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Christie nodded. She winced as the pain of putting her leg into a sitting position stretched her wound.
Then silence for a few moments.
Maybe both of them thinking about what comes next.
“We have to find a town, something with a hospital. I—I can’t stay like this.”
Then from the back. A voice. Low and flat.
Almost, Christie thought, ghostly.
“I can look for one of those signs.”
Christie couldn’t turn fully around to face Simon. That would have caused too much pain.
But a tilt of the head, trying to keep her voice light.
“What, honey?”
“A big H. For hospital.”
Christie smiled.
“Right. We can keep our eyes open for a sign like that. Have to be hospitals around here.”
Though she didn’t add her worry that they too would be closed up, relics of a time when people helped people.
Instead of … what went on now.
Then Kate: “We’ll find one.”
She patted her daughter’s leg.
Christie had the thought … my family will get me through.
And if the leg gets treated, what do we do then?
This family?
She didn’t know. But she did know a few things.
That they couldn’t hide from this.
That if there were good people like Helen, like—sweet God—her own two kids, then there had to be others.
And the others would be trying to stop this.
Not just hide. Not find someplace that’s supposedly safe and just wait.
And if that meant that they—the three of them—would have to live a different way, then that’s what it would be.
Reality.
Anything else, an illusion.
The time for running and hiding had ended.
There had to be good people working to stop this, willing to risk everything to do that.
That’s who we need to find.
That’s who we will find.
One last thought … as she, like her kids, scanned the signs, looking for the big H.
More of a hope.
There has to be more of us … than them.
Has to be.
And with that, she went back to monitoring her pain, trying to breathe through the agonizing spasms, thinking that’s enough of a plan for now.
We’ll deal with tomorrow when it comes. It’s enough to simply know that for all of us, there will be a tomorrow.
* * *
Simon kept his eyes wide open.
Thinking: Mom needs me.
Have to get her help.
And then:
We need each other.
They’d be okay as long as they were together.
And now …
Simon thought.
He let himself think of what had just happened.
His stomach tightened as he remembered seeing the shadowy figure of Helen shot, the sounds so loud. The way she fell forward. Then, the rope around his neck.
Where were they taking me?
To the same place they took the other kids?
Took Joe, his friend?
Why?
He didn’t let himself think about an answer to that.
And Kate saving him.
He looked at her driving—like she was an adult. Driving!
The two men who had caught him, trapped him, too slow as Kate shot them.
And again:
She saved me.
Now they had left that place, the castlelike inn, and were going somewhere else.
We’ll get Mom some help.
Kate drove slowly. Plenty of time to look for signs.
We’ll find a hospital. Everything will be okay.
When the men took him away, he’d thought he’d never see his mother again.
All he could think was …
This is bad.
That was enough.
Because he’d have to tell them—his mom, Kate—sometime, let them know … that he realized something then.
Thinking about the others, where they had been taken, what would happen to them … thinking so clearly that it made him cold.
He actually shivered.
Thinking: I would have fought until they had to kill me.
* * *
At one point, Kate stopped.
Ahead, the sign … a big H, and an arrow pointing toward a small town.
Maybe it will be open, maybe it won’t, Simon thought. If it’s not, we’ll look for another.
No, that wasn’t something he worried about. Because he was with his family again.
Kate turned the car, nearly coming too close to the curb, a dead tree trunk.
“Sorry,” she said.
And Simon added quickly: “You’re doing really good, Kate.”
In her mirror, he saw her smile.
“Yes, honey. Great,” Christie said.
And Simon realized something else. About this night, about now.
Something strange, even … scary.
I didn’t cry, he thought. And I’m not going to. Never again.
Somehow that was important.
Crying would do nothing. Nothing at all.
And something else now as he kept his eyes open, seeing a big building ahead. Lights on, guards at a fence.
“It’s open!” Kate said.
He thought of other kids, maybe taken away. Or those still in their warm beds, safe for tonight.
I’ve done things, he thought.
Things that none of those kids have ever done.
And seen things.
He told himself something, as if reminding himself.
I’ve fired a gun.
I’ve shot them.
Crying would do nothing.
But maybe, he could do things.
He just needed to remember what he’d done.
How he was different now.
The car slowed. Guards opening the gate. Giant letters, all lit up, glowing so brightly: EMERGENCY ROOM.
Simon didn’t know what was ahead for them; he didn’t even want to think about what was ahead. It didn’t matter. As long as he was with his family, he was home.
He was sure, though …
He and Kate and his mom would figure it out.
We’ll plan. We’ll survive.
Together.
And whatever came next, he and his family would be ready.
also by matthew costello
vacation
about the author
Matthew Costello is an award-winning novelist, screenwriter, and video-game writer. He lives in Katonah, New York.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martin’s Press.
HOME. Copyright © 2012 by Mathew Costello. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.thomasdunnebooks.com
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by Jason Ramirez
Cover photograph by iStock
Author photograph by Ann Costello
ISBN 978-1-250-01273-9 (hardcover)
e-ISBN 9781250013484
First Edition: November 2012