Chapter 23

Piper's voice on the recorder goes silent. "Now do you believe me?" I brush past Jacey, who's standing by the tent flap, gaping at the audio recorder in my hand.

"Maybe there's an explanation for why some tests were missing," she finally whispers, raking both hands through her hair.

I sling her a look. "Oh, there's an explanation. Mr. Davis is not the amazing teacher everyone thinks he is. He's shady as hell, and when Piper found that binder, he tried to shut her up for good." I stuff the recorder inside the zip pocket of my jacket.

"I can't believe this is happening."

"Well, believe it. We've got to get down the mountain."

"We're just going to leave everyone else up here with him?"

I secure my hair into a messy bun and let my head fall back. Sighing, I rub my temples. "I don't know, Jacey. I don't know what to do. For once in your life, you tell me what to do."

"Okay," she says, and then she just stands there, biting her lip. I'm about to lose it when she adds, "You go." She nods adamantly, like the idea just spun through the air and landed in a dive with perfectly pointed toes. "Yeah, you go, and I'll stay here and wait for the others. I'll keep an eye on Mr. Davis and fill the others in." She looks up at me. "You know the way?"

I inhale, slow and deep. "It's a trail, Jacey. As long as I keep heading down and avoid the bears, I think I'll be fine."

"It's not a joke," she says. "Hiking alone is extremely dangerous. If this weren't the only solution—"

"It's the only solution. You protect everyone, and I'll go to the cops."

She hesitates, clearly unsure whether she can break the laws of wilderness survival for something like regular old survival. Then she turns to face the forest, and I'm on my own.

I sweep through the trees at first, avoiding the exposure of the trail in case the others wandered this way. My water bottle is tucked beneath my arm. I left the rest of my stuff behind for Grant to carry. I plan to be halfway down the mountain before anyone notices I'm missing. My neck and back are sticky, so I pause to tug off my jacket. I tie it around my waist and continue at a brisk pace.

But something's wrong—the absence of cold ceramic bouncing against my chest.

I reach up to my throat and find it bare, and a wave of panic throttles me. I look down the neck of my layers of clothing.

My necklace isn't here. I pull at the jacket around my hips frantically, shake out the fabric of my T-shirt, praying for that gleaming thing to fall to my feet. Nothing jingles out. I try to remember the last time I reached up and felt for it, but I'm too sleep-deprived. Every memory of my fingers brushing against the ceramic blends together. My vision darkens, the thought of that necklace slipping away as terrifying as losing Piper herself. It could be a mile back up the trail, or it could be two inches from me, caught in the dewy foliage at my feet.

I have to find it.

I pound my fist against my thigh and pivot back around to face a battalion of identical trees. Scowling at a fern, I trudge back.

When I reach a familiar moss-strewn trunk, my name echoes through the trees. Apparently, the rest of the club noticed I was MIA. I kick the dead leaves, willing the shiny thing to reveal itself. The calls continue as I dig and curse.

Behind me, something crackles, and I drop my bottle. In one last-ditch effort, I plow farther into the woods to the next identical evergreen. I can't leave without my necklace. My mind can't even process the thought of never having it again.

"Savannah." Mr. Davis's voice curls my nerves like a blade against ribbon. Frantically, I comb the ground with my shoe. Then I spin around to fasten my eyes on my teacher. "We talked about this. You can't just run off."

"I had to pee," I lie. "And then I lost my necklace somewhere in the woods."

He shakes his head, murmuring, "Do you know how much trouble I'd be in if you got lost? Or hurt?"

I comb my hair out of my face and take a breath, trying to squelch this anger stewing deep inside me. With him. With Jacey, who had one damn job.

But I fail. "You're going to be in trouble either way."

Mr. Davis's eyes darken as he crosses his arms. Unease wraps around my spine. I have to get back to the trail, to the open, to the others. Mr. Davis won't be able to do anything to me if they're watching. I scramble to the next tree, kicking aside the twigs and brambles. Still no glimmer of silver.

He's closer now. His aggravation hangs in the air like a thundercloud. It seeps into my skin. "Savannah, what are you talking about?" He shakes his head but doesn't hurry me along. He takes another slow step closer.

I can't handle this innocent teacher routine. My mouth flies open of its own accord. "You were the last person to see Piper that day."

Mr. Davis's brow furrows. He's close enough now that I see his chest rise and fall in a slow, deliberate breath.

"You've been keeping it a secret."

He frowns, his boot crunching unnervingly on the forest floor as he steps closer.

"Because you did something to her," I add, shuffling backward.

One more long exhale. "Did something to her?"

"Piper was investigating the doping scandal. She found the random drug tests. The ones you didn't send. Was that why you tried to silence her for good?" I back up some more, and the clouds move with me, shrouding us in darkness.

Mr. Davis brushes aside some leaves with his boot, but his gaze remains on me. "Savannah, just let me help you find your necklace."

He's being too nice. I spin around, my gaze zipping around in one last desperate search.

Silver glints from within a tangle of vines, and my heart soars. I bend over to retrieve it, relieved to find the charm still clinging to the end of the chain. I clasp it in my fist just as Mr. Davis's heavy hand falls onto my shoulder.

Panic reels through my chest. His fingers press down, digging into my skin, and I scream with everything in me. Wrenching myself away, I make a mad dash for the trail.

Mr. Davis's footsteps pound after me, underbrush snapping beneath his boots. "Savannah!" he calls, deep voice slicing through the vegetation. I don't stop. He tried to kill Piper. If he catches me, he'll do whatever it takes to silence me. Clinging to my necklace so hard my knuckles ache, I run faster than I've ever chased a soccer ball.

I push aside brambles and dodge thick tree trunks, paying no mind to the talons of the branches as they claw at my flesh and hook my clothing.

Mr. Davis is close enough that I can hear his labored breathing behind me, over the birds, over the cacophony of our footsteps. He's not giving up, even though I'm about to reach the trail. Everyone will see him pursuing me, hunting me down like prey.

I near the edge of the woods, where the sunlight finally stipples through the pines. My foot catches on a rock, and I stumble, crashing through the trees.

But I'm free.

I pick myself up, Mr. Davis still close on my heels as I survey the trail. I open my mouth to scream for the others. But my heart catches in my throat, pushing the scream back down.

This isn't the trail.

I've simply breached one line in an endless page of trees. I must have gotten turned around while I was looking for my necklace. I curse under my breath. Ahead and behind and on either side of me, there's nothing but dark forest.

I battle the urge to hyperventilate. I have to press on; I just don't know which way to go. Even with a compass, I'd be lost out here.

"Grant!" I scream. But my breathing is so shallow, I barely make a sound. I'm not in soccer-season shape. "Somebody, help!"

Mr. Davis's steps are close now. I have to try and outrun him. I'll worry about being lost later.

I wipe my sweaty palms against my jeans and stash the necklace in my pocket. Then I sprint downhill, still listening to the sound of Mr. Davis barreling through the trees. Branches snag on the jacket flapping at my waist as I run, the recorder still bobbling in my zipped pocket. I step on a rock hidden in the foliage, and my ankle wobbles the way it did when I sprained it in that game against Lincoln High. But I recover, ducking beneath a branch and continuing at a dead run.

My lungs burn, and my legs become rubber. Just when I'm certain my heartbeat is the only thing I'll hear for the rest of my life, another sound surfaces.

Water.

The river must flow down through this part of the mountain. If I cross it, maybe Mr. Davis will give up and head back to the others.

I push through the thick layers of leaves, feeling my way toward the sound of rushing water. Gnarled boughs snag my hair and scratch my face and hands. I reach the edge of the forest, where the leafy undergrowth borders a steep ravine. Grabbing hold of a branch, I steady myself and scope out the river. It's not wide, but the current is fast, the water white and foamy. I can't tell how deep it is. It would be ludicrous to try and wade through.

I spot a fallen tree not too far downstream and immediately start clambering my way over the slippery rocks toward it. But as I get closer, my heart sinks. The makeshift bridge sits high on the ravine. A series of falls roil and lap over sharp rocks some ten feet below the log. I keep moving, trying to work up the courage to cross it.

"Savannah!" Mr. Davis breaks through the trees lining the bank. I toss a look back at him; it's a mistake. His royal-blue jacket pierces through the greenery, and my fear catches up with me. I can't do this.

The log is secured between two boulders on one side. I mow through thorny shrubs to get up to it. Then I heft myself on top of the slick log, ignoring the long prickers piercing through my jeans. Blood begins to seep through the denim. My hands are shredded. I wince and wrap my legs around the wood. Mr. Davis is still calling me, getting closer as he weaves along the path I just cleared. The log is thick—a good two feet in diameter—but I don't trust myself to walk on it. Instead, I shinny as fast as I can. He's gaining on me, though. If I don't adjust my position, he'll be here in seconds.

I try, but my stubborn limbs refuse to move. I was so stupid to end up alone with him, even stupider to blab those accusations. Why can't I ever keep my mouth shut?

"Grant!" I scream again. I take a deep breath, trying to envision the quickest way across—one that doesn't involve toppling down into the washing machine below. The churning water echoes my clashing thoughts. I shut my eyes, wanting to give up. But I push myself up onto my hands and knees.

Focus. I take in an even breath, allowing the whooshing sound of the falls to drown out Mr. Davis's cries behind me. Allowing it to deafen me completely. I stand up, but my body does one large, swooping wobble.

My arms spring out to my sides. I shuffle to regain my balance, heart firing in my chest. I should've agreed to take those gymnastics classes my parents offered in an attempt to keep me away from contact sports.

I lower the other foot, legs quivering, arms struggling to compensate. My gaze lights on my foot's next target. The farther out I get, the more moss covers the bark. My already shaky feet slip.

Risking a peek back at my starting point, I feel a stab of disappointment; I've only made it halfway. My foot lifts and settles on the moss-covered death trap again, and a crack sends me flying. My arms fling over the side as my sneaker crashes through a rotten section of the log.

I shriek. My hip hits the log, and I bounce. My hand grasps for purchase as I drop down, fingernails digging into the mushy bark. Nothing else is preventing me from falling. I can't hold on long.

A flash of royal blue passes above me. I'm a goner. Mr. Davis will simply flick the delicate, jagged fingernails that tether me to this log. In a few days, rangers will find my body downriver.

I shut my eyes and wait for him to reach me.