Chapter Four

Jak's teeth were chattering so hard he thought they might crack. He pulled his legs closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, trying to curl into every tiny bit of heat his body was making.

He knew he had to move. He had to get dry. He had to… Tears filled his eyes and then moved down his cheeks, freezing over his icy skin. He wiped at them, making himself sit up. Live! he'd told the dark-haired boy as he'd flung him up on that small ledge. He'd demanded it because only one of them could have that ledge—that chance —and if the boy he gave it to died anyway, then it was wasted .

I should have taken it for myself.

But even though the thought flashed in his mind, it didn't feel true. He'd somehow survived the fall by grabbing another piece of branch sticking from the side of the slope. There hadn't been a ledge or anything for him to climb onto, and he'd quickly lost his hold. But that branch had been closer to the ground, and when he'd landed in a deep pile of snow, it hadn't been with as much speed, though it had still knocked the wind from his lungs anyway, and he'd had to fight his way out of the icy hole his fall had made.

One of the other boys had been lying nearby, both legs twisted in different directions, and Jak had rushed to him, shaking and panting as he turned the boy over. But he could see right away that he was dead. His face was bloody and beaten, his gaze forever staring at the stars above. Jak had cried out, jumped back, and rushed as fast as he could to get away. Away, away.

Because he didn't know how long he had before someone came after him.

He'd made it to a group of trees close by, out of breath, soaking wet, his shoulder hurting badly, and he was so scared that whoever the man had been at the top of that cliff was on his way down to find him.

Did he know that Jak had lived? That the dark-haired boy might have too? And what happened to the blond one? Jak hadn't seen any trace of him at the bottom of that cliff, but he must be dead too. Buried under snow, his limbs twisted grossly like the other dead boy's.

Help me, someone. Anyone. Please , he begged in the quiet of his mind. But no one was listening, except the silent moon hanging in the nighttime sky.

Jak tripped through the forest, his shivering getting more, his eyes starting to blur around the edges. The strength he'd felt had drained out from him, making his muscles feel loose and filled with water. He ran anyway, stumbling, on and on until his legs had no feeling. Heat filled his bones, moving up, shooting flames through his chest. He was suddenly burning hot. Too hot. And thirsty. He bent down and scooped up some snow, bringing it to his mouth and eating it as he moved deeper into the darkness.

So hot. So hot. The world started to tilt. He took off his jacket, dropping it in the snow and moving forward. He tripped over something under the snow he couldn't see, picking himself up and falling forward. I will not die, I will not die. But his thoughts felt slow again, the same way they had at the top of that cliff. At the thought of that terrifying fall—that man with the loud, deep voice—he pushed forward again, his strength getting less. So hot, so hotsohotsohot. With the last of his strength, he pulled off his jeans and his sweatshirt, leaving them in the snow.

His head swam, and he tripped, falling to the ground with a crunch of ice and cry of pain, sharp needles sticking into every part of his naked skin. He reached a hand forward and felt nothing. He tumbled into it, rolling, falling, somewhere small and dark and soft where the cold and the wind couldn't find him.

Will you die today?

No, he tried to yell. Live! But the words died on his lips as the world around him disappeared.