Chapter II

HERE IS A TIP FORall the girls out there: Never let an abductor take you to a second location.

And here are some tips for all the parents of girls out there: Make sure your daughters know there are bigger things to worry about than how much body hair they have, or who is taking whom to prom, or how many friends they have online. Teach them never to pull over onto the side of the road when someone flashes their lights. Or to walk into an alley next to a nightclub. Or ride their bike down the street in broad daylight. Or leave a motel room to find an unoccupied bathroom…

To the left was a church with a neon cross. Gas station lights glowed farther down. But I headed across the street, to an abandoned parking lot—it was closer, and I was cold. Gravel crunched under my feet. Cars zoomed by on the highway. I passed a few vehicles that I barely glanced at. I don't remember what colors they were or if someone was lurking behind the wheel. Within a few feet, I came to a set of scraggly bushes. I squatted and did my business. I finished quickly and stood. A star streaked across the sky. Hands on my hips, I looked up and made a wish. That's when I saw it.

Danny's car parked at the motel. The driver's seat empty. He came. I bounced on my toes and took out my cell phone, ready to text him.

But then.

Hands gripped my shoulders. Alarms blared in my head. A scream built in the back of my throat. One of the hands moved, snaking around to cover my mouth, to muffle my voice. His fingers smelled of dirt and something foul. I gagged.

It's the first time I remember the out-of-body feeling. Do you know what I mean? A part of me broke off, detached, and drifted away. I let myself go. I didn't have a choice. Sometimes, when I think back on that night, I can almost hear my fractured half whispering, "Go away. Go far away. Stay safe. Stay alive." Now, it makes me sad to think about how far I've gone, how far I've traveled from myself. I'm not sure I can ever return. How do we let go of what no longer exists?

I struggled, though. I fought as hard as I could. Black dots sprung in my vision. Cold tears leaked from my eyes. All of my power slipped away. My phone fell to the ground, screen cracking. Something sharp stabbed my upper arm. I struggled harder. But soon, my body felt light and weightless. My eyes rolled back in my head. Above me, the stars shone. Dots of white lights in endless black space—then, nothing.

I woke in pitch-black dark and to pain, a sharp kink in my neck—the kind of deep muscle ache that occurs when you sleep too long in the same position. My mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. And there was a strange metallic taste on my tongue, like I had sucked on a mouthful of copper pennies.

The surface I had been sleeping on was cold, and the cold had seeped in through my clothing. I shivered in the dark. My eyes drifted shut. I wanted to sleep more. But I was in pain, and I didn't know where I was. I remembered the party in the motel. India's cackle as I shotgunned a beer. Had I drank too much and passed out somewhere?

I listened carefully. Around me: the sounds of the forest waking up, birds and wind in trees. And yet, there was no light. A sudden jolt of fear raced down my spine. I should have heard the highway, seagulls, the ocean. But there was nothing. Wherever I was, I was far from Astoria. Far from home.

I tried to sit up, but my shoulder slammed into… metal encased in soft cushioning? The edge of a seat? I lay back down, pain zigzagging across my shoulder blade. My stomach twisted, and I dry heaved. Stars danced in my vision. Not the good kind I loved to stare at on calm, clear nights, but the bad kind, the kind that signals an imbalance in your brain. A warning light blinked on in my mind. Danger. Danger. Danger. Instinctually my hand went to the back of my neck, then fluttered down to my upper arm. I pressed. Sharp pain flared.

I stood, swaying, nauseous and afraid. I breathed through it. I felt around like a blind person, tapping along the curved edges of seats, a floor, walls, windows. A school bus? Above me was a thin square outline of light—the emergency hatch. Suddenly it didn't matter how I had gotten here. It only mattered that I got out.

Adrenaline coursed through me, my heart raced—I was at the hatch, standing precariously on one of the seats. I pushed against the center of it with all the strength of my wrecked body. The hatch opened an inch, enough to let light pour in but not enough for escape. The rounded edge of a padlock came into view. I pushed harder. It wouldn't budge. I stuck my fingers through the opening. Only cold metal. I pulled my hand back. Then I pushed the center of the hatch again. Nothing. I tried again and again. Sweat dotted my brow, and my arms turned to limp noodles.

The windows were totally blacked out. But maybe there was cardboard or paper on the outside. Maybe this was a cruel prank. My movements were clumsy, frantic. It took three tries before I slid the window down.

But no air passed through, only dirt. I dug my hands into the packed earth and scooped it inside. Dirt spattered the vinyl seat and got into my nose. Soon my hands hit clay and rocks. By this time, they were cramping and bruised.

I had to stop.

I scurried to the back of the bus, to the farthest corner. There I huddled, arms looped around my legs, the weight of the truth crashing down on me. I didn't know how it was possible, but I knew it with certainty: I was underground. Someone had stuck me inside a buried school bus.

Even though I was tired, I forced myself to stay awake. Sleep was terrifying. I bent forward and used my thumbnail to scratch a tally into the back of the seat in front of me. The edge of my pinkie brushed against another mark, one I hadn't made. My hand drifted over it, tracing the images. Circles and lines—someone had made a stick-figure family and crude letters under each drawing. I flattened my hand against the etching. Had someone else been here? Had they been buried, too? Broken-glassed terror rained down.

I screamed and screamed until my lungs dried out. Until all I could produce was a whimper. A whistle squeezing between my tight throat and lungs. Like a little bird in the dark. Singing and singing for no one.