Yes, it is," I said smugly, checking my gold compass ring.

He puffed a low whistle. "That thing works? I thought it was just decoration."

"My father's serious about camping. He loves to hunt and fish."

"Sorry. Seemed like junk to me. You know, pretty, but kind of useless. Kind of like you."

My eyebrows shot into my hairline. "Is that a compliment or an insult?

"Let's go," he said.

Frowning, I let him lead. We nearly jogged in our hurry to get as far away from the ranger station as possible.

Useless! How dare he call me useless? The good thoughts / bad thoughts game started in my mind again, like the proverbial angel and demon sitting on my shoulder.

_You almost did drown,_ said the bad thoughts. _You refused to give up your cape when you knew it made him harder to save you. And you left the lock picks on the desk for the ranger to see!_

_But I got them back and we're safe now,_ said the good thoughts. _And he called me pretty._

What do they say about relationships started in times of stress? They never last. And you really are an embarrassment to females everywhere. You really are useless.

No, I'm not. And he said I was clever...

I've always debated with myself like that. I know it sounds awful, but sometimes I'm the only cheerleader I've got. I started doing it when I was ten, right before Dad's sponsorship. I hit a growth spurt that left me awkward and clumsy. You know the saying, "She tripped over her own feet?" That was me, and it couldn't have happened at a worse time. I was on a softball team and I kept ruining our plays. The coach finally benched me for the safety of the other girls! That filtered into school, and I got chosen last for teams during gym. And it earned some really rude nicknames which followed me to my regular classes. That was middle school, but in a small town, that sort of thing follows a person into high school. Anyway, the gym teacher kept telling me _Chin up, shoulders back. Posture makes you powerful._ To her, slumping was a crime. During my eight grade summer, I practiced posture - and walking with a book on my head and sitting like a lady. But I still got chosen last for gym.

I lifted my chin and straightened up - and tripped over a low vine.

Tony shot out an arm to steady me. "You okay?"

I pushed him away. Stupid clumsy cow, I told myself. Then I groaned. "I broke a fingernail."

"Big deal," he said.

It really was! But not because I'm a prissy girl. Because I'm a confirmed nail-biter, and I'd been trying to kick the habit for two months. The only way I could do it was to keep a nail file with me at all times so that when the urge to chew overpowered me, I could file away the offending nail instead. It had worked so far - but now, with no nail file and no purse, the ragged nail begged for attention. I ignored it as long as I could. Finally, in frustration, I chewed it off.

Great, there goes an entire eight weeks of work. May as well get rid of the rest of them, too.

Just one nail! Don't throw away the rest of them for just one nail!

Too late - just looking at them made me crave another one. Then I bit the top off a third. It took all my willpower to make myself stop.

"It's just that my nails reflect my new personality," I said aloud.

"What?"

"My nails..."

He scoffed. "That was ten minutes ago. Get over it."

"I know," I stammered, "but I wanted to explain." My words came out in a tumble. "See, I'm not the rich kid everyone thinks I am. My mom just likes to act that way - the way she wants to be, not the way she really is. And she dresses me up because she loves to sew. And she makes me do my hair and makeup and nails..." He wasn't making eye contact. I kept rambling. "But it's all a mask. I only do it to fit in with everyone else, so they don't make fun of me. I'm lucky I don't end up looking like a complete mess, the way everyone tugs at me!"

Tony was silent. Too silent. Then he asked, "Do you like how you look now?"

"Yes and no. Yes, because Mom picks great fabrics and everything always fits right. But no, because it's not the real me. I guess that's the real problem - I don't know me anymore. It's like life changed too quickly, too much. I used to talk to my parents when I had a problem. Now I have to call on the phone. I mean, I didn't like who I was a few years ago, but I don't like who I'm becoming, either..." I closed my mouth, aware that I'd been chatting so freely with a complete stranger.

He looked down at me with those handsome black eyes of his. "I don't know what to say."

Was that pity in his gaze? I was ashamed of myself for laying my soul so bare. "Don't say anything," I snapped, and brushed past him. Humiliation gave me energy, so our pace quickened. I glanced at my gold compass often to make sure I was leading us in the right direction. The last thing I needed was the embarrassment of getting us lost!

How dumb can you be, Alana? He's not looking for a girlfriend.

How about just trying to make a friend? Does it have to be a boyfriend?

Just admit it - you want him to like you.

"Argh!" I grunted, trying to drown the thoughts in my head.

"You okay?" Tony asked again. "Need a rest?"

"I'm fine," I replied through clenched teeth. I turned my thoughts to the terrain ahead of me. Hiking itself was not so difficult; it was putting one foot in front of the other. The weather was really pretty, too; not too hot or cold. Plus, the soft breezes brought the spicy scents of flower petals and fresh soil. What made it so miserable were the mosquitoes, the thirst, and the scratchy branches.

"If you need a break, say so," he said. "Just remember that the farther we walk now, the broader their search area will be, and the greater our chances of getting away."

He thinks you're weak.

"I'm fine," I repeated. "I could go all day."

"Good. Because it looks like we just might have to do that."

**Chapter 8: Moonbeams and Memories**

We hiked at a steady pace until I noticed that the sunlight was fading. It seemed like an eternity since I said goodbye to Mom at the airport.

About the same time, Tony's stomach growled. "We have to make a decision," he said. "It's probably near nine o'clock, and we'll be out of sun soon. Should we keep going or stop for the night?"

"You're the Eagle Scout," I said, sarcastic. "It's up to you."

"You're not used to hiking," he replied, "and you have a say in the decision."

"Well, I'm not weak, if that's what you want to know. I can keep going."

He glanced at me, surprised. "I never said you were weak."

I looked at the ground.

His voice got real soft, almost tender. "You don't have anything to prove to me. It's not like anybody trains for this sort of thing."

His sympathy was almost enough to break my self-imposed barrier. "I say we keep going."

"Look, a Boy Scout troop can hike about fifteen miles a day, and that's following a trail. I think we've matched that, maybe gone more."

"I do want a rest," I admitted, "but not enough to risk getting caught. What do you think?"

"I think - I hope - they fell for the boat-down-the-river trick. Even if they find it, maybe they'll assume we're heading to the trading post on foot. There are a lot of options, but only one ranger. Well, we hope. So maybe we should stop for the evening."

"I think... I think I have something to prove to myself. Maybe we could keep going a little longer."

"As you wish. But be careful - it's hard to see when there's no light."

We had to move at a slower pace as twilight approached, and then the rays faded from the sky altogether in a slow pink and purple goodbye. After all the stumbles I'd had already, you'd think I'd keep my eyes on the ground. But no; I was staring up at the gorgeous sunset and I wasn't watching where I was going. I slid down a rocky incline and landed at the bottom in a pile of dry, dusty leaves.

Tony came after me, sliding down on his feet like a snowboarder. "Are you okay?"

"Stop asking me that! I'm fine!" I realized how sharp I sounded. He was just trying to help, and here I was, yelling at him. "Sorry. I think it's time to set up camp now."

He hauled me to my feet. "Camp? We don't have a tent or a pot or any food to boil, so I guess we can just pull up a rock and make ourselves comfortable for the night, eh?"

I was about to pick on his near-Canadian accent, but I stopped myself. Besides, my knee was bruised by the fall and I suddenly realized how achy and fatigued the rest of my body was. Plus I was hungry and thirsty. "Sleeping out in the open doesn't seem so bad anymore. I've been dreading it all day long, but now I'm so tired, it doesn't even matter."

He chuckled. "Let's get out of these leaves. You never know what spiders might call this home."

I squealed. Crawly things gave me the creeps. "I wish we had a tent," I said.

"Bug spray," he replied. "Might do the trick."

The thought hit me like a rock. "I have bug spray!" I unbuckled my new belt and checked each little pocket. Dad had tucked a squeeze light in there, which really helped. I showed Tony the allergy pills, water decontamination pill, bugs repellent, gauze, and other tiny medical packets. "How's this?"

"Your father designed that? Not bad for a jeweler."

"I told you. He loves camping."

"What's that?" Tony picked up a short narrow tube that was loaded with a needle of some sort. "Looks like a blow dart. Is it a tranquilizer or poison?"

"I doubt Dad would give me poison. I've never been camping before, and Dad said he'd explain the stuff to me when I saw him. But some of it's tricky. I haven't figured out half this stuff yet. Like my necklace, for instance." I showed him the locket with the fishing hooks and line inside. Easy enough to understand. But when I showed him the diamond-dust coated necklace part, he got very excited.

"That's a ring saw," he explained. "You hold it by the loops at the end and pull it back and forth."

"I'm wearing a saw around my neck?" Geez, no wonder the thing was so itchy!

"Show me the rest while we eat," he said.

We sprayed each other with the bug repellent and then sat down on some logs to eat our Army-issue meals. The mosquitoes still buzzed around us, but I was able to relax a little in the knowledge that they wouldn't land and suck the life-force out of me.

The Army meal was decent. It even had some squares of toilet paper, a tiny bottle of hot sauce, and a crunchy chocolate dessert. I tucked my toilet paper into my back pocket and saved the dessert for a midnight snack. "I wish we had a fire," I said, leaning back against a tree. "I heard about a grizzly bear attack in this part of the state last year."

"Grizzlies don't even live in this part of the state."

"Black bear, then."

"Whatever. They don't attack unless they're provoked. And nobody's been hurt since 1987. I had to do a report on them for school."

"I thought you said you went to home school."

"Yeah, so? My mom was an English teacher. Now she just takes out all her frustrations on me - book reports each week, research papers, pen pals in Italy, Russia and Paraguay. I'm her own personal classroom."

"And I thought my mom was bad."

"I love my mom," he said, serious. "She's my hero."

I didn't reply. I had been joking - sort of - about my mom. But she wasn't my hero. Lately, we'd become more enemies than friends. I felt kind of sad, especially comparing my relationship with my mother to how Tony felt about his. After a while, I said, "I'd still feel better with a fire."

"Can't. They'd be looking for it."

"No, they wouldn't. Remember what the ranger said? It's impossible to see individual fires from his tower, even if it's a bonfire, unless you're right over it or it's the size of a house. I guess they might have a helicopter still looking for us..." I stared at my empty meal package, wishing there was more.

"No matches," he pointed out. "And I've never done the stick-friction way."

"If Nelson hadn't taken my watch, we could have used the crystal to focus the sunlight."

"You mean moonlight?"

Boy, how dumb could I be? If there'd been any sun, he would have seen my blush.

He must have noticed my embarrassment because he bent down and picked up two sticks from the forest floor. "Now, how did this go again?" He tried to fit one end against the middle of the other.

I shined my squeeze light on the sticks. "Does that help?"

"Not really," he said, then jerked his head up. "What's that?"

"What?"

"Your bracelet. Can I see it a minute?"

I handed it to him.

He touched the plain gray stone, his eyebrows furrowed together. "You say your dad likes camping, right?"

"Well, he likes fishing more."

"I think this is flint. I need something metal to bang it against. If it's flint, it should produce some sparks."

"Oh, sure! Sparks would be easier than sticks. Would my belt buckle do?"

"Not if it's gold. Too soft."

I pushed into the buckle with my thumbnail, disappointed when it left a mark. "At least I'll have a suggestion for Dad when I see him."

"Darn," Tony said. "I almost thought it would work." Then, half a breath later, he snapped his fingers. "Hang on \- check your belt pouches again. I thought I saw a striker."

The last pocket had a thumb-sized piece of steel, which I had previously overlooked. Now it made sense.

"It's really small, but it should do," Tony said, taking it from me. He held up the bracelet. "You okay if it gets damaged?"

I hesitated. It wasn't exactly pretty, but it seemed a shame to ruin it before Dad saw me wear it. Still... "That's its purpose, right? Go ahead."

He held my bracelet in his left hand and positioned the striker over the raised edge of the dull gray stone. I half-expected him to start whacking away, but he took a long, deliberate stroke like he was painting a picture, or spreading butter on bread. Against the darkness, a single flake of molten metal flew into the air and disappeared.

"It works!" I cried. "Go, Dad!"

"What do you know? Look for some shreds of bark and super dry grass," he said. "If we get enough fine tinder, I can get a blaze going."

It didn't take long to find the right materials. The forest was so dry that almost everything we collected was sure to catch fire. I remembered Nelson's lament about how careless campers could burn down the forest in this sort of weather, so I made sure to hollow out a place in the dirt for our little fire. I even built up the banks around it with more dirt, like a bowl, just in case. Then I approached a birch tree whose bark was flaking in thin vertical strips - perfect for a baby fire. I ripped off several handfuls.

Meanwhile, Tony used my ring saw to slice through a fallen sapling. We each grabbed an end of the necklace and sawed back and forth. Talk about bruised finger joints! At least it did its job, and we soon had several little logs, which we put next to my fire pit.

He arranged the long stalks and dry grasses into a nest, then started drawing sparks from the stone.

"It looks so easy," I said. "And pretty, like fireworks."

"It isn't easy," he whispered. "It takes practice."

Finally, one large spark nestled itself in the tinder and began eating the grasses. A thin wisp of smoke floated into my nose. Tony blew gently, his face next to the glow. An orange blaze no longer than his finger shot up and disappeared, but it was enough to get the rest of the tinder burning. Carefully, he added my birch strips plus thicker twigs and then logs, until a solid and cozy blaze lit up the trees around us. He didn't stop nursing the flames until they took on a life of their own.

"I didn't realize it would take so long," I said. "I wonder how much time they spent in the old days just building fires when they could have been doing other things."

He squatted on his heels, pleased with himself. "You wanted your fire, and there it is. Let's not make a big one, though. All we really need is the smoke smell to drive away any predators. Satisfied?"

"Thank you." I held my hands over the embers. The temperature had dropped fast after the sun disappeared. In fact, it was as cold as a night in March, instead of June. The fire was a good idea, after all.

"Maybe we can use your cloak as a blanket to sleep on," Tony suggested.

"My cloak? Oh, yeah. I should have thought of that." I untied it from my neck and spread it on the ground. But it was an awkward shape and would not lie flat. "That's the best it's gonna get," I said after fussing with it a while.

Tony reached out and touched a seam. "Maybe it unfolds. It looks like this is Velcro."

I focused the squeeze light the seam and gingerly pulled at it. To my surprise, it came undone!

"Did you rip it?" asked Tony.

"No, I think that was supposed to happen." I ripped open several more, exposing the inside fabric. It was bright orange, making a sharp contrast with the elegant green outer fabric. Still, it did not open out into the blanket I was hoping for.

Tony laughed. "Holy cow! It's a tube tent!"

"A what?"

"Tube tent. Long piece of fabric, hollow on the inside? You put a rope through it and tie the rope to two trees. It forms a triangle when you set it up right... and look what happens when you flip this thing inside out! There's even netting on both ends so you can seal it and keep the mosquitoes out. Your dad was a genius."

"Actually, this is my mom's design. She does clothes, he does jewels." So that's what she meant about not letting Dad outshine her.

"So it runs in your family. You'll have to add something to the collection when you get back home."

Until he said that, my new toys almost seemed like being on a real camping trip. What were the chances we'd even get back?

"Hey," he said, guessing my thoughts. "We've done fine so far. We'll make it home - both of us. Now grab your end and tie it to that tree branch. I'll do this end."

Sure enough, after we'd tied the top strings to two trees, and fastened each corner string to tiny pegs that we drove into the ground, my cloak looked like a tent. A very low, very cramped tent, to be sure, but a little piece of security nonetheless.

Just then, we heard the distant staccato of helicopter blades.

"The fire'll lead them straight to us," Tony shouted. "Get in the tent!"

"What if it's a rescue party?" I asked.

"How are we supposed to tell in the dark? Better be safe than sorry. I'll douse the fire."

"They're too close - get in here." I tugged him into the tent just as the chopper shone its brilliant beam of light through the trees to our little clearing.

We huddled in the tent, our heads scraping the ceiling.

The helicopter dropped like a dragonfly hunting for bugs. There wasn't enough room in our clearing for it to come all the way down, but for sure they saw our fire and tent. I squeezed my eye shut. I don't know what I expected - more gun? Someone saying, "Come out with your hands up?" But they shot straight into the air after just a few seconds, zipping away.

"I don't understand," Tony said. "Why didn't they come get us?"

"Because they think we're _camping_ ," I realized. "What did they see? A bright orange tent and a cozy fire. They're looking for two kids on foot, not _campers_."

He let out a whoop that deafened me.

I punched him in the shoulder. "Knock it off! That hurt."

"Sorry," he grinned - and pecked me on the cheek.

I've never been kissed by a guy before, so not only did he catch me off guard, but it stunned me to the core. He didn't mean anything by it, I knew; he was just relieved. Still, it was awkward. I felt claustrophobic, especially since my tent was so tiny. "I have to go... you know..." I crawled out into the open air. Those few minutes alone gave me time to collect myself. It almost felt like I was sick, the way my stomach clenched all tight. But couldn't stop grinning, for one thing, and I knew my trembles weren't caused by the chilly night air. Even though it scared me, I liked how he made me feel.

When I returned, he had zipped up the netting on the ends and added a few logs to the flames. He was stretched out in the tent with his feet near the entrance, but he curled up on his side to make room for me.

I grew even edgier inside. There was no way to avoid touching him, so I found myself shoulder to shoulder with him. The ground under my back was uneven and uncomfortable. The soft silver moonlight penetrated the lightweight tent fabric, keeping me awake. Outside, every little snapping twig and rustling leaf seemed amplified and super loud. "Are you sure about the bears?" I whispered, trying to make a joke out of the thing that scared me. "Wolves, other predators with big teeth and claws?"

"They won't come near the smoke," Tony said. He folded his arms across his chest and added, "Try to get some sleep."

"What if the fire shoots sparks outside the pit, and burns us alive while we sleep?"

"We won't get any sleep if you play the what-if game."

"Sorry. It's just that my mind wanders. I can't help it."

"Sure you can," he mumbled. "It's a matter of wanting to control it or not. If you do, just tell yourself to stop worrying and go to sleep."

My frown was lost in the darkness. "It's not that easy."

He turned to face me. "Do you think I'm not afraid."

I considered my answer. "You seem very brave and in control. Like you know what to do next. You said it, Boy Scout - always prepared."

"I'm not a Boy Scout, and that's not the same thing as not being afraid. I'm terrified. I want to know what happened to my family. If they're still alive. How many more rangers Drosnin bribed, how he got to my pilot friend Mike, and so much more. I want this whole nightmare to end! But the task at hand, right now, is to sleep so we can keep hiking tomorrow. If I let my emotions control me, I'll be too tired to think or act tomorrow. So I make a choice - worry or sleep. My choice is sleep. What's yours?"

"It's not that easy," I repeated. "I never take charge of anything. Mom's afraid I'll ruin anything I touch, and Dad always protects his little darling from everything else. Between the two of them, I'm not allowed to sleep over at anyone's house, do after-school activities anymore, or even do dishes! I might break something! Sometimes I wish I just had a normal family."

"Sounds normal to me," he said. "I think every family has a little bit of that combination."

What I wanted was sympathy. What I was getting was advice, and sensible advice at that. It made me cross. "I'll never get to sleep," I insisted.

"Your choice," he said. "Might be easier, though, if you use my arm as a pillow. Not that I'm making a pass at you. Well, maybe I _am_ making a pass, but it really _is_ crowded in here..."

I hesitated, but he was right. Mom made the tent for me, one body-width only. And the temperature was dropping outside at alarming rates; the tips of my nose and ears were already cold. Still, something about the situation felt immoral. Don't get me wrong; I felt safe with him, but good girls don't fall asleep next to handsome strangers. "I'm okay, thanks," I said.

"Suit yourself."

"I'm not really looking for a relationship right now," I added.

He snickered. "I'm not asking for anything, except maybe friendship. After all we've been through? You've been a really good sport. I don't think other girls would have lasted. Plus you don't complain - much - and you're really easy to talk to."

If I'd been radioactive, my blush would have served as a nightlight. Again, I'd jumped to conclusions and been wrong. My good angels / bad angels started up.

_He's been really nice, most of the time,_ I thought. _Why be so rude to him? It's not like he wants a date or anything. Relax a little. Just enjoy having a new friend._

_Be prudent!_ said my other side _. Boys only say nice things so they can get a kiss. Remember Dad? Remember Mom? Look how they turned out.._

My thoughts would have continued to run rampant if not for two things - the fact that I was thoroughly and completely exhausted from hiking, and the fact that Tony started singing a sort of lullaby - something about the wind and the leaves. The words were so appropriate, considering where we were and how the weather had been, but what really caught me was the rumble in his chest. His voice, deep and mellow, soothed all the tension right out of me. The rustling leaves outside the tent faded under his song. Soon my heavy eyelids closed.

Chapter 9: Pressing On

I woke up to the oddest sensation. My back was completely toasty but my toes and fingers were freezing. Somehow, like a human blanket, Tony had slipped his arm under my head and we had rolled on our sides so that I could feel his heartbeat in my back. His arm around my waist added warmth, but his shallow breaths against my ear were what woke me up.

We were snuggling.

Alarmed, I pushed his arm away. It took me a minute to remember that I was on my first camping trip, which would explain the stiffness and aches in my muscles. The pounding in my head had grown worse since yesterday, probably because of the concussion. I reached for the aspirin Dad had packed in my belt pockets, groaning in agony. Everything hurt! But my need to use the toilet again was the worst, driving away any ideas of painkillers.

The sun was just starting to brighten the sky, so I knew it was morning. And so early. I never got up so early, not even for Christmas presents. I wanted to sleep some more \- a useless idea. Now that I was awake, I could smell, hear and feel everything the forest had to offer, including the lumps beneath the tent that poked into my body like hockey pucks.

I sat up, brushing against the ceiling of my little tent. Little droplets of condensation rolled down the green fabric. _Must be from breathing_ , I thought. _Wow, if we lost all that water just breathing, how much more do we lose when we walk?_

We only had eight meager water packets, having drunk four yesterday. And the more I thought about water, the more I craved it. I remembered Ranger Nelson's dire warning about bacterial poisoning in the lakes and streams.

Streams reminded me of my need to go potty. There was no sense in trying to get back to sleep; I knew it wouldn't happen. Careful not to disturb Tony, I unsealed the tent and crawled outside into the cool morning air.

The ground was crunchy with fine white frost. Had it really been that cold last night? In June? But the cloud of exhaled vapor that formed in front of my face told me that it was still cold. I glanced at the fire pit; it had gone out through the night. Only a smoldering line of smoke rose from the still-warm ashes. I toasted my fingers over the embers and then headed to the pee tree. I used the remainder of my Army-issue toilet paper and wondered what I would use for the next time.

Tony had started folding up the cloak-tent by the time I returned. "Good morning, Teaspoon."

"Must be six o'clock in the morning," I grunted.

"This time of year? Sunrise comes around five-thirty."

I grunted. The ties weren't as wet as I expected, considering the frost. I rolled them up and flipped the tent so the green side was out again, then finished fastening the seams so I could wear it. Most of the water droplets rolled right off, and I knew the rest would evaporate, but I have to admit that it really grossed me out to be wearing our _breath_ around my shoulders.

Meanwhile, Tony did his best to erase signs of our campsite. He found a dead pine branch and swept the dirt clean of footprints. He even buried the fire under fistfuls of dirt, and topped it off with leaves, pine needles and mosses so it looked like the rest of the forest floor.

"I hate to tell you this, but I can still tell we camped here," I said.

"That's because you already know." The look on my face must have expressed doubt, because he added, "At least they'll have to look twice to find it - if they're even looking for it. Every minute counts."

"Speaking of which," I said, my stomach growling, "maybe we should eat breakfast?"

"Munch on the run," he replied. He fished in his pouch and brought out one of the power bars. He broke it in half and offered it to me. "Bon appétit."

"Thanks."

He gestured to my miniature compass. "Which way, O Ringed One?"

I glanced down and located south. "That-a-way," I pointed.

We began to trudge along.

"Oh, my gosh," I groaned. "I'm so sore. I can't believe how sore I am."

He chuckled. "Me, too. Like crashing into a lake wasn't bad enough. I think we walked five hours straight yesterday." As he walked, he unfolded the map he'd snatched at the ranger station. He squinted off into the distance, then checked the map again. "Looks like we made good time, too. About fifteen miles, if I'm reading this right. But we'll have to do better than that today."

I did some swift calculations. "That's about three miles an hour? If we keep up that pace, we'll reach Otter Paw in three more days. Tuesday night or so."

"And I'll get back in time to testify against Drosnin." He refolded the crumpled paper and stuffed it back in his pouch. Then he passed me a water packet. "Try to make it last. We can each drink two today, and then another two tomorrow."

"And then on Tuesday?"

He shrugged.

I didn't want to think about it. I sipped my little packet as we walked, but slowly, to make it last. It didn't do much to quench my thirst, though. I alternated between nibbling on the power bar and taking tiny swigs of water. "Probably have to eat squirrel meat when this runs out, right?"

"Sure. The whole forest is a smorgasbord. Bark, berries, and squirrel meat. We're set!"

It took a while for my stiff muscles to start moving naturally. _I need a trip to the spa_ , I thought. _A nice massage, some relaxing music..._ A branch to my face cured me of those thoughts right away. "Hey, watch it!"

"Sorry," he said. "Try to keep up. We can't afford to slow down, not now. We're still free."

"I'm trying as hard as I can. I just hurt everywhere."

"Don't you have aspirin or something in that fancy belt of yours?"

"Oh, yeah." I opened one of the packets and used the last of my water to swallow the two pills inside. I offered Tony the other packet. "Want some?"

"Nope. I try to save what I have for when I really need it."

I felt a little scolded, and somewhat ashamed. Was he saying that I should suffer with the pain, and not take any relief?

"I mean," he continued, "What if I were to break my arm? I'd want something then."

"Aspirin wouldn't help much with a broken arm."

"I guess you're right. But you might need them tomorrow, so keep them."

"Okay then. What about the other stuff - mosquito repellent, lip balm?"

"Those I will take, and gladly."

The sun was bright in the sky before I remembered my day at Nature Camp back in sixth grade, when they told us we could find water from dew. Leaves exhaled oxygen and water, so all we had to do was find some broad leaves and curl them up a bit, and drink the drops. But by the time I remembered all that, the sun had burned away all the frost and warmed up the air so much that my cloak was not only dry, but growing uncomfortably warm.

Too tired and sore to talk, I plodded along, sometimes following Tony, sometimes leading the way, always trying to ignore the mosquito bites on my arms and the itches between my toes.

The forest made conversation for us. Red-breasted robins chirped their territorial ballads in the treetops above while squirrels chattered their defiant replies. In fact, one little creature with olive-brown fur jumped from one tree to another, spreading his little arms like he wanted to be a bird.

"A flying squirrel!" I shouted. "Look!"

Tony didn't look fast enough. "They're supposed to be nocturnal anyway. Maybe it was just a regular squirrel."

"I know what I saw. He'll be our good luck charm for today."

Mammals were at least friendly and cuddly, but I kept flinching every time I thought I saw a snake. Even so, I felt so peaceful out here in the wintergreen-scented air. "I could live here," I murmured.

Tony glanced down at me.

"Well, maybe I could come back here," I corrected, "when I'm not running for my life."

Tony froze. "Helicopter?"

I strained, listening for the now-familiar staccato. At first I couldn't distinguish it from the immediate rustling leaves, but then I heard it. We dashed for the nearest cluster of waist-high grass. I almost screamed when a rabbit darted out.

Tony pushed me in, anticipating my protest. "If a rabbit was in there, there aren't any snakes."

Just as we nestled in the soft grass, the helicopter passed overhead.

"Red and white! It's a rescue copter," I said, getting ready to wave at it.

Tony held my wrist down. "Looks like it, but what if it's Nelson? What if Drosnin has other rangers?"

"Could be a real rescue," I pushed. "By now, my folks are probably worried sick."

"Can't chance it."

When we were sure it wouldn't double back, we crawled out of the thicket. Tony held out his hand to help me to my feet, but I glared at him. I understood his mistrust, but I also wanted to go home.

He nodded. "Let's get to the good guys before Drosnin and his men do."

"Even if we make it to Otter Paw, how do we know your officer isn't one of them already?"

"I trust Jerome," he said. "Maybe I'm wrong, but he's always tried to protect me."

"Fine. Let's go."

Adrenaline rushed through my body, making it easier to bully my way through the thick grasses and branches. After picking our steps over thin creeks and climbing jagged hills, I noticed that my headache had returned. And I was starving. Tony seemed to be having an easier time; every time I slipped, he caught me; every time I faltered, he steadied me. He was becoming my crutch fast, but I couldn't help it. I was exhausted. And it was only our second day.

A while later, Tony pointed to a tiny gray shack off in the distance at the top of a barren hill. "There's Miller's Lodge. Let's make it there, then we'll take a quick break for lunch."

"We get to eat lunch? I thought we had to wait until dinnertime."

"The power bar was seven hours ago, at least. May as well be yesterday. I'm starving."

"Me, too." The thought of lunch gave me a surge of energy, enough to hike up the steep hill to Miller's Lodge.

Wildflowers and weeds surrounded the abandoned old shack. Cobwebs hung everywhere out on the porch; I shuddered to think what we'd find inside. Worse was the eerie silence; there was no birdsong at the top of the hill, like I'd been hearing all day, as if something bad had happened to frighten away all the wildlife. It gave me goosebumps.

"Let's see if there's anything we can use," Tony said, striding straight onto the decaying porch.

"I'll wait out here, thanks," I hedged. "To rescue you if you fall through the floor or something."

He poked his head through the doorframe, then went inside. He came out about four seconds later. "Nothing there except an old canteen with a hole near the top," he announced. "I frightened a raccoon family, though. Cute little buggers."

"No food? Cans or packets or coffee tins full of beans?"

"It's abandoned," he replied.

I sighed. "Well, if we find a pond, at least we can fill the canteen."

"And get bacterial poisoning from stagnant water? Come on, city girl, I wouldn't drink that green slime if it were the only water left on earth."

I patted my belt. "I do have some water purification tablets, you know. Now all we need is a stream."

"So which do you want - another power bar or another power bar?"

I adopted a British accent. "Thank you, James. I'll take a salmon steak, brushed with lemon butter and topped with herbs."

His response was equally British. "As you wish, my lady." Ever the gentleman, he passed me the half with the wrapper so I wouldn't get my hands all sticky.

We sat on the edge of the rotting porch. I munched for a while before I let out a small laugh. "You know, these are disgusting. They always say that when you're super hungry, everything tastes great. They lied."

He smiled. "I know. And still I wish we had more of them."

I closed my eyes for a minute, tilting my face up toward the sun. "I haven't had this much fresh air since I was a kid. Remember when it was fun to race to the top of a big hill? Now it's just work."

"Yeah."

"Oh! Listen - an owl. I thought they were supposed to be nocturnal."

He cocked an ear in the direction I was pointing. "That's not an owl. It's a mourning dove. And she's... there, right there, see in the top of that tree?"

I found her in the tree right above us, so close that I could have thrown my power bar at her nest - a bluish gray creature with enormous dewy black eyes. She didn't seem disturbed by our presence at all.

"Did you know they produce milk?" he asked, his voice soft and low.

"I thought mammals were the only dairy creatures."

"It's not quite dairy. You know how penguins regurgitate their food? Well, mourning doves have a special thing in their throat that produces a sort of milk. It's supposed to smell like cheese, too."

"Gross. What are you, some sort of walking dictionary?"

He shrugged. "I like to read."

"Me, too." I added my own bit of lore. "Did you know that moose and elk are pretty much the same thing with a few minor differences, sort of like how humans can be Norwegians or Hispanics?"

"Both types of humans being Caucasian, from the Caucus mountains."

My jaw dropped. "Holy cow. Talk about precise."

"Yep. Did you know there are three kinds of wild cats out here - bobcat, cougar and lynx?"

I shuddered. "And just last night you were mocking me for being afraid of bears."

"Sorry. At least the timber wolves and foxes will leave you alone."

I thought for a minute. "Did you know that porcupines never have twins? One baby only."

"Cool. Did you know there are four kinds of squirrels in Minnesota? Red, gray, fox and flying."

"Five," I corrected. "You forgot the ground squirrel, more technically known as the thirteen-lined ground squirrel, also known as the humble gopher."

He nudged me in the shoulder with his. "Aha! So you're a fellow nerd, after all. When we get home, we should play Trivial Pursuit."

My grin disappeared. "Yeah, home. This has been fun. But we should probably get moving before I decide I need a nap."

"This _has_ been fun," he repeated. "Let me go find a tree real quick. Be right back."

I knew what he meant. _I'm too dehydrated to pee_ , I thought. I untied my right boot and began to rub my ankle. The stench of wet leather and foot sweat wafted up to my poor nostrils. I really needed a shower. Disgusted, I pulled off my sweaty sock in order to check on my blisters. The bandages Ranger Nelson had placed on my heel yesterday was still there, but now I had new blisters growing on the tops and sides of my feet. I would be lame by tonight - and aspirin wasn't going to help a whole lot.

"Darn."

Tony knocked on the side of the house. At least, I thought it was Tony. When he kept knocking but didn't respond, I peeped around the side to see what he was doing. Nobody was there. It was just a fallen branch, not quite severed from its tree, thumping against another tree. Below it, however, was an old axe poking out from a stump that must have served as a chopping block when the lodge was still being lived in. We could really use an axe, even a rusty one. Dad's ring-saw necklace was awfully hard to use.

Boot in hand, I went to check it out. When my naked foot felt how thick and soft the grass was, I considered taking off my other boot. Just then, I was thrown on my back by a strong force that whipped me into the air! When I stopped bouncing around, I realized that I was dangling three feet off the ground, securely snagged by a thick rope snare. I thrashed around like a walleye on a fishing line.

Tony came crashing through the branches. "What happened?" he asked, but he figured it out as soon as he saw me. "Hold still."

"Get me down!"

"Hold still," he repeated in his soothing, calm voice. "I can't help you if you keep flailing like that."

I forced myself to stop panicking.

"If I had a pocket knife, I could cut you down," he said, "but all we have is that ring-saw. I don't think I can reach that high. How about you?"

"I think so." I hooked Dad's ring saw around my fingers and tried to curl up toward my feet.

Have you ever seen those ladies in the circus, the ones who hang from long crimson curtains and dance in the air? Well, they're stronger than they look. I gained new respect for them as I tried and tried to reach up to my ankle, but I wasn't very flexible or strong. Certainly not coordinated enough to hold myself in position and use the saw. I sagged, my hair drooping into a patch of pink and purple wildflowers. Blood pounded in my head, making my headache even worse. "Can't do it," I gasped.

"So we try something else," he said.

"You could climb up the tree and cut me down," I suggested.

"Maybe. Of course, you'd fall, maybe break your neck. Oh, hang on... get it, _hang_ on? Never mind... If I hold you up, could you slip your foot out of the loop?"

He braced himself under my shoulders, pushing me up toward the rope. I nearly split my hamstring; it took all my effort to heave myself up, but I got the rope off my ankle. Of course, I also crashed toward the earth in the same instant.

"Gotcha!" Tony said. His legs buckled as he caught me.

A sharp cry escaped my lips. "My ankle." I sat up and looked at it in horror. If the rope had snagged the foot with the boot, I bet I'd have been fine. As it was, I could already see the rope burns on my tender pink skin.

He started to prod it with gentle fingers, but I pushed him away. "Don't touch, for crying out loud."

"I think it's just twisted," I mumbled. Was the nausea from the pain or from being dehydrated? Either way, I didn't want to puke in front of Tony again. "Guess I should put my boot back on, huh?"

"Afraid so. If we don't do it now, your ankle will swell too much and we won't be able to get it on at all. And you won't be able to hike without some protection."

I handed him the gauze from my belt. "Do you know how to bind an ankle?"

Sympathy glittered in his black eyes. "I'm a soccer player. It comes with the territory." He unwrapped the long white bandages. "Brace yourself. This might hurt a little."

He bound my ankle in a secure figure-eight pattern so I couldn't move it, which was painful enough. I tried to focus on the vibrant petals of a purple wildflower near my head. That trick didn't work when we tried to get my boot back on my foot. I had to really clench my teeth together with all the twisting and pushing it took. When it was over, my forehead was covered in fine sweat, and I'm pretty sure I pulled up a dozen of those poor flowers by their roots trying not to scream.

My eyes stung again when I tried to stand up. I caught my breath, dazzled by the momentary pain. Tony glanced down at me, pleading in his eyes, but he didn't say what he was thinking. "It's not that bad," I lied. "Might not be able to make twenty miles today, though."

"No problem." He draped my arm over his shoulder. "Lean on me. Hey, don't go fainting on me now. I can't carry you all the way to Otter Paw."

I leaned half my weight against him and started my little bird-hops toward the forest. I couldn't help but remember the time I was back in second grade, when I broke my wrist. This pain was definitely as sharp. At least I didn't have Mom scolding all the way to the hospital this time, nagging about how it was my fault and how I should be more careful. And Dad wasn't here to argue with her either, saying how accidents happen and you can't plan for them and the best you can do is deal with them when they happen - which is kind of what Tony said the night before: make a choice.

_I'm strong,_ I thought. _I can do this._ I turned to Tony. "Really, I'm fine. Let's not stop until we make camp for tonight, okay?"

Chapter 10: Nightfall

After that, it was slow going. Very slow. We wanted to reach Bear Ridge by nightfall, but my throbbing ankle forced us to hobble along. By Tony's reckoning, we only did fifteen miles that day, and most of it was the progress we made before my accident.

We decided not to chance hiking after dark, so when the sun began to set, we found a flat patch with a mattress of thick grass to pitch our tent on. It was a big improvement over last night's pebbly, twiggy ground. We had to use the ring-saw again to hack logs for the fire. I even took a few shots at the flint-and-striker, though Tony was the one who got the flames started.

I felt useless lying there propped up against a log, my right leg stiffly out in front of me. "Is there anything I can do to help?" I kept asking, but he kept telling me to rest. I got to babysit the fire so he could gather enough firewood for the night, but he set up the tent.

When he finally joined me, he sat down and folded his arms and looked up at the white stars against the black night sky. "What a day."

"We're still alive," I said. "That's something."

He held up the last power bar. "Dinner?"

I actually started to drool when I saw it. Even so, I shook my head. "That's the last food we have, and we already had one each today. Let's just drink a water and be done."

He looked at me with respect in his eyes. "At least take the aspirin, so you'll sleep tonight."

I'd been thinking about that for the past several hours. "I'm going to save them for tomorrow. I don't think I'll be able to walk without some help."

"I wish I knew herbal medicine," he sighed. "I'd pluck some plants, boil them down, and make a soothing poultice. They do it all the time in camp stories."

"With your luck, you'd probably dose me with poison ivy or something. Thanks, but I'll suffer in peace."

"I wish we'd only eaten one of those Army meals last night, instead of both. We're in for a hungry day tomorrow."

"Yeah, but people can make it for a few days without food. We'll be fine. It's the water I'm more worried about. And the mosquito repellent - we're almost out of that, too."

The orange firelight bounced off his mischievous smile. "Which will be worse, you think? The mosquitoes or the hunger?"

I smiled back at him. "The mosquitoes, of course."

He started a reply, but the expression on his face changed before he said it. Instead, he kept staring at me.

I grew uncomfortable. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"I got lucky," he said, his voice husky.

"For what?"

"For having you here. Every minute Drosnin chases me could be my last, so I've learned to live each day the best I can. If these are to be my last days, then I'm glad I got to share them with someone so pretty. And smart. And tough."

"Oh, please," I said, rolling my eyes in embarrassment. "You're so wishy-washy. One minute you're talking like we're going to make it after all, and the next minute you sound like we're heading for certain death. Make up your mind or I'm going to have to start calling you Wishy-Washy Willy."

"My folks call me Cat," he said.

"As in here, kitty, kitty?"

"It was given to me by my charge officer's boss. He's the one who arranges where we live and how long we stay. Remember I told you how there are leaks in the department? Well, cats have nine lives."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "How many have you used up so far?"

"Counting yesterday? Three, counting the plane crash. Four counting the escape from that bear cage."

"Oh, good. Then you still have five left. That makes me feel better." I threw a stick into the fire. It landed harder than I calculated and sent up a shower of orange and yellow sparks into the night air.

"Whoa, careful," Tony said. "This forest's so dry that just one of those could cause some serious trouble."

"If Drosnin's so dangerous, why does your family want to testify? I mean, if you don't go to court, you're not a threat to him, right?"

"He'd find us either way. At least in the protection program, we have a chance of survival. I mean, look at what he's done already - and he's sitting behind bars as we speak! If that's not power, I don't know what is."

He looked so sad, I wanted to comfort him somehow. But what was I supposed to say? His situation was so beyond me that anything would have sounded trite. "Guess that makes it hard to plan for the future, huh?"

"I plan anyway."

We both drifted into our own little worlds, me thinking about the mess with my folks and him poking at the fire. Last night, the silence would have made me uncomfortable, and I would have tried to fill it with small talk. Tonight was different. In just one day, I'd managed to make a good friend - someone with as many nerd facts as me, someone who appreciated nature like me, and someone with a great sense of humor. I marveled at the irony of finding a friend out in the middle of nowhere.

We finished our water packets, which Tony collected and stuffed into his pouch. Then he helped me hop over to the tent. It was such a relief to stretch out flat and just lay there. When he stretched along side me, however, I tensed up again. There was something powerful about being so near him, something that made me want to cross the line between being friends and being closer. All I could think about was Mom and Dad, and how they ended up so miserable. A few years before their divorce, I promised myself that I wouldn't fall in love until it was practical, but how could love be so scientific and specifically timed? Not that I was looking for a guy, anyway, but I was sure looking at him now. Still, fifteen was too young to think about forever. Maybe for other girls it was fine, but for me it was not. I decided to padlock my heart for now. As much as I wanted him to hold me in his strong arms again, I didn't think it would be appropriate. I searched my brain for an excuse to let him know - tactfully - that I didn't want a repeat of last night. I gathered my long hair into a braid so it wouldn't flip all over the place. It was getting greasy. "I need a shower," I murmured.

"You smell fine," he said.

"Did you know that men have more hair in their nose than women," I said, "which means they can't smell as much or as well?"

"Which is probably why you smell so good to me."

"Well, your armpits are nasty, so stay on your side tonight."

He laughed. "Good night."

"Good night."

There were no helicopters that night.

We ended up snuggling anyway.

Chapter 11: Limping Progress

My ankle kept me awake, not to mention the hunger and thirst. I heard patient sighs from Tony all night long, so I knew he wasn't sleeping well either. My tosses and turns probably didn't help. So it was no surprise when he suggested that we pack up camp even though the sun's rays were only fingers of light, and dawn wouldn't break for another hour or so.

Hunger burned in my stomach. I couldn't resist staring at Tony's pouch. "They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

"Can't hike on an empty stomach," he agreed.

We ate the last power bar in quiet desperation, knowing that there would be nothing at all for tomorrow's hike except for little sachets of salt and pepper. I was almost hungry enough to consider drinking the hot sauce from the Army meal. Maybe tomorrow.

"Guess I'll take that aspirin now."

He passed me a water packet. "Have some of mine."

I washed the aspirin down with as little water as I could, sputtering a little because I was trying to ration my gulps. "That's my water," I said. "Not yours. Fair is fair." He opened his mouth to protest, but I held up a finger. "I would have had it for breakfast anyway." Afraid that he'd try to trick me into drinking his water, I made him open another pouch and drink it down while I finished mine.

"So what's next on the map?" I asked.

"We should reach that lake today," he said. "Let's check." He fished around inside the pouch for a minute. Startled, he opened it wide, then dumped everything on the forest floor.

"What's wrong?"

"It's not here!" Frantic, he patted his pockets. Then he groaned. "Oh, no. I left it at Miller's Lodge. I put it down yesterday when I heard you scream, and I forgot to go back and get it after we fixed your ankle. It's probably blown away into some valley or something by now."

"So we're lost?"

"Not yet. We still have your compass, and I remember some of the landmarks. Basically, we go south until we hit Dead Island Lake, and then west a bit until we hit Otter Paw."

"The map was a little more complicated than that," I said, worry coloring my voice. My swollen ankle, compressed beyond belief inside my boot, throbbed more and more each minute. "Tell me we'll make it."

He drew a shaky breath. "I remember the map, Alana. We'll make it."

We headed due south, falling into a mindless left-step-right-step pattern. For me, it was more of an exhausting left-hop-left-hop as I tried to keep cadence with Tony's long strides.

After a few hours, breakfast burned away, leaving a thousand needles of hunger stabbing into my stomach. I started to think that eating bark and berries would be delicious, after all. In fact, I was growing so familiar with the plants around me from seeing them each hour, all day long, that I was starting to tell them apart. From time to time, we'd pass berry bushes. I tried one that looked like a future raspberry, but it was so bitter and hard that I spit it out immediately.

"You're not afraid of poison?" Tony asked as I wiped my tongue on my sleeve.

"If they have a crown, they're not poisonous," I said. All of a sudden, I heard my own words. Where had I learned that? Nature Camp, probably, or maybe from a book, but I knew it was true. I started pausing at each berry bush, searching for anything that resembled blueberries.

Though I had never tasted juneberries, I knew they were supposed to be related to blueberries and safe to eat. Imagine how delighted I was to finally find some! Some were still green and unripe, but many had turned red or even dark blue. Maybe they'd all be ripe in another week or so, but red meant edible.

"Look!" I cried, releasing Tony's neck so I could hop closer to the shrub. Sure enough, when I crushed a red one between my thumb and forefinger, there were little brown seeds inside the yellow fruit. I glanced at Tony. "Wish me luck." I popped it in my mouth.

It wasn't exactly delicious, but its light almond flavor was pleasantly sweet on my tongue. I grinned. "Well?"

"If you don't die, I'll try one."

I threw a purple one at him. "Chicken."

"You mean it tastes like chicken?" He stared at it, sighed, and then bit down. His eyebrows flew up toward his forehead. "Not bad."

We stood at the bush for a little while, picking all the purple-blue ones first, and then moving to the red ones when those were gone. There weren't nearly enough to satisfy us, but now we knew what to look for. In my victorious glow, I almost didn't notice how much my ankle hurt.

We walked, we walked, and we walked some more. Occasionally we'd stop at a juneberry bush, and once we even found a patch of wild strawberries with fruits no bigger than my pinkie nail. Talk about sweet and delicious. But the treasure of the day happened when I heard a loon's haunting cry. Loons lived on lakes, and lakes meant water.

Tony hesitated when we approached the open water, but the trees were so close that we could dash back for cover if we heard any aircraft overhead.

He knelt beside the lake's crystal blue waters and filled the canteen to the brim. Some of it leaked out of the hole near the top. "Okay, Wonder-Belt Girl, work your magic against that water-borne cyst the ranger told us about." He held the canteen out to me.

"Cryptosporidium?"

"You're a freak for remembering that."

I grinned at him and read the microscopic instructions on the package. "Well, there's good news and bad news."

"Bad first."

"It takes four hours to work if we want full potency, especially because the lake water is so cold."

"And we don't have that kind of time to wait around, especially..."

I knew what he wanted to say: _Especially with your ankle_. "Except that we don't have to wait here," I added, trying to be optimistic. "We can just fill the canteen and wait a while."

"What was the good news?"

"It only takes half an hour to kill most bacteria and viruses. And maybe those cysts he was talking about are only found in lakes, not running water."

His smile could have melted snow, and it wasn't just on his lips. I would have known he was smiling even if he'd been wearing a ski mask with only his eyes exposed. It caught me by surprise. 'Beautiful' is a word that most people use on women, but I have to say, just then, that he was beautiful. I grinned back at him.

He licked his parched lips. "And if we get sick anyway, we'll be in Otter Paw tomorrow. Didn't the ranger say they had a hospital there?"

I glanced down at my ankle. "I sure hope so." I plopped the water purification tablet into the canteen. "So... what do you say we drink the rest of those water packets, then?"

"Four left," he replied. "How about half now, and save the others for tomorrow?"

Boy, did that water taste good. I drank down my entire packet without even stopping to sip or ration or let it stay on my tongue a while. Full gulps - my reward for making it this far.

As I stepped away from the lake, I noticed all the cattails lining the shore. I burst into a sharp gasp.

Tony reached a hand toward me. "What? Your ankle?"

"No," I laughed. "Lunch!" I tugged one of the tall stalks up by its shallow root and showed it to him. "This is the only thing I know for sure how to eat out here."

He made a face. "You were guessing about the berries?"

"No, goofball. I'm sure that berries with a crown are edible. But this thing is amazing. Check it out." I held the stalk upside down and peeled as I talked. "If we remove the outside layers, there's this white core inside. See?" I bit into it with no hesitations; it was the only thing I remembered clearly from Nature Camp because I had been chosen as the volunteer for that particular plant. At the time, I'd been jealous; other kids got to try the normal foods, like deer jerky or rhubarb pie. Even the survival bar looked better than my cattails, with all the dried berries and powdered nuts packed into some sort of fat. Now I was glad for my humble lesson.

Tony must have sensed my enthusiasm, because he didn't argue like he did with the berries. In fact, I completely ignored him as I uprooted stalk after stalk, grazing on the sweet white inner core. "I feel kind of bad, wasting them like this," I mentioned after a while. "Did you know you can collect the pollen and turn it into flour for biscuits? I think you can pound the starch into flour, too. Oh! And put a few of these into your pouch. They'll make great kindling for tonight's fire." I handed him the velvety brown heads.

"Thanks, Ranger Alana," he said. "Any other tricks up your sleeve?"

"Boy, I wish." I tucked a few cattail roots into the pouch, too, for a snack.

Over the next few hours, I surprised myself with my strength. With my ankle growing worse and worse, I just wanted to sit down, have a good cry, and wait for the bad guys to show up. Instead, I didn't complain at all, or whine, or even feel sorry for myself. Of course it was impossible not to worry about my ankle, but it was nice to be independent, for a change. Always before, Mom was the guide. She never let me make my own decisions, and Dad always let her lead the way because it was too tiring to argue with her. But out here, in the middle of a forest that should have killed me by now, I was still going strong _without_ their help. Ha!

Relief washed over me when made it to Bear Ridge. Not that I didn't trust Tony's sense of direction without the map, but it was nice to be sure. Still, we were going so slow that we'd never make it to Dead Island Lake by nightfall. I knew it bothered him because Wednesday was the trial. At this pace, we'd never make it to Otter Paw in time for him to testify.

When we finally settled down for the evening, he was really quiet. We munched on the berries and cattails we'd gathered along the way, and drank our iodine-flavored water from the canteen, but we didn't joke around. In fact, Tony just stared into the fire, all sad and quiet.

"Oh, man," I groaned. "We should have tried fishing when we passed that lake back there. We could have had trout or something for dinner."

"Trout are a river fish," he mumbled.

"Some live in lakes," I argued. When he didn't respond, I tried again. "I remembered something else about cattails. Did you know Indians used to roll the sap into balls and eat them mixed with powdered dried meat?"

"Doesn't do us much good right now, now, does it?" Careless of sparks, he threw his stick into the flames, causing a minor firework shower to spray into the air.

"Are you angry with me?" I asked, blinking at his sharp tone. "Look, I'm walking as fast as I can. It's not my fault."

"It's nobody's fault," he said. "Look, just leave me alone for a while, okay?"

I didn't know what to do. When Dad was in that sort of mood, Mom only made it worse by asking and asking what was wrong, or by insulting his ability to stay positive. "Okay," I said.

He rubbed his forehead.

I could see his exhaustion - and not just the physical part. The whole Drosnin thing - all the years of worry and survival, all the different places he'd had to move with his family just to stay ahead of danger - was supposed to be ending soon, but here he was, powerless to fulfill his duty at last. And I was powerless to make him feel any better. "I'm heading to bed," I said. "You coming?"

"I'm gonna stay out here for a while longer."

"Need anything?"

If he heard me, he didn't reply. But I don't think he heard me; he was so caught up in his own thoughts. I hoped that a good night of sleep would help him feel better.

Chapter 12: Strength

I found Tony stretched out by the fire when I woke up on Tuesday morning, clutching a stick like a it was his security blanket. It had burned to fine white ash. Some of the powder dusted him like snowflakes. With all the cold snaps, I wouldn't have been surprised if it actually had snowed.

I bent down and brushed some of the white flakes off his shoulder. "Tony. Tony, time to get up."

He jerked awake with a lion's roar, nearly punching me. His fist stopped an inch away from my stomach.

I lost my balance and fell backward. "Uffda," I grunted.

"Sorry," he kept saying. "You caught me in a nightmare..."

Sleep hadn't helped, then. Would he be in a bad mood again today?

I dusted myself off, as if removing ash would be any improvement over the layers of dirt and sweat that already covered my skin and clothes. "Is that a club?" I asked, pointing to the stick.

"Actually, it's a crutch. I found it last night. Just in case you were tired of me wearing you around my neck like an oversized jacket." He handed me the long, stout stick. Sure enough, two branches formed into a Y that came right up to my armpit.

"It's perfect," I said. "Thanks."

"Not that I mind carrying you," he said, "but it might be easier this way."

"But not as warm." I dared a friendly smile.

He returned it, slow but just as friendly, which was a relief.

I did my best to take down the tent, but it was all I could do to keep my weight on my good foot, like a red-headed sandhill crane standing one-legged in the water, except that the crane would have had better balance. No kidding, I don't know why the leather didn't stretch with all the swelling.

It was our first morning on truly empty stomachs. There were no power bars or Army meals or convenient little packets of water. We started the day hopeful that we'd find more berries or cattails, or even just a creek to refill the empty canteen, but the terrain grew rockier and drier as we approached the cliffs near Dead Island Lake. Funny enough, after all the little ponds and creeks we'd passed in the past few days, I just assumed they'd always be around. After a few hours of nothing, though, I began to grow desperate.

At one point, I asked, "How much further?"

Tony's response, "Not that far," was the only conversation we had for the rest of the morning. Neither of us had the strength for idle chatter.

The blisters on my good foot had long since burst, giving way for new blisters and raw skin. Even my crutch hurt my armpit, though it was indeed easier to hobble along without timing my strides to Tony's. When the yellow sun shone high overhead so that I was walking directly over my shadow, I called for a break. By then, the terrain had turned to hard rock. The soft, green meadows were gone, replaced by gray pebbles and sharp-edged shale. Even the blades of grass that grew out of the rocks were sharp-edged. There weren't as many trees as before, either, and the ones that now surrounded us were scraggly and twisted. Dead trees, brown and leafless, poked up into the sky like telephone poles.

Even so, there was a kind of rugged beauty to the scenery: yellow grasses, red wildflowers, deep crimson leaves. When we arrived at the top of the stone ridge, the open sapphire blue sky caused my heart to leap into my throat. I'd never seen such grandeur. In Minneapolis, the tall buildings and old architecture define magnificence; here, it was the absence of human interference that grabbed me by the throat.

I turned to Tony, beaming. "Mind if we take a quick break?"

"Here? Out in the open?"

"I thought rescue teams gave up after three days."

"Seventy-two hours, and Drosnin will never give up until he's got my body. My dead body. Can you make to the bottom of the ridge? Going down is the easy part."

I nodded, gripping my crutch a little tighter. I only asked because it was so beautiful up there, but by the time we got down to the intersection where the trees met the base of the ridge, I was panting as if I had just run a marathon.

"You all right?" Tony asked, looking down at me. "You look really pale."

"Just winded."

He felt my face. "You're cold."

"I know." I tried to smile. "Funny on a warm day like this, huh?"

"You want to sit for a while?"

I had the feeling that if I sat down, I wasn't going to want to get up again. I shook my head.

"Another few miles, and we're there. Then we head off to Otter Paw, okay?"

"I can do this," I said.

"I know you can." He took my crutch from me and wrapped my arm around his neck.

It was slower going that way, but much warmer for me. Still, I felt like I was going to pass out. Soon I asked for a break again.

"Can you keep going a little further?"

Keep going? All of a sudden, my hunger, thirst, headache, blisters, fatigue and pain poured over me as if I'd passed under one of the icy waterfalls in Lake Itasca. I felt drowned under the helplessness. My good leg crumpled, and I collapsed on the nearest boulder.

"All right," he said, joining me. He took my hand in his. "You're fine. We'll make it. Everything's okay."

It sounded like he was talking more to himself than to me, but white noise filled my ears and it was a struggle to stay sitting upright. I took several deep, slow breaths. Eventually, my heart stopped pounding so fast, and I felt less dizzy-headed. I was able to focus on the patches of orange and white wildflowers at my feet. I picked one of them and held it to my nose, letting its soft fragrance comfort me. I felt better enough to make a joke about plucking up an endangered species.

"We're hiding from people with guns and you're worried about being arrested for destroying wildlife?" Tony asked.

"Well, you know. Hey - are those cattails?" I asked, pointing at some tall stalks behind the trees.

"In this terrain? It's too dry. Cattails grow in marshes or lakes."

"It's been really dry this season," I argued. "What if the marsh dried up or something? Go see."

He shrugged, but he walked over to the clearing. Then he turned back to face me, grinning. "Amazing."

There were only about twenty stalks, but food was food. I savored the sweet cores for as long as I could. "If only there was water, this would be a decent lunch."

"Make it to Dead Island Lake, and you can have all the water you want," he promised.

I took the hint and struggled to stand. He held out his hand, but I pushed it away. "I can do it on my own."

"I know you can, but we're already behind schedule." He continued to hold out his hand.

I took it.

Although I felt a whole lot better after our break, it seemed to have the opposite effect on Tony. He withdrew completely. From time to time, I saw him move his lips, as if he were having a conversation with an invisible person. His fists clenched, too, like he wanted to hit something. And then, when my crutch got stuck between some cracks in the rock, he snapped.

"Stupid stick," he said, wiggling it free. Then louder, "Stupid stick!"

All the frustrations of the past few days poured out into one long, primal bellow that frightened me to my toes. He dropped to his knees, his roar so loud that I actually glanced up at the sky as if a helicopter would locate us by the echo. When that roar finished, he uttered another even louder than the first.

I stood there, eyes wide, as he began to pound the dirt. It sounded like he was sobbing, but I couldn't see his face.

After a minute or two, he sat back on his heels.

"Uh, you okay?" I asked, afraid to touch him.

He looked up at me, sheer agony written all over his face. He didn't have any tears in his eyes, but it was obvious that his calm had shattered. "Do you ever... it's just... arggh! So helpless! I'm supposed to testify tomorrow! I've waited years for this nightmare to finish. If I don't testify, who knows what will happen to me, to my family, to that criminal?"

I gestured to my injured ankle. "I understand helpless and frustrated."

"I don't mean pain," he snickered. "I mean for your very survival."

"All the time, every day," I replied. "I'm not talking about right now. My family fought a war against divorce, and I'm the one who lost. I'm completely without control. Just a pawn in their fights. And I can't do anything to make them stop - even though they live so far apart from each other." I paused. "Maybe my life isn't in danger when I'm at home, but I do understand how you feel. It's a daily battle, isn't it?"

He didn't respond, so I dropped to a knee beside him. "Hey," I said, trying to be supportive but sounding sharp instead, "you're always talking about making choices. Are you going to choose to sit there in defeat, or get up and keep fighting? Come on, let's go."

His shoulders slumped even more. "We'll never make it at this pace," he whispered.

"Fine. So leave me behind and jog your way to Otter Paw."

That did the trick - he made eye contact with me. "I'd never leave you behind."

"So are we going to start hiking again or what?"

He sighed. For a moment, I thought he was just going to sit there for the rest of the day. Then he squared his shoulders, and stood up. "Okay, then."

"Okay, then." I picked up my walking stick and started off, leaving him to follow. Before he had a chance to catch up, though, I turned to face him. "Don't do that again. You're stronger than that, and I need you to be strong for both of us. I mean it. I'd have fallen apart by now if I didn't have you."

He nodded. "Fine. But if you need me to be strong, I need you to be my sanity. If I miss that deadline tomorrow, I don't know what I'll do." He glanced back at the ridge as if he'd throw himself off it.

I shuddered. "Agreed." I led him away from there as fast as I could.

Chapter 13: Enemy

Dead Island Lake presented itself when we reached the top of a high hilltop. It was easy to see where it got its name: an island rose out of the water at one end of the lake, full of white tree skeletons. It looked enormous.

"We made it!" I exclaimed.

Tony gave a half-smile. "Almost, right?"

"I'm so thirsty," I said. "Gotta say I'm a little nervous about drinking straight lake water without any purification tablets."

He recited the directions as if still committing them to memory. "Head to the southernmost point and then head west. Then it's a day's hike." He glanced at my ankle. "Make that two days."

"Give me some credit," I said. "I haven't fainted on you yet."

"No, but you came close back there."

"Nothing that some water can't fix. Come _on_." I didn't tell him that I was planning a quick nap when we got there - after drenching myself in water, of course.

As we approached the banks, we saw a hawk dip down and snag a large fish with its talons.

"Hey, let me have your earring," Tony said. "Let's see if your dad's fishing lures really work."

My hands flew to my ear so I could unfasten the lure. "We're going fishing? Won't they rot by the time we cook them tonight?"

"I doubt it. Then again, we probably won't catch anything, so what's the harm? If we get lucky, you can tell your dad. Besides, once we get to Otter Paw, we won't see each other again."

I raised an eyebrow. "And all you want before we part ways forever is to see my earring?"

He blushed - a true bright red that crept all the way up into his hairline. "Actually, I want something else... but I don't know if you'd give it to me."

I held the earring out to him. He took my hand instead. Then he stepped in for a kiss. He was so close that I could feel his breath on my face.

"No fair," I murmured. "I'm crippled. I can't run away."

"Do you want to?"

I hesitated, considering. "Not really."

He put his arm around my waist and drew me even closer, but it was my decision to raise my lips up to meet his. My first kiss was brief, exciting, tender and strong all in one split second.

He caressed my jaw with his hand before breaking contact. "There," he said. "If I die tomorrow, nobody can take that away from me."

I giggled, dizzy, but not from pain. "That's so morbid, Tony."

He released my hand. As soon as he did, though, the earring dropped and slid into a crack in the rocks below us. "Oops." He stooped to get the earring. It fell underneath the rocky ledge so that he had to shove his hand into the crevice to reach it.

A rattling sound filled the air. Just as I located the source, Tony jerked and withdrew his hand. It was bleeding - punctured by two small fangs.

He stared at it, not realizing what happened.

I tugged him backward as hard as I could, away from the large brown rattlesnake that sat under the outcrop, poised to strike again.

We both ran away until we stood on the banks of the lake, where I yanked him to a stop. "You need to lie down and stay calm. Walking or moving makes the heart pump faster."

"Snakebite," he said, staring at his hand. "Rattlesnake, pretty venomous. They make a pretty decent stew, supposedly." His voice was oddly empty of any emotion. He was just stating facts.

"Tony. Sit down. Help me think what to do. What else?"

"What else," he repeated. "What else." He went hysterical. "What else? I'm going to die! That's what else. It's fate. Why else would life be trying so _hard_ to kill me?"

I pushed him to the ground, hard. "Stop that right now. Stay calm, do you hear me? Stop that or I'll... smack you." It was a lame threat, but it seemed to work.

He laid flat on the ground, a terrified expression on his face.

"Look," I continued, "we need to keep your head below your heart level, right? Or was it level with your heart? I don't remember. I wish I had paid more attention in health class!"

"Hey, you're babbling." He reached over and patted my hand. "Let's be logical about this. You should leave now, get to Otter Paw before you starve to death. You're strong enough if you use your walking stick and go real slow..."

"Shut up." I put a finger on his lips. "I'm not going anywhere without you."

"You can't stay and watch me die. I've heard about snake bites. They're not pretty. First I'm going to swell up, then I'll vomit all over you, and then I'll be paralyzed before I fall asleep and never wake up again. Go, Alana. Don't stay here."

"I'm not leaving," I repeated. "Help me with this. Is there something I'm supposed to do now? Cut your punctures, suck the venom? Apply a tourniquet?"

"No, no. Just go away."

"Stop it." I propped his head on my lap. My tears splashed onto his face, making him blink. "If only we had a flare or something."

"Who'd be looking? Unless it was Nelson, and we don't want his attention." He tapped on my belt. "Give me the blow dart."

"No way. We don't know if it's a tranquilizer or poison. I won't risk that."

"It's my choice. I choose, Alana. I won't stay here and die a slow and agonizing death, especially if it means keeping you here when you could be on your way to freedom."

"So you're seriously thinking about killing yourself, Tony Wexler? After all this time and all the talk about surviving and planning for the future and everything? So you're a liar, then?" I burst into tears.

His face turned to stone, as if he wasn't even aware of me.

With a trembling hand, I pressed the loaded tube into Tony's hand. "I don't know what I'd do if I were in your situation," I admitted, "but please don't do anything yet. Please? Just give me a chance to see if I can find some help."

His knuckles turned white when he closed his fingers. "What's the point? We've been avoiding attention all this time, and now you want to bring it here?"

"Well, if you're going to look for worst-case scenarios, then let's assume that all of Otter Paw has been bribed, too. There's no sense in pressing forward then. We may as well both of us just sit here and die." Angry, I tromped toward the rattlesnake's crevice. "How about I just stick my hand in there, too, so we can both die together?"

"Don't be crazy," Tony said, sitting up.

"You're the one who's crazy." I hid my face in my hands for a minute, not brave enough to get any closer and let the snake bite me. I turned around to face him. "I don't want to die, Tony. You might, but I don't."

The empty white trees haunted me with their deathly beauty. Too bad there wasn't a bridge connecting our shore to the island; the dry wood would have made easy material for tonight's campfire. Campfire? What about a bonfire?

"Tony! What if I were to light the entire island on fire? That would bring an entire team of rangers. You heard Nelson yourself - he said he was so good, he could assemble a team in less than half an hour. That would solve two of your problems, don't you see? First, there would be a bunch of people showing up, not just him. Drosnin can't possibly know who all would come here to fight the fire, so they can't all be bribed. And second, time is precious with snakebites. We can get you to the hospital before the venom takes hold!"

He blinked at me, afraid to hope. "It's a risk."

"That's okay."

"How do you plan to get out there? Swim?"

I nearly jumped up and down like a little kid. "Check it out. See the dock on the island? There's another one over there, right up the shore. I can't see one, but I bet there's a boat. I mean, do you see any roads around here? How could anyone haul a boat up here? I bet it's a community boat - you use it and put it back."

"And if there's no boat, you'll be wrong and I'll be dead."

I gulped. "Let me go find out."

His bitten hand had already begun to swell. He kept it clenched, as if he were holding something inside. His other hand squeezed the blow dart. He glanced back and forth from hand to hand. "Do it," he said, giving me the blow dart. "I'll wait until you get back."

Chapter 14: Fire Island

I sprinted as best I could to the dock. Every time my foot connected with the rocky beach, bolts of agony shot through my leg. I refused to pay attention. As I ran, I worked out the details in my mind. Row out to the island, use my bracelet and striker to spark a fire, get the fire going strong, and row back. Once the fire got big enough and smoky enough, help would arrive.

I hoped.

The plan was easy enough. The reality was far trickier. In the first place, I'd never rowed a boat before. At least there was a boat, after all, but its wooden planks looked old and patched. Would it spring a leak halfway out? I wasn't a strong swimmer; I'd probably drown at that distance. I swallowed my fears and lowered myself from the dock into the splintery canoe. It wobbled, rippling the water. I grabbed the rough, chipped oars and started to row.

At first, keeping a straight line was impossible. I kept arcing in a half-circle until I figured out that my right arm was pulling harder than my left. Having had so much experience with blisters on my heels lately, I recognized the sharp bite; my hands were going to be covered soon.

Pull, pull, don't give up, I chanted. Pull, pull, don't give up. Pull, pull...

How weak I was! Thirsty, tired, hungry. The muscles in my arms and shoulders started to ache after only a few minutes, and the burn spread all the way down my back. I tried to focus on something to be glad for. It took a while, but I finally figured it out: I wasn't walking or standing, which meant there was no weight on my ankle. That was a definite treat.

It took forever to reach the island. When I finally did, I wasn't sure if I wanted to go ashore. It smelled rotten and forbidding. Insects flew into my face - especially biting flies and whispery mosquitoes.

I'll probably get a snakebite myself, I thought. Or a spider bite. Didn't I read somewhere that black widows could live in this climate?

The idea of being poisoned to death freaked me out, but I thought about Tony lying helpless on the shore. There was no other choice.

My first attempt to land the canoe failed. It was hard to guide the canoe alongside the dock. I ran into the corner post, bouncing backward and nearly ending up under the canoe instead of in it. The second time, I backpaddled, lined up the nose of the canoe with the dock, an eased in slowly. Never having tied up a canoe before, I hoped my shoestring knots would be good enough to keep it there until I got back.

The island seemed like an obstacle course for someone with a bad ankle. I found myself picking through all sorts of debris. We're talking thick layers of dead branches, twigs, logs, and rocks. Sometimes the surface shifted, and my weight would break through the top layer to even more treacherous terrain below.

And then I slipped. Of course, right? As if Fate had been determined to break my ankle all along, and hadn't quite gotten the right chance to carry out her mission. Well, she got a good hold this time. When I stepped on a pile of sticks, they snapped. Not only did I push through a few inches of stones, but the shift caused a fairly large boulder to move enough to wedge my ankle into a trap.

There was nobody to help me. I could hear Mom's "I told you so" and Dad's "But it was my turn with her" in my ears. I thought of all the times I had wanted to interrupt them and have my say, but I held back like a good little daughter, afraid to hurt anyone's feelings. Never before had my arguments been so sharp and clear. All the things I ever wanted to say just lined themselves up like soldiers practicing their drill. Why hadn't I told Mom how much I loved her before I got on the plane? Why hadn't I phoned Dad more and reassured him that no matter where he went or how far away he was, he'd always be my daddy? Why hadn't I yelled at them just a little bit and told them how much they hurt me each time they used me to annoy each other?

Total calm enveloped me, kind of like when the airplane hit the water, except that I wasn't stupidly paralyzed this time. As if my foot belonged to someone else, I inspected all the angles. I decided to point my toes downward and pull back while leaning on the boulder. And I knew it was going to hurt.

I took a few fast breaths to brace myself, then pulled as hard as I could. The familiar sound of cracking sticks filled the air, but it was bone, not sticks. _My_ bone. I knew instantly that my ankle hadn't been broken before, because the new level of pain was so much worse.

A bizarre thought struck me - at least it was the same ankle! What would I have done with two injured ankles? I started to laugh. Then I couldn't stop. Tears leaked down my cheeks. I figured since I was already hysterical, I'd go ahead and attempt another mighty heave.

This time my foot came free.

It's amazing how much pain a person can endure and still function. I knew I was going into shock. _Better finish this before I'm completely incoherent,_ I thought. _Now, what do I need?_

I stifled my giggles and looked around for a good starting place. Four days in the forest had taught me to be analytical. Gathering the firewood would be no problem; ultra-dry debris surrounded me. It was arranging it that puzzled me so much. I'd watched Tony organize the tinder in little piles, but I'd never done it with my own hands.

"You'll burn yourself!" said Mom. "Give me those matches."

Focus.

I found a huge dead tree with arms that reached out to the other trees. Perfect. I piled little tufts of dry grasses and needle-thin twigs into a sort of bird's nest for my starting point. Then I arranged my other twigs - pencil-size, finger-size, breadstick-size - into nearby piles so I could reach them. All the while, I stayed alert for spiders and snakes. Whenever I picked up a piece of wood, I banged it on the ground, just in case.

And then it was time.

Kneeling, I held my bracelet over the nest and banged the striker against it. Nothing. I banged it harder, and then so hard I thought I'd break the bracelet. I finally drew a tiny spark, but it landed in the dirt and died. Desperate, I kept hitting and hitting until, by pure luck, a giant spark landed in the nest and started to smolder. I almost didn't notice it. But I leaned forward and began to blow, mentally begging it to catch flame.

It died.

I had to start over.

Eventually, another big spark landed in the nest. This time I was ready. Like some mama feeding baby food to a baby until it was ready for solids, I fed my spark until it turned into a tiny, bright little flame. I think I nearly stifled it with too much attention. But it managed to thrive - and start to grow. It ate all my bark shreds and hair-thin twigs, and then gradually developed an appetite for the sticks. Soon it blazed as high as my knee. Time for the logs.

"But Santa will be here soon," Dad said. "Better put this out before he burns himself."

Focus!

Adrenaline sharpened my vision, outlining each blue flame as they licked the logs. My fire was growing so hot that I had to throw in the logs from a distance.

And then the tree caught fire.

Victory shot through my veins. I did it! Alana Morgan, useless princess, mild mouse of a human who couldn't even tell her parents to be nice to each other, had created fire with her own two hands. It was a primal feeling, a good feeling.

As I turned back to the dock, I notice the island's creature inhabitants were fleeing into the water, panicked. Snakes and rats dashed to the far side of the island, away from the flames. I shuddered in terror. What if one of them got into my canoe? I was safe from them as long as I stayed near the fire, but it would roast me soon, and then what?

I limped back to my boat, surprised to find that the oar was wet. A leak? Just my hand, torn open by the blisters and rough logs.

_Well, I gotta row back,_ I thought. _If I can walk on a broken ankle, I can row with bloody hands._

I floated above myself, detached, superior. Though I was aware of every ache and hunger pang, they did not control me.

The row back took even longer than getting there. Smoke stung my eyes, causing tears to roll down my cheeks. The acrid smoke choked me, all thick and black, and billowing into the sky so high that the folks in Otter Paw couldn't miss it. I had the presence of mind to rip off my sleeve and dip it in the water so I could wear it like a wet bandit's mask around my nose and mouth, which cut the chances of me breathing in that awful smoke.

My giddy triumph started to fade when I thought of Tony. Would he still be alive by the time I made it to shore? I never even got to thank him for saving my life in the crash.

It would be the first thing I'd do when I reached him. If he was still alive.

Chapter 15: Eternity

I didn't bother to dock the boat; I just rowed straight to Tony. My first step on shore nearly defeated me, re-introducing my poor ankle to weight and contact. The adrenaline rush was wearing off, fast, and it was hard to pretend that it didn't hurt anymore.

I hopped over to Tony, who lay curled up like an infant. My shadow beat me to him by several feet, falling on his face. I stood there, afraid of what I might find. Disgusted by his hand, which seemed to have hot-dogs for fingers and nasty yellow and red blisters working their way up to his elbow, I tapped him on the shoulder. "Tony?"

His eyelids fluttered open. "You came back."

"Was I supposed to build a summer cabin there?" I stepped around the puddle of vomit to his other side, where I found a pile of pebbles with a long straight stick poking up into the air. "What's this?"

"Sundial," he croaked. "That shadow's moved a lot since the fire started. Maybe an hour. I thought you drowned."

I knelt beside him. "I thought you'd be dead by now."

"Still fighting."

"Me, too." I realized how thirsty I was. All this time, I'd been at the lake, and I hadn't even had a mouthful of water. Then I realized neither had he. "Want some water?"

He nodded.

As I shoved the canteen under the soft waves, air gurgling out its neck, I wondered if something to drink would be good or bad for him. Three sips made him heave. I wiped his face clean with a corner of my cloak, feeling rather nauseous myself. I hate the smell of vomit, and when people do it around me, I feel like puking myself.

"You feeling any better now?" I asked.

"Dizzy... my mouth tingles... my insides feel like they're dissolving..."

Sobs caught in my throat. It was one thing to manage my own pain, but to watch another human being suffer made me despair. I knew my tears would make Tony feel even worse. "Look at that smoke, Tony," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's the bonfire of the century. Surely someone will be here soon..."

His face squished up in pain, and he groaned.

"I... I... need to use the bathroom," I gasped, then hopped away. I found a nice, low pine tree, but it was a lie. I just needed to get away from death.

What was I doing, hiding? He'd been so strong for me, and here I was, hiding like a coward. I'd seen death before, once, at my grandfather's viewing right before the funeral. I just hadn't been part of the dying. I stood there, terrified, surrounded by the fresh scent of pine sap, and gave myself a good mental kick. _Get out there, stupid!_

Just when I regained my composure, I heard Tony talking to himself. I almost replied, "Be right there," but then another voice joined his.

Ranger Nelson!

I crept forward slowly, careful not to snap any twigs and give my position away.

"You're not that far gone," Nelson said, giving Tony a kick in the ribs. "So quit playing possum. I said, where's your girlfriend?"

"We had an argument about which way to go. She split up. I don't know where she is."

"How poetic. A lover's quarrel. But now I'll have to find her, too. She wasn't kidding about that jewelry of hers, you know. It's genuine, and it's expensive. Look at this." He took my watch out of his breast pocket. "I just figured out what it does an hour ago. It's a radio, like a walkie-talkie, only tinier. The reception is incredible. I already had a chat with the ranger in the next county over. Call me Double-Oh-Nelson, right?" He squatted down by Tony and felt his forehead. "Fever and chills, right? Guess you were bit a few hours ago, then."

Tony jerked his head away. "Why don't you just shoot me now and put me out of my misery?" He let out a string of insults. Although his tongue was going numb, I could understand his tone.

It occurred to me that he was trying to give me time to run away. My heart broke. There he was, helpless, still trying to protect me. No way was I going to run - but what could I do?

Nelson laughed. "...so is that when you decided to set fire to my island? I bet you expected a rescue. Good thinking, but you forgot something. I'm the one who calls for a fire squad." He showed his teeth in a hideous grin. "And I didn't call for one. I knew it was you."

"You're lying," Tony said. "Where's your plane? Where's your jeep? You're all alone out here, just like me. Have you been following this whole time?"

"You're not as hard to track as you wanted to believe."

"Got any food in that backpack? I'm starving."

Nelson put his boot on Tony's chest. "You want a last meal? Funny." The enormous black cell phone he pulled off his utility belt looked powerful enough to phone Mars. He punched in the number. "Yeah, Mike? Got him... Yeah, still alive, but snakebit... Pretty bad... No, I already told you, I don't do that kind of work... How much? How much? No kidding... You sure, though? He's gonna die anyway... No, I understand. Bye." He holstered his phone.

"Let me guess," Tony said. "He said you can go ahead and do the right thing and get me to a hospital."

Nelson pointed the muzzle of his pistol down at Tony. "Today's your lucky day," he said. "Instead of suffering for several more hours, you can just eat a bullet."

His brave words did not match the shaking of his hand. As much as I wanted to believe that Nelson would not go through with pulling the trigger, I couldn't be sure. I needed to come up with a plan in a hurry.

"Roll over, kid," Nelson told Tony. "I can't shoot you if you're looking at me."

"No."

"Roll over! I don't want to see you."

"No!"

"Leave him alone!" I shouted, hopping toward him.

He whirled around, pointing the gun at me.

When I was sure I wouldn't miss, I put the blow dart to my mouth and huffed for all I was worth. It struck him in the chest and stayed there.

He pulled the trigger - and would have killed me, except that Tony kicked his legs out from under him, so the bullet missed me and buried itself in the shore behind me. I pounced on him and wrestled the gun away. It was easy, actually; the dart was quick in its action. He fell to the ground, eyes closed.

I stared at him. Was it a tranquilizer or a poison? Did I just murder a person?

To my enormous relief, his chest rose and fell in a regular rhythm.

I dropped beside Tony. "Hey."

"Hey. Nice going." He grabbed my arm. "Do me one last favor?"

"I'm out of darts."

He swallowed, as if talking cost him a great deal of pain and effort. "You know all those arguments you rehearse when you think nobody's listening? You should tell them to your folks for real. Don't waste any more time. Don't be like..." He trailed off and then suddenly relaxed.

No amount of shaking would wake him up. I laid out my cloak on the shore, pinning down each corner with heavy rocks so the bright orange cloth wouldn't blow away. I also grabbed Nelson's gun, just in case. Then, my work done, I took off that confounded boot that squeezed the life out of my ankle. Then there was nothing left to do but caress Tony's hair and watch the heavy black smoke billow into the sky.

Chapter 16: Red, White and Blue

At first, when the helicopter landed, I didn't even open my eyes. I didn't want to know if it was Drosnin's men or a rescue squad. Honestly, I was too tired to care. If it was Drosnin's guys, what could I do anyway? I started weeping for all the things I didn't take time to do - thank Tony for saving my life, twice; talk to my parents, and I mean really talk to them; try out for the school play because I was so scared of what other people thought. Well, if I survived this, I wouldn't try to please so many people all the time. I would start doing the things I wanted most.

Curiosity drove me to look. Red and white - a rescue copter.

I burst into tears. Even in this moment, which should have been the sweet end to all our troubles, I pointed the gun at the man who stepped out onto shore. He was wearing a ranger's uniform, to be certain, but then again, so was Nelson.

"Stay right there," I called. "Throw your gun on the ground."

He halted, but only for a second. Hands raised, he continued walking toward me. "Young lady, put that down. I'm here to rescue you."

"What proof do you have?"

He looked confused.

Just then, another man jumped out of the helicopter. But this one had a familiar face and a familiar voice. "Alana? Honey? What are you doing?"

"Daddy!" I threw the gun out into the lake, past the ring of cattails, past the lily pads, where it could never be used again. Safe! Then relief hit with all the force of a hailstorm. I burst into tears.

Dad snatched me up in a bear hug as if I'd been five years old instead of fifteen. He swung me around in a circle before putting me down.

My ankle couldn't support my weight. I fell flat on my face and didn't have the strength to get up. "Doesn't really hurt now," I said, pointing to my ankle. "But I don't think it works anymore, either."

He looked like he didn't believe me. I don't blame him, with all the tears pouring down my face. I tried to catch my breath.

Meanwhile, the pilot was kneeling beside Tony. He pointed to Nelson. "What happened?"

"That ranger tried to kill us. I shot him with a blow dart. My friend got bitten by a rattlesnake. I think he's dying."

"Rattlesnake? We don't have those this far north."

"I know what I saw. Can you help him?"

"I'll take care of him. Of you both." He hoisted Tony over his shoulder and carried him into the chopper.

My father carried me in his arms. He strapped me in to a seat on the side wall where I could keep an eye on Tony, who got strapped to a stretcher.

The helicopter rose into the air, giving me a clear view of the damage I'd caused. The entire island smoldered. A few trees remained standing, but they were now charred and ugly, no longer white and beautiful. Plumes of smoke still climbed high though the flames were pretty near done. The part that made me smile, though, was the fact that the fire had not spread to the surrounding shores. My bonfire had done its duty.

"How did you find me?"

"Your watch. It has a tracking device. I waited and waited for you to turn it on. When you didn't..." His face, usually so cheerful, pinched in unspoken words. He hugged me hard. "Why did you wait so long?"

I rested my head against his shoulder, like I used to do when I was a little girl. I missed those simpler times. Would we ever be a real family again? Why couldn't things just get back to normal? I glanced at Tony, who hadn't woken up, even during all the bustle. What about him? Would his life ever return to normal? Even if he lived, and Drosnin got sentenced for life, would his troubles ever be truly over?

My eyelids started to close. I jerked my head up so I could stay awake and keep an eye on Tony.

"I'll watch him," Dad said. "You need to sleep. Go ahead, honey. I'll take care of him."

"Promise? He's been through a lot."

"So have you. I promise."

I closed my eyes and drifted into oblivion.

Chapter 17: Better Than Normal

I must have slept for a week; at least, that's what it felt like. In between long spaces of restful blackness, I was vaguely aware of the sharp scent of disinfectant, a hard flat table with blinding white lights, sliding glass doors, a TV set near the ceiling of my room telling me about two teenagers who had been rescued and a ranger who was going to jail, the blips and beeps of monitors near my head, and the low voices of my parents. When I finally fuzzed into consciousness, I saw Mom sitting near my bed.

Before I could say hello, she held a straw to my mouth. "Drink this, Lala," she said, using my baby nickname.

Groggy, I started sipping. I could have drunk the entire thing, except that Mom took it away after a few seconds.

"Just a little, dear," she said. "Some people get nauseous after surgery. We don't want to put any more strain on your body."

"Let her have as much as she likes," Dad said from the other side of the bed. "She'll let you know when she's had enough."

They were both here - and arguing, as usual. They wore wrinkles of worry over their half-smiles of relief.

"Tony?" I asked, my tongue thick with sedatives.

"He's doing fine, dear," Mom replied. "What a smart girl you were to use the orange side of the cloak like that; the pilot said he knew it was you the minute he saw it. I'll have to make you another one, though. They forgot to bring it with them. And I bet it's just filthy by now."

I raised my hands to touch my locket - a movement that had become habit over the past few days - and found that my hands were bandaged. My arms sported various bandages, too, for all the various scrapes and scratches. Of course my ankle had turned into a mummy's foot, all wrapped up in a heavy white cast until just my toes peeped over the top like misplaced pink marshmallows. At least I was on a bed again, with deliciously cozy pillows.

"My locket? Dad, where's my locket?"

Mom's face fell. I knew she wanted me to tell her how much her orange cloak had saved us, and how brilliant she was, but I just didn't have the energy.

"Right here, baby," he said, passing a plastic container to me so I could see. The earring that caused Tony's snakebite was missing. "They had to take everything off for surgery." He glared at Mom. "I told you she'd worry if she woke up without them."

"If she's worried, it's only because she doesn't want you to be angry for losing them. Honestly, Gary, that's such a large burden for a little girl. You seem to care more about those jewels than you do about your own daughter-"

"That's not true. Let me remind you that I'm the one who went after her. You stayed behind in the cabin, afraid of flying out to search for your own daughter. That proves who cares more."

They continued to bicker, each saying just the right thing to make the other angry. Years of practice made it easy.

I sat between them, right in the middle of their fight, their hostilities flying across my body like a thousand arrows of rage. My head pounded in tempo with my ankle. I heard Tony's voice in my brain: _You know all those arguments you rehearse when you think nobody's listening? You should tell them to your folks for real..._

I drew a deep breath. "You two stop it!" I said, interrupting them for the first time in my life. "You're acting like kindergartners, not grown-ups. I love both of you, not one or the other. Equally, for crying out loud. Neither of you are my enemy, yet you use me like ammunition to hurt each other. I'm so tired of it. I hate living this way! Now apologize."

"I'm sorry," they both told me, shocked.

Their meek tones surprised me; I thought they'd be angry. But I decided to press my advantage. "Not to me. To each other."

The silence grew awkward as they looked at each other across my body. I wondered which parent would bend first.

"She's right," Dad said. "I should treat you better. And not just for your sake, but because you're a good person even if I don't always appreciate you."

Mom dropped her gaze. Apparently his apology softened her, because hers was just as gracious.

"Good," I said with a decisive nod. "That's just one of the things I want to change. I've had lots of time to think about this, and I don't mean just while I was lost. This is what I want to happen from now on. Dad, get some paper. We're making a list."

Mom actually handed him a pen.

I outlined new rules for civil phone calls and text messages, rules for giving and receiving gifts, ideas about visitation, and thoughts on several other areas that had bothered me for years. It was all so clear in my mind that I wondered why I couldn't put it all in words before.

We actually negotiated terms, both Mom and Dad agreeing to come to some compromises, and me making some hard choices, too. Toward the end, I noticed them share a glance full of meaning - the sort of patronizing but adoring glance a parent gives a sleeping baby, the kind that says, "Look. We made this."

"Now, Mom will need a copy," I said. "You'll get that to her?"

Dad kissed my forehead. "When did you get so strong and grown-up?"

"Formidable, isn't she?" Mom asked.

I could tell that she wanted to add a jab, something along the lines of "just like me, probably," but she trapped the words behind her pinched lips.

I smiled at them both, finally allowing myself to relax. "I do feel different," I admitted. "More mature. Less helpless."

We grinned at each other for a minute until the nurse came in. "Miss? The reporters and police are here to interview you. You ready for a shower?"

"Police?" I squeaked. "Where's Tony?"

"He's safe, right down the hall," she said. "Sleeping. If you want to sleep some more, I'll tell everyone to wait."

I glanced down at my fingernails, which were caked in dirt. "I really could use a shower."

"I'll bring the wheelchair."

Talk about luxury - no more dust and grime on my skin. Mom brought rose-scented shampoo and body wash. Clean skin, clean hair, no body odor. Such simple things a person takes for granted. I knew I would be paying closer attention to my life from here forward.

When the nurse got me settled again, the police and the reporter came into the room. Mom and Dad stayed with me the whole time. In fact, Mom ordered some chicken soup and cherry gelatin for me to eat while I answered questions.

The reporter from Otter Paw snapped my picture and promised me that I'd be making front-page news. She also interrogated me in depth about the snake, what it looked like, what it sounded like. That was one picture I would never get out of my head: light brown on dark brown, but with blotches, not stripes; a triangular head with nostrils (the officer laughed when I said nostrils and told me they're called 'sensory pits'); solid black tail with a rattle shake I'll never forget.

"That's good enough for me," the reporter said. "Any chance you caught a look at its eyes?"

The mental picture magnified itself a hundred times: Vicious round pupils against shiny gold eyeballs.

"You're sure?" she asked.

I shuddered. "I can draw you a picture, if you like."

"No need." She nodded to herself, then nodded again. "Well, kiddo, you probably don't know this, but you just made friends with a timber rattlesnake. They were nearly poached to extinction up in this part of Minnesota, so much so that they're been put in the Rare Species classification."

"Huh." No wonder that pilot had given me a weird look.

"So it's kind of exciting," she added.

"Or a fluke," the officer sad. "Somebody's pet could have escaped."

"Pet?" I turned to him, horrified. "People keep rattlesnakes as pets?"

"I prefer to think that conservation efforts are working, after all," she continued. Now excuse me. You've been wonderful, but I have a deadline."

The officer was friendly enough, though I didn't really trust him until he told me about Tony. "Nelson's in jail," he added. "He'll be there for quite some time. Kidnapping, bribes, attempted murder... You won't have to worry about him ever again."

"But what about Drosnin?" I asked. "Tony's supposed to testify on Wednesday, and that Drosnin guy will do anything to stop him."

The officer chuckled. "First of all, today's Thursday. You've been sleeping ever since they brought you in. And second, it seems that Mr. Drosnin was a severely overweight person with stress disorders. When he found out we had his key witness in custody, he up and had himself a heart attack. Your friend didn't even need to testify."

"You mean..."

"Yah."

"Does Tony know?"

"I told him this morning. He wanted to see you when you woke up. Should I have the nurse wheel him in?"

"I'm here," Tony said from the doorway.

The nurse pushing his wheelchair and intravenous tubes clucked her tongue. "He saw the reporter come in and knew you were awake. Now, young man, I'll just set you over here, by the bed, and you can call if you need anything."

The two people following him looked resembled him so much that I knew at once they were his parents. They greeted me and gave me kisses, and would have stayed to chat, except that Tony said, "Mind giving us the room for a minute?"

Even my folks excused themselves to the hallway, leaving us alone.

"I guess I'll be healing a lot faster than you will," he said. "Turns out that rattlesnakes don't kill as many people as I thought. Statistically speaking, more people die from bee sting reactions. Funny, huh?"

"Your arm looks terrible."

"Makes a great story. Do you know how excited folks are that I got bitten by a rattler? Something about conservation efforts finally being successful."

"Gee. Aren't we lucky."

"So, did you enjoy your adventure?" he asked.

I shrugged. "You were right. About the suffering. I think I could tell my folks about what happened all day, and they'll never quite get it."

"Stories don't quite capture the reality, do they? Hey, did you hear?"

"About Drosnin?"

"Heart attack."

"They told me. Congratulations. You're free."

"Free," he whispered. He stared at the blinking lights on my monitor for a long time before he spoke again. "It's so unexpected. I don't know what to do with myself. Mom and Dad say we might even get to move back home."

"What about his men, though? Mike and everyone else."

"Exposing Nelson and Mike was the domino that knocked the others down, Alana. A lot happened since we crashed. Most of his crew are behind bars."

"So you're going to be okay?"

He flexed his fingers, which had almost returned to their normal size and color. "Yeah, no permanent damage."

"No," I said, softening my voice, "I meant if you're going to be _okay_."

He exhaled a slow breath. "Yeah. Yeah, I am. You?"

"Life's changing already. I yelled at my folks. Said everything I've ever thought of, plus some."

"Good for you!" His face burst into a radiant smile, making those black eyes of his twinkle.

I caught my breath, feeling myself grinning back.

"I nearly forgot," he said, pushing my call button. "I have something for you."

The nurse opened the door. "Yes?"

"Can I have my good luck charm now?"

"Ha! After all the trouble we went through to take it away, you have the nerve to ask for it back." Through the door, I could see her walk to the nurse's station, the rubber soles of her white shoes making no noise against the shiny linoleum floor. She returned, pressed something into Tony's hand, and winked at us. She forgot to shut the door on her way out.

"What was that all about?" I asked.

He held out my missing earring. "I thought you might want this."

I gasped. "How on earth...?"

"So is your dad going to take you camping now?"

"Yeah, right!" I rolled my eyes. "I've had enough of Mother Nature to last a lifetime."

"Too bad," he said. "I really wanted to see if those lures worked."

Dad poked his head through the doorway. "I have a boat," he hollered.

Tony's dad poked his head in, too. "I have about fourteen fishing rods you can choose from."

They were listening to our conversation! I blushed.

"He really does," Tony said. "My dad thinks he's a professional fisherman."

"Well, mine will never say no to a fishing trip," I replied. "But this time we take bottled waters, cushioned seats, tons of munchies..."

"Definitely munchies. And a pocket knife."

"And a hand-crank radio flashlight. Deal?"

He closed his warm hand over mine and gave it a brief kiss. "Deal."

THE END

Thanks for reading my story! Could you do me a favor? If you liked what I wrote, return to the place you purchased it (Smashwords, Barnes & Noble, Amazon.com, the Apple store, you get the point) and give me a rating and a review. Thanks for your time!

Check out my latest projects on my website: www.emilyasad.com

