“How can you not know where we are? It tells you where you are,” he said, peaking at the screen.
“X!”
His head snapped around to the road. A man with red foam around his mouth stared blankly at the headlights of the rapidly approaching ton of metal. As brakes slammed, the wheels locked and left a trail of rubber. The car fishtailed and spun to the right side of the road. Moving perpendicularly to the road, the car lifted on two wheels as it T-boned against the guiderail. The vehicle flipped and dropped over the side of the bridge, landing wheels-first in the river.
The two lay unconscious against the dashboard as the river’s current carried the floating car downstream. The moon glinted off the silver paint until the car was out of sight from the bridge.
Water worked its way through the open space in the engine until it flowed into the interior, pooling in the foot wells. X’s eyes blinked open as the lower portion of his jeans became soaked in the trickle of water. He cocked his head and watched the murky liquid rise higher than the gas pedal. He wondered what hose must have broken to release that much fluid. His head felt hazy. He reached over and shook Ashton, who was sleeping with her head on the dashboard. She might be able to tell him why they had stopped.
But they hadn’t stopped. Low-hanging trees coasted by outside the window. The cold water rose to his knees. He pressed his face to the glass and looked out. The water was calm with small ripples. That’s when he remembered the accident. Ashton wasn’t sleeping.
X’s fingers told him she still had a pulse. He took a deep breath, his black shirt heaving as he composed himself. They were floating. Down a stream. He had minutes before the car would be too waterlogged to float. Ashton was unconscious. They would no longer be able to drive. The bank wasn’t far away. He could swim to it. He would only have one shot, though. They would need supplies. One emergency pack shouldn’t drown him. One pack and Ashton might, but there was no way he had the ability to make two trips.
He doubled over as the water crested the red leather seat and soaked his crotch. They had to get out now. He reached for the walkie, just as the water plunged into the cup holder. The circuits fried with a hiss and pop. X abandoned the idea of contacting Kade until they were safe. His fingers curled around the door handle. He counted to three and then slammed his shoulder into the door, but couldn’t budge it against the weight of the water.
Always more than one way to skin a cat. He unbuttoned the snap of the predator knife’s holster and punched the spiked knuckles against the window. The impact sent shock-waves down his arm as his hand burst through the breakaway glass. Turning the blade sideways, he batted away the remaining chunks.
X reached underwater and popped the trunk. After hitting the seat belt release, he fitted his cowboy hat to his head. Grabbing the roof with both hands, he pulled himself, boots first, into the frigid stream. The water enveloped him, sucking the air from his lungs as he clung to the side of the car. The slosh of water rushing into the trunk snapped him out of shock.
Teeth chattering and lips turning numb, he moved hand over hand along the car to the back, where the gear in the trunk was floating away. The car was sinking faster than before with the added weight of the open trunk. Shivering, X grabbed the strap of a hiking pack. His hands fumbled with the straps, as they felt more like mitten-covered rocks than fingers.
He tucked his boots into the lip of the trunk and sat upright to get the pack on. On his first try, he nearly stabbed himself with the knife. The logical thing to do was to holster the knife, but he couldn’t afford to lose it with his impaired dexterity. On the second try, he managed to get his left arm through the strap, and the added weight knocked him back into the water. X lifted his head to keep his hat on, but the water sapped his strength and he couldn’t muster the effort to sit up again. On the third attempt, he hooked the blade under the strap and used the dull side to pull it on.
Unhooking his heels from the trunk, X lost his connection to the car and sank into the murky water. He caught the underside of the bumper with the blade and pulled himself to the wheel well, then monkeyed his way to the handle of the passenger door. The water inside had risen to Ashton’s armpits. The river crashed through the driver’s side window like a waterfall.
He gauged the distance to the bank. Fifty yards. From a start, wearing a speedo, in seventy degree water, conditioned to race, that would take X twenty-one seconds. In frigid water, with a pack, fully clothed, hauling Ashton, he wasn’t sure if he would make it. Challenge accepted, he thought.
He tapped the spikes against the glass. Tap, tap, tap, his hand pushed through, creating a hole only big enough for his fist. His arm shook as he broke apart the rest of the window. The water cascaded into the car. He grabbed Ashton by the arm and pulled her toward him. She caught against the seat belt as the water rose to her chin.
The car had lost its buoyancy and was sinking instead of moving with the current. X had moments before the water would be higher than Ashton’s head and the stream would claim the car. He took a deep breath, his chest muscles feeling like they were being stabbed by thousands of icicles, and he plunged his head underwater. His eyelids slammed shut against the freezing water, and his hand traced the shoulder strap till it met the lap belt. He sank the blade under and severed the tension with an upward jerk.
As his head broke the surface, he gasped for air as he tugged Ashton through the window. His left arm hooked over her left shoulder and grabbed her under the right armpit as he lay back in the water. X kicked off of the car, pushing a wake ahead of him till his momentum died, and then he kicked his legs. His right arm, still bearing the knife, stretched ahead of him as he positioned his body sideways with Ashton resting on his left side. After each scissor kick, he sculled with his right hand.
Each glide brought him closer to the bank, but also deeper in the water. His head turned as far left as it could go, and with each kick it dipped under. He’d recover with a quick breath through his teeth. His only concern was making sure Ashton’s mouth stayed above water.
Kick, reach, pull, breathe; kick, reach, pull, breathe, he kept repeating over and over, so the restricted flow of blood to his brain wouldn’t lock his body. Every motion felt like his muscle fibers were tearing. Every breath felt like he was swallowing daggers. Every time the air hit his face, it felt like he was being slapped by Tiny.
A cold snap shattered through his nerves as his fingers stabbed into the bank. His mouth went under one last time as he expelled his breath with a string of expletives only the fish could hear. He threw the knife onto the mossy earth and fought to find a foothold with his numb legs. His boots kicked at mud as his fingers plunged through soft ground.
He stopped scuttling and rested to clear his pounding head. There were three things he needed to get out of the water: first was Ashton, second was the pack, and third was himself. He couldn’t do it all at once.
X rotated his body, putting Ashton between him and the bank. Placing his hands under her arms, he hoisted her up as he sank underwater. He pushed off the murky bottom, lifting Ashton as many extra inches onto land as he could. When he surfaced, her upper body had grounded. He placed his hands on her butt, unsure if he was happy or sad to have no feeling in his extremities, and shoved her legs onto the bank, where she settled into a fetal position in the mud.
However, he’d promised the only person in the world who meant anything to him that he would keep Ashton safe. He jumped off the bottom and pushed against the ground, landing on the bank with a thud.
His clothes clung to his body as water dripped from his chin. He fought his shaking limbs as he crawled to the hiking pack. The only thing he wanted was sleep, which was the last thing he could do. Sleep would be the death of him, and if he didn’t find a way to get Ashton warm, she wouldn’t awaken.
When he realized the sleeping bag clipped to the bottom of the pack was vacuum-sealed, he would have thanked a god, if he thought any of them were listening. He was about to lay the sleeping bag on the ground when his brain fired one logical command.
No.
The wet and soggy ground would waste their one chance. He wrapped the sleeping bag around his neck like a boa and struggled to remove his boots. Using his numb fingers like spatulas, he slid off his socks and let them slap to the ground in a wet heap. He curled his toes into the soggy ground and paced until the earth didn’t give with his step. The first dry spot was between two willows. Their fountain-like tops dangled low providing shelter. He spread the sleeping bag across the ground.
His frozen body groaned as he struggled back to Ashton. Grabbing the knife, he snapped it into the holster. Then he slung one strap of the pack over his shoulder. He knelt beside Ashton and scooped her into his arms. Her head hung with her long strands of auburn hair clumping together like dreadlocks. He tried to hurry as a moan escaped her parted blue lips.
Getting her to the sleeping bag would only be the beginning. He organized his tasks in his mind. First he would have to strip Ashton and wrap her in the bag; then he would string their clothes together to dry; next would be starting a fire. All he wanted to do was curl up and sleep.
Sadly, he wouldn’t get that chance. Even once he got her situated, he would remain on watch, in case their fire attracted any foamers. He knew that some animals were attracted by fire, but others were repelled. However, he couldn’t classify foamers into a traditional animal phylum.
Maybe this is what the geneticists felt like when they classified the beasts of the world. Maybe, just maybe, the idea that there was something new out there excited X and made him feel like a little kid again. The Primal Age was his to discover. Even as he went about his work, numb and shaking, he was filled with a sense of childlike excitement.
* * *
The last Kade had heard from X or Ashton was before the fight; there had been no signs of them throughout the night. He hoped they had just gotten lost, but he had no idea where they could if that was the case.
Even if he did know where they were, he wouldn’t be able to go after them. With the group’s depleted numbers, Kade had a long list of things to deal with. The first was sitting next to him. Kade shot a glance at Grace, who was handcuffed to the door of the van, her forehead pressed against the glass. She was staring at the passing coniferous trees. Her breath fogged the window. She hadn’t spoken since he put her in cuffs.
Mick had made a strong case. They had thought they could trust her brothers and it had almost gotten them all killed. Mick couldn’t believe Grace was unaware of her brothers’ plan to attack them. He argued that she could have realized her family was going to lose, so she preserved herself.
Gripping the filthy steering wheel, Kade tried to keep from peering at Grace. He tried not to compare her to Ashton. He tried not to feel bad for her. He tried to listen to Mick, but he couldn’t believe Grace could kill her brother in the hopes of earning favor with the group. Mostly, he couldn’t imagine Ashton killing him to do the same, which made him believe Grace’s story. Mick had made valid points, but Kade didn’t see the devil in Grace. To him, she was a scared girl who’d just killed her brother to do the right thing.
He felt the hold on his emotions slip as tears streamed in a single path down the sides of his face. Fighting hard, he managed to hide his crying, and he hoped Grace wouldn’t notice. The tears were for his sister and X, who were lost to him. The tears were for Lucas, who was murdered over Kade’s misplaced trust; for Grace, because he couldn’t fathom killing one of his own siblings; for the Wilson brothers; for the foamers; for all those who received the vaccine; for the world he had known and for the Primal Age. Those all merited his tears, but the one person he did not cry for was himself.
He was already dead; he and the reaper had a date. His own death didn’t concern him, but he was worried that his failures as a leader would get more people killed. The Primal Age was something he was supposed to be an expert in, but this trip had shown him there was a large gap between theory and practice. If it hadn’t been for his Kevlar, he would already be dead. He had to get his mind around the actualities of the Primal Age.
Grace turned toward him, pulling against her restraints, and her face seemed to soften at the sight of his tears.
“You okay?” she asked, wiping her own tears on her shoulder.
He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve and turned his face blank. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“What are you going to do to me?”
He tried not to look at her but couldn’t help himself. Her soccer jersey, the same one he had seen Ashton in a thousand times, was covered in grease and mud. What cut him deep to the heart, which he kept locked away, were the clean lines her tears had formed on her dirty face. He tried to give her a reassuring look, but couldn’t find the strength.
“How’s your arm?” he asked.
“It’s fine. I appreciate Tiny bandaging it. That doesn’t answer what you’re going to do to me.”
Kade had lost a friend, and two others were missing. In a day, his cohort had been halved. Grace couldn’t fill all of those roles, but she could fill many of them and make their lives safer. If it was solely Kade’s decision, he’d give her the chance; but he couldn’t afford to let her stay if it meant Mick would leave.
“I’m not sure.”
“All I ask is that you make it quick,” Grace said, putting her forehead against the window and shutting her eyes.
Lucas had been a good friend, but Grace wasn’t the one who’d killed him. If it weren’t for her, he and Tiny would have died too. In his eyes, they owed her thanks, but he had already made the mistake of trusting her family. Mick could be right; it could be a ploy to save herself.
“I don’t plan to hurt you,” Kade replied.
“I’m not worried about you. I’m worried about Mick. I’d want to kill me too.”
“We’ll figure something out. Might just take some time. You have my word: I won’t hurt you, Grace.”
Grace perked up and grabbed Kade’s forearm. “I can earn my keep. Just give me a chance; I won’t let you down.”
“Relax. First, we have to convince Mick you aren’t the enemy. Let’s focus on that.”
“Ash used to talk about you. How cool her big brother was. She’s lucky to have you.”
Ash. The mention of Ashton broke the wall he had built around those painful thoughts of what might have become of her. He hoped that she was alive and okay, but he just wanted to know what happened to her. X and Ashton vanished into thin air. Kade bit down on his lip as he forced his mind to focus on driving.
The rest of the trip to Houghton, he felt like a ghost behind the wheel. He attempted to make small talk with Grace on several occasions, but he couldn’t find the motivation to continue with Ashton on his mind. He wanted his sister back. The closer they got to the college, the more he felt the weight around his neck.
A few clusters of bare trees stood in groves as they made their way past what seemed to be never-ending farm fields. Then the steel light poles peeked above the trees on the horizon, marking the football field of Houghton College. For a brief moment, Kade felt excitement rush through him, but faded as fast as it came.
They had arrived at the small college known for sending off their elite to the best medical schools in the country. This was the college his brother had attended, and Kade had memorized the layout. It was one of the few things the two of them ever agreed on: Houghton would be great in the Primal Age.
The eastern boundary of the school grounds was a wide but slow-moving river. At the northernmost point of the campus, a small stream cut by deep embankments forked off the creek and curved around to make the western boundary.
The highway the cohort was traveling would continue north, staying west of the creek. To get to campus they would exit onto route 19 which ran east across both the creek and stream.
From the air, the way route 19 crossed over the creek and stream looked like a capital A. Nestled within the empty space of the A was the college campus. The dorms were situated along the creek and steam, with facility buildings filling in the interior. The only part of the campus that lay south of route 19 was the sports fields.
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