Mapmaker (12 page)

I couldn’t tell how
much time had passed when my eyelids fluttered open again. The feeling began to come back into my arms and legs, and with it, pain. Headlights passed in a blur from the oncoming traffic. If I had a sense of time, I would have known about how many miles we had traveled,
how far they had taken me from home. I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“She’s out,” the woman’s voice said.

I was curled up right beside her. I recognized that voice. All at once it hit me:
Alison. Harrison’s receptionist
.

“Give her another shot,” a man’s voice replied.

Her hand slithered out and grasped my arm. I pretended to be completely asleep. Through my shirt I felt the prick of the needle hit my skin. I thrashed, mumbling like a person having a nightmare. I threw myself onto the floor behind the driver seat. The needle was still in my shirt, scraping my skin. Alison grabbed me in a headlock, with a skill that meant she was a professional at this kind of thing. I felt her press the syringe and the small amount of liquid against my skin.

“That should give us another three or four hours.”

I had been asleep for three hours or more? Where were they taking me? If they wanted to kill me, why didn’t they just do it now? Here. In this strange car. Were they afraid of blood, of DNA evidence? They must have moved me from Blaney’s car. What had they done to her? Had they killed her back in the parking lot? I felt faint.

Some of the poison must have gotten into my bloodstream because I was losing consciousness again. Not completely, not into a dream, but almost like I was floating. But this time I was able to pull myself back. My body was too heavy once more but I forced my mind to stay awake. I wanted so badly to open my eyes to look out the car window for a road sign—anything—with which I could orient myself. So I’d know exactly how far I was from home.

I pretended to be
completely blacked out from the drug. I felt the pull of direction. We were going west-southwest; the color was mostly pale blue. Why were they taking me so far if they were just going to kill me? I strained my ears, trying to listen in on their conversation. I could hear Alison, but there was another voice, too, coming through a laptop on the passenger-side front seat. At first the voice was distorted and echoing. But it, too, was vaguely familiar, an older man’s voice.

“Unit D is closing in on the Alaska blueprint.”

“We are near our destination,” Alison replied. “Is the site secured?”

There was a pause. “Yes,” the voice replied clearly.

I almost jumped up, giving myself away.
Harrison
.

It was Harrison talking through the computer. Of course; Alison was beside me. Harrison: the man my father entrusted with my life. The man whom he appointed as my godfather. The man who was supposed to protect me? It didn’t seem possible, but on the other hand, none of this did. Should I try banging on the windows? What were the chances a passing car would see me? It was night, so doubtful.

Escape was the only answer. Even if it meant opening the door and jumping out onto the highway. I peeked up. A flash of the passing sky and lights from the road were all I saw. I closed my eyes quickly. Was the door locked? Too hard to tell. I would have to move to see it. Too risky.

I felt the car slow down. Heard the tick of the indicator light and felt the car turn. Going down an exit ramp? My hands grew cold. Was this it? Had I arrived at the place where
I’d be killed? I had to take my chance now. We were going more slowly. But how would I break through the window glass? I steeled myself—

Then the car came to a stop.

The smell of gasoline was distinct. They had stopped at a rest stop somewhere on the highway. With my eyes closed, faking unconsciousness, I listened.

The driver door opened and closed.

The passenger door opened and closed.

There was the chugging sound of the tank being filled. Two voices were talking outside. Then silence. There was the beep and click of the locks; the passenger door opened again. I heard a fumbling in the front seat, the brief crinkling of plastic. Then the door closed again. I waited for the beep of the lock, but didn’t hear it. Was I alone in the car? I opened my eyes halfway. I was alone, but then I realized one of the men was leaning against the back passenger-side door, lighting a cigarette, using both hands to shield it from the wind. I didn’t see Alison or the other man.

Cautiously I pushed myself up to look outside. I had imagined we were at one of those huge McDonald’s/Shell rest stops but it was just a small gas station next to a diner. I figured the other two had gone inside to get something to eat or use the bathroom, and left the other guy to watch me. My heart leapt. The doors were unlocked. My palms felt cold and sweaty as I gripped the door handle.

That’s when I saw something in the seat holder: an ice scraper. Maybe they were planning on driving north. Alison had mentioned Alaska. Were they planning on driving to Alaska? I pulled it out without thinking how I’d use it.

The man outside was fumbling to get a cigarette lit, trying to shield the lighter flame from the wind. Now I understood: He must have forgotten his smokes in the front seat. No doubt he’d lock the doors again as soon as he could. I stared out at the small white gas station, the diner with a flashing neon sign in the shape of a milk shake. There were only four other cars parked in the mostly empty lot.

Where would I go from here? Beyond the gas station was a wooded area. I couldn’t see much farther. Did the woods go on for miles or were they just a patch of trees leading to someone’s backyard? I assumed we must be somewhere rural, with a low population. The landscape looked flat. That made me think the trees behind the gas station might go deep and not just be in someone’s backyard. My worry was that it might just be an island of trees between two highways. Where I’d be trapped.

The smoker was heavyset, dressed in a navy suit, with a head of short, grey hair. I could only see his back. I imagined he had red sweaty skin, the kind that comes from too much alcohol and meat. He wouldn’t be able to outrun me. I pulled the opposite door handle, as slowly and quietly as possible, watching the man’s back the whole time. He didn’t hear. I crouched low and crawled out, hiding by the rear wheel.

The pavement felt hot under my palms. A breeze rustled my hair. Thank God it was summer and not freezing cold or pouring rain. There was an opening of fifty-four-plus feet between the gas station and diner. In it stood a depressing-looking Porta-Potty and a round plastic picnic table with a broken umbrella. The ground was littered with beer and soda cans. Behind that: the woods.

I sucked in a breath and took off.

My legs moved slowly from the drugs. They felt heavy and numb. The first tree, which I knew was less than sixty-nine feet from the car, seemed so far now. Using all my strength, I made it another four feet when the diner door opened and Alison came out. She carried a coffee in her hand, her cell phone in the other. She froze for a split second, staring at me before she pulled something from her pocket.

I hurled the ice scraper at her. I watched in amazement as it spun in the air like a boomerang, hitting the side of her head. The coffee spilled over her hand and she shouted in pain. The heavyset man guarding the car looked up from his cell phone. I didn’t look back, but I could hear him running after me.

The woods are dark on a cloudless night. It must have been the adrenaline that made me sprint in near blindness when just a few seconds ago my legs felt like lead.

I stopped when I heard a strange thud, and then another, and another. Bark exploded off the trees around me. Wisps of smoke rose from tiny black holes in the trunks. I stared for a moment, frozen, stupefied.

They’re shooting at me
.

Another pop, and I dove to the rough ground, crawling forward on my hands and knees. There was no sound of gunshots. That’s what Alison had pulled from her pocket, a gun with a silencer. I held my breath. Flashlights swept through the branches. I could hear footsteps over the crunching leaves, the heavy sound of breathing, the voices of the two men. How far away were they? I couldn’t know if I couldn’t see them. I pushed myself up, running again. More bullets. I ducked, stumbling over a tree root—and fell.

They would get me now. I lay frozen on the damp earth. The beams of light swept through the trees like ghosts. Their footsteps drew closer and closer, punctuated by the sharp crunch of leaves. I pressed my face against the dirt, holding my breath.
Please God
, I prayed,
don’t let them see me
. In a panic, I grabbed a handful of acorns, throwing them in the opposite direction. When they clattered off the trees, the flashlights suddenly swung toward the noise. I dared to lift my head, watching as they hurried toward it.

“She’s over here!” Alison shouted.

Without thinking, I bolted. Branches and thorns cut my skin. I tripped in burrows and animal holes. There is no straight ahead in the woods; you have to weave. They heard my footsteps because in an instant, they were right behind me again, hunting me.

That’s when I fell.

The drop seemed to take forever: feet first, down and down. My back hit against the roots and rocks. I grabbed at the dirt, reaching for anything to still myself, to hold on to. I couldn’t see above or below me. I landed with a sharp jolt and fell forward onto my hands and knees, knocked out of breath and stunned with fear.

I couldn’t see anything. I was too afraid to move. Was there flat land around me? Or was there another slope or cliff a few feet away?

I looked up; the sky was starless. I looked down; the ground was black. The only sound I could hear was my pulse in my head and ears. My first instinct was to scream for help but the only people who would hear were the ones I was running from. I stayed still, listening to my frantic heartbeat. I
looked around; they were gone. No voices, no flashlights, no bullets, no footsteps. Had they given up and assumed I was dead?

I’m lost. I’m completely alone. I am hurt
.

Knowing this was more frightening than anything else that had happened to me. More frightening than the car, the bullets, the chase.

The air felt cool, even cold against my skin. Different animals made sudden, quick noises around me. I curled my legs into my chest and wrapped my arms around them. A burning sensation seared my left ankle from the fall. I squinted through the ravine, searching for any sign of lights. There were none. Have you ever seen a map of the world at night? Africa is red with fires; North Korea is black; America is dotted with crystal white blobs. How far was I from one of those?

My mouth was parched and filled with the metallic taste of blood. I curled up against the base of a tree. My left ankle burned like a flame. I was too tired even to cry.

The sky was grey-blue
when I woke up. At first I had no recollection of where I was. I stared at the earth, the leaves, the endless trees in disbelief. Just yesterday I had woken up in my own bed and now I was in a dry creek bed in the woods, lost, far from home. Somewhere I could hear the tinkling sound of water.

I pushed myself up. My head ached, I was thirsty and dizzy. At least the pain in my ankle had subsided. The palms of my hands were bloody and scuffed from where I’d fallen, and I knew I had to rinse the dirt away from the broken skin as soon as possible. My jeans were ripped at the knee and
covered in dirt and leaves. I looked like a child who’d taken a terrible spill on the playground. But I wasn’t a child and this wasn’t a fall from a bike or roller skates.

Behind me the earth rose at a steep angle, twenty-three feet up to a ridge, scarred by my path. That fall might have saved my life. The creek wasn’t entirely dry; seventeen feet to my right was a small stream of water running slowly over the rocks. In the dawn it looked crystal clear.

I had never been so happy to see water before. I limped over to it. I knew my ankle wasn’t broken, though. I knelt down and let the icy water rinse the dirt and blood from my scraped hands. I cupped them and gulped feverishly, spilling all over myself. Water had never tasted so good, so clean and cold. I washed my face and wiped the dirt from my jeans and the navy sweatshirt I had on. Then I took off my sneakers and socks and soaked my feet and ankle, hoping it would stop the swelling and pain.

Birds chirped overhead. I realized I was panting. But I felt human again. Now I had to find my way out of the woods. I stood up. The sun was just climbing over the treetops. I figured it was about eight
A.M.
I turned myself in a circle. The ravine wall blocked my path back to the gas station, but I didn’t want to go there. They might still be waiting for me. I marked the tree I’d slept against with a rock, carving a double line in the bark and headed northeast, toward home, measuring in my head as I went.

I counted two hundred yards, marked another tree, and limped another two hundred yards, marked another tree and walked another two hundred steps. My stomach sunk in with hunger, my ankle ached, I couldn’t stop thinking about
grapefruit juice and a grilled cheese sandwich. I imagined I’d find an ace bandage on the ground.