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  With a quick look to make sure their parents were out of earshot, Dara leaned in. Her hands itched to take the phone now. Something that had been an annoying ache, being without the internet, suddenly consumed her. “Just let me text Sofia real quick. She’ll clear everything up. People will quit bugging you.”

  “Nope.”

  Surprised, Dara reared back. “Why not?”

  Plucking a soda from the fridge, Lia waved it at her sister. “Because you’re grounded. It would be wrong to go against Mom and Dad’s rules. Wish I could help! Sorry!” Then, with a gloating laugh, she breezed out of the kitchen.

  Dara didn’t have anything to throw at her. So she bit into a cold chicken leg and scowled instead.

  Strangers kept coming. Kept going.

  Cade could barely keep his eyes open. He felt buried under a pile of stones, and nothing really made sense. The sun never went down here. Maybe he was dead. That seemed possible. The sky never changed. It was grey squares next to grey squares every time he woke up.

  But if he was dead, and he was aware, where were his parents? Forcing his eyes open, forcing them to focus, he looked for them. They should be close. They should hold their hands out and welcome him home.

  Instead, the man in the hat stood over him. His voice wobbled. It sounded like he was talking underwater, the words slowly washing closer until Cade could hear them. When they finally spilled into his ears, he shook his head.

  “No last name,” he said. Slow sparks built beneath his skin. When realization struck, Cade raised a hand. Wagged a finger. “Sheriff Porter. Sheriff. Sheriff of Nottingham.”

  The sheriff frowned. Sitting beside him, he leaned forward. This man was a grey man. His hair, his skin. Just grey, everywhere. He didn’t look like Dad. Maybe because he was sick? Curling away from him, Cade considered holding his breath. Then he forgot to.

  “That’s right,” the man said. “You know who I am. How about you tell me who you are? I bet your parents are worried about you.”

  “I bet they are not,” Cade said with a drunken smile. They didn’t worry about anything anymore. They were two perfect mounds by the river. Or they were souls somewhere else. Not there, obviously. They definitely weren’t there.

  Weight tugged Cade’s hand to the mattress. Eyes rolling back, he almost fell asleep again. Something kept him right on the edge of it. Dry mouth. His mouth was so dry.

  Struggling to sit up a little, he winced at the sharp pain in his shoulder. Reaching with his other hand, he dropped it before he managed to get the cup in front of him. It was pretty. Made of something thin and pliable, it didn’t have a taste.

  Standing again, the sheriff poured more water into the cup. Then he held it to Cade’s mouth to help him drink. When some of it spilled, the sheriff cursed, but Cade didn’t mind. It was cold and clean. It reminded him of his river. His river, where was it? He couldn’t see it. Didn’t smell it. Where did they put his river?

  The sheriff replaced the cup, but stayed on his feet. “Son, I don’t know if you’re just out of it, or if you’re trying to give me a hard time. You should be aware, we’re gonna put a name to you sooner or later. If you can help us, it’ll be easier all around.”

  With a sigh, Cade sank into his pillows again. Pillows. So soft. Softer and crinkly, his pillow never made sounds. Everything in this room made sounds. Beeps and scratches, crinkles and whooshes. No wind, though. No birds. No rabbits racing through the brush. No bees. No owls. No waterfalls to whisper all night long.

  The sheriff leaned over him. “What’s your name, son?”

  Dragging a hand down his face, Cade peered over at the sheriff. “Cade. Just Cade.”

  “What did you mean when you asked my daughter if she was immune?”

  Cade curled a finger in the air. “Probably an H1. That’s what did it. Spanish knocked out five percent, knock out twenty and the world ends.”

  That answer didn’t please the sheriff. He stood up straight. He huffed, like a bear. Bears huffed to warn you away. Cade had never seen his father do it; maybe this one did. Maybe other people were strange and mutated. Hard to say, hard to say.

  “You’d better explain yourself.”

  “You must be immune, too.” New footsteps sounded and Cade tried to turn to look. It made his head swim. But he smelled sweet chemicals and heard papers rattling. Guessing aloud, he said, “That’s a nurse.”

  “That’s right,” she replied. “I just need to get your vitals.”

  She was going to touch him. Recoiling a little, Cade winced when she grabbed his arm anyway. Her fingers were cold. They pressed hard into his skin. Suddenly, she was all over him. Something wheezed, something ticked.

  Struggling to sit up, Cade only managed to smash himself against the metal bars on the other side of the bed.

  “Open your mouth,” she said, tapping a stick against his teeth. Screwing up his face, he twisted his neck from side to side. He didn’t know what that thing was, but he didn’t want it in his mouth. Unfortunately, that much motion wore him out. After a moment, he slid back down and she pushed the stick under his tongue.

  “In your opinion,” the sheriff asked the nurse in a very low voice, “in your medical opinion, how much of this is he putting on?”

  To Cade, the nurse said, “Don’t chew on it. Just hold it under your tongue.” To the sheriff, she said, “Hard to tell. He’s on a lot of pain meds. If you’re not used to them, they can make you pretty loopy.”

  “I’m fine,” Cade said, spitting the stick out. “I’m tired.”

  “Let me get your blood pressure and you can get back to sleep,” she said.

  There was something magical in those words. She whipped out a black band and tied it around his arm. And without another question, the sheriff slowly backed from the room. He was a tiny, grey shadow and then nothing, all gone. Now Cade loved the nurse, because she made the sheriff go away.

  He only had one answer, and the sheriff didn’t like it. Woozy, Cade clutched the side of the bed as the ground rolled beneath him. His stomach lurched, and then he felt like he was floating.

  One of the machines let out a sigh, and warmth spread through him again. He barely noticed the black band on his arm tightening.

  With one more uneven smile, he said, “Hi.”

  If the nurse answered, he didn’t hear it.

  It was the perfect crime, really. Nobody used the landline anymore, so nobody thought to take it away from her. Threading it into her closet, Dara sat down and pulled the doors closed. Light slanted through the lattice.

  She was cramped in there. It was barely wide enough for the hangers, let alone her whole body. But it was the only place she could think of to hide. Quiet, out of the way, no one else would think to look inside and the clothes would muffle her voice. Perfect.

  On the other end of the phone line, her best friend, Sofia Cruz, said, “Seriously, you saved this guy’s life and they ground you for it?”

  “Ugh,” Dara whispered back. Wrenching an arm behind herself, she pulled out a bent hanger. No wonder she was so uncomfortable. “I think that’s the only reason I’m not going to boarding school.”

  “Were you scared?”

  “Terrified. My brain went on vapor lock.”

  Somewhere behind Sofia, a party raged on. Laughter, music, it all rolled through the line. Probably the last blast before everybody came home, tanned or faux-tanned.

  Somebody would have a tiny dolphin tattoo—it was like a requirement of Florida spring break. Dara guessed Sofia would be the one who came back with mehndi looping up both hands. Their friend Tyler would probably show up with fifty percent less hair than he left with.

  None of them had nightmares splashed red with blood. Not a single one of them had sudden, random flashbacks to the sight of that bear rising up. But Dara wasn’t sure she would have traded her spring break for theirs, either.

  Sofia shooed someone away, explaining that she was talking to Dara. Then she said, “You’re lucky you’re not dead.�
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  “I know, right?”

  “How’s Josh doing?”

  Pressing herself against the wall, Dara tried to fold herself smaller. “I don’t really know. We went over to their house so Dad could grill us together. He looked miserable. You know they’re going to make him do an interpretive dance about his behavior or something.”

  “He’s so normal,” Sofia said. “His parents are so bizarre.”

  “He’s weird, too,” Dara replied.

  “Are you kidding me? He calculates interest for fun.”

  Clapping a hand over her mouth, Dara held back a laugh. When the urge passed, she whispered, “You don’t think that’s weird? I do. And you know what? Even when I had proof that there was somebody watching us in the woods, he was like, whatever, can we make pancakes if we don’t have any more eggs?”

  Sofia hummed curiously. “Really? He didn’t go all macho he-man on you?”

  “Not really. I mean, once he knew he’d come into our camp he wanted to leave. But I’m like, he’s out there spearfishing and walking around in trees, you’re not the tiniest bit curious?”

  “I’m curious.” Sofia hesitated, then asked, “This isn’t relevant at all, but . . . what does he look like?”

  Covering her eyes with her hand, Dara tried to summon his face, as it was at the river. When he wasn’t grey turning ash, when he wasn’t dying. Her pulse stuttered, chest tightening. At the river, she reminded herself. By the water, when she really saw him for the first time.

  “He’s probably our age. Brown eyes. Really dark hair, I don’t know if it’s black or brown. But it’s in dreads. They go past his shoulders, for sure. Maybe as tall as Josh, I don’t know.”

  A high-pitched tone lingered on the line. It resolved into Sofia asking, “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Is he hot?”

  With a sigh, Dara dropped her hand in her lap. “Seriously, Sof. I’m still traumatized, for real. He was torn to shreds. I was literally holding pieces of his chest together.”

  Immediately penitent, Sofia apologized. “Sorry. Sorry. My whole week has been is she hot? Is he hot? Who’s hot? Am I hot? Brain is still engaged in OrlandoVision, obviously. Is he okay?”

  She only wished she knew. “They won’t let me go to the hospital to see him. Family only, can you believe that?”

  “I can’t, that sucks.”

  “It really does,” Dara said. Her promise to Cade at the ranger’s station haunted her. Was he sitting up at the hospital, waiting for her to arrive? Was he afraid? Was he awake? She didn’t even know that for certain.

  Her dad wasn’t all that forthcoming when she asked about him, and there was nobody else to fill her in. Every so often, he’d ask her again, did she know his name? Did she know him? That told Dara something important: they hadn’t found Cade’s family yet.

  That meant he was all alone in the hospital. No one to sit next to him, or hold his hand. No one to reassure him that everything would be all right. It made her stomach churn.

  Eager to change the subject, Dara asked, “Anyway, whatever. Is Orlando awesome? Tell me stuff. Are you having the best time ever?”

  “Oh my god,” Sofia exclaimed. “The closest beach is an hour away. An hour away. Did you know that?”

  “Are you telling me you haven’t been to the beach even once?”

  “No!”

  “You went all the way to Florida for spring break and no beach?”

  Practically yelling, Sofia said, “No! And I’m furious!”

  Suddenly, Dara laughed. It rolled from her, low and soft. It felt so good, like it had released a pressure she hadn’t realized was building inside her. Tucked into the sweet, dark corner of her closet, Dara escaped in her best friend’s vacation for just a little while.

  For the time being, that was the only escape she had. She wasn’t about to let it go until she had to.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  TWELVE

  It was too bright, and everything stank.

  Struggling to sit up, Cade winced. His chest hurt, his shoulder, too. He started to rub it, but tubes jerked him short. They coiled around him, unnatural vines. They trailed from his arm to a metal hook above the bed.

  Bags of yellow liquid hung there. One drip at a time the contents slipped into him, through needles fixed with filmy white tape.

  He understood he was in a hospital. The buzz from the helicopter rotors still filled his ears. Bright flashes from the emergency room came back when he closed his eyes.

  Chaos—his head was chaos. The memories were disjointed. He remembered people asking him questions. Pushing needles into him. Rubbing his hand when it got dark again. Until then, he hadn’t felt anything. It was rush after rush. Bleary awareness followed by black nothing, unconsciousness instead of sleep.

  Well, he was awake now.

  Sliding to the edge of the bed, Cade stared at the floor. It was so smooth. Blue and brown tiles, triangles. They fit together in a pattern, and they were cold under his bare feet. A wave of nausea hit him and he lifted his feet a moment.

  His mother had said that hospitals were the best place to get sick and die. Staphylococcus aureus, Pseudomonas aeruginosa, Acinetobacter baumannii—Mom made diseases in Latin sound like music.

  They weren’t musical anymore.

  Eyes darting, Cade reeled. There were so many things he couldn’t see. The bandages on his chest could have already been contaminated. The needles taped into his flesh might be feeding infection right into his veins.

  Shuddering, Cade took a step. The motion reverberated in his chest. It hurt to move, but Cade ignored that. Carefully studying the tangle of equipment tethering him, he stripped himself clean. Piece by piece—the clip on his finger was easy enough. It shook right off. The IVs were trickier.

  With a hiss, he peeled the tape off and flicked it from his fingers. Blood welled around the needle and a bone-deep hurt spiked through his arm. Better fast than slow, he pulled the IVs out. Sticky patches on his skin came off last, and that’s when the alarms blared.

  So many lights blinked. The sound punched at him, unnatural, mechanical cries. He had to get out; his skin crawled. Throwing the curtains open, Cade slapped his hands against the windows. Greasy, bloody handprints smeared the glass. Scrabbling, he dug around the frame, then realized the only way through it would be through it.

  When he turned, a nurse strode into the room. Both startled, their screams combined. She rushed toward him.

  “You need to get back in bed,” she said. She was young; she looked afraid.

  Scrambling back, Cade knocked over the IV stand. A new alarm sounded, and set off a chain down the hall.

  The nurse stopped. Her fear showed on her face, in the shadow on her brow. And the way she had to start twice before she managed to say, “Let’s just lay down, okay? You’re bleeding, let me help.”

  Cade felt caged. Backing into the wall, he jerked away from it and measured the height of the bed. Could he jump it? “I have to go.”

  “You need to lay down.”

  She sounded more certain. Like she’d worked up her nerve. She walked toward him purposefully. Voices in the hallway rose and footsteps spattered. In a panic, Cade grabbed a chair. That broke her bravery—she screamed and ducked.

  Cade felt a fleeting sense of guilt. He wasn’t going to hurt her. He just needed to get out. The chair was for the glass; surely it would break the glass and he could climb down. He could get out, get back home to his cave by the bee hollow. Lie in running streams and let them wash him clean. Home.

  But that thought was erased by the blinding hot pain in his chest.

  Instead of throwing the chair through the window, Cade dropped it. The crash echoed—down the hall, and in his ears. Head pounding, vision blurring, he stumbled. It seemed like the world had turned on its side. Catching the edge of the bed, Cade fe
ll hard. Darkness swept up, soothing, sweeping away his sick stomach and his pain.

  Just then, the tray table tipped. Ice water sheeted across his back, a clear river, cold and hard. His eyes snapped open when the cold shocked him back to awareness. He grabbed the bed again. He had one thought: get up. But the floor was slick. Skating, sliding, Cade fell again.

  Before he recovered, strong arms hauled him off the floor. When he hit the bed, he screamed. The pain in his chest blotted out sense and thought. Hot sweat rose on his skin. All he could do was pant. Gasp. Try to ride it out.

  “Thorazine,” somebody said.

  Somebody else said, distantly, “Get some restraints and the biohazard team in here.”

  Cade roared. He knew what biohazard meant. He wasn’t safe. The room wasn’t safe. He tried to wrench himself off the bed. A hard hand slammed him back down. Someone, a man, broad and imposing, hovered over him. Though his scrubs had little blue ducks on them, he wasn’t friendly at all. His wasn’t a sweet, familiar weight like Dara’s.

  Dara. Throat raw, Cade rasped, “Dara, where is she?”

  “Quiet,” the man with the blue ducks said.

  Suddenly, Cade was cold. He shook, his teeth chattering. The last of his adrenaline sputtered out. He was cold, and hurt and the weight on his chest made it hard to breathe. Everything blurred. No matter where he looked, he couldn’t focus. Smeared, doubled people stood over him. Their voices were a jumble.

  He heard someone telling him to hold still, and someone else yelling at him to calm down. Calm down. That confused him, because he was calm. He was still. Wasn’t he? He was floating, didn’t that mean he was still? A bright, silvery pain slipped into his hip. It was like an anchor. It tethered him to the bed.

  “Please,” he said. But his tongue felt thick. And he didn’t know what the please was for. Please let me go? Please help me? Please don’t let me die? Whatever it was, he didn’t have long to consider it. A new dark came over him. One that slipped over his eyes, a mask of blue.

  He floated, dreamlessly, in space.