Wake Up Missing (14 page)

“Get on up to your rooms. We can't have you out in this storm.” He waited until we all left the dock and followed us over the lawn. “Watch your step. It's slick out here with the mud.” The rain was coming down harder, but the sound of an approaching airboat—anywhere even close—would have cut through it.

There was no airboat. There was nothing but rain and thunder and wind.

Midnight.

We get one chance at this.

Molly wasn't coming.

Dr. Ames held open the door to the clinic and shook his head. “You know your treatments are scheduled for first thing in the morning. Get to sleep or you'll be exhausted. It's after twelve thirty.”

I stepped inside and looked back at the lake, boiling with fat raindrops, all around the empty dock.

Midnight.

We get one chance at this.

And it was over.

I didn't sleep.

I couldn't.

I sat on the edge of the bed in my soaking wet clothes and stared out the window. The clinic lights were off, so there was nothing but dark except when lightning flashed, and the pond lit up, rainy green.

Why hadn't Molly come?

It was hard to imagine a storm stopping her, but maybe it held her up enough so that by the time she arrived, Dr. Ames was there. She would have had to turn away.

Where was she now?

What if she came back? What if she was there at the dock waiting?

I hadn't heard from Quentin or Sarah or Ben since my room door swung shut. Not a word. Not a knock.

They couldn't be asleep, could they? Should we try again?

I lifted myself from the bed slowly, so it wouldn't creak, and walked silently to the door. I pressed my ear to the crack.

The hallway was quiet.

I turned the knob and inched the door open.

“Did you need something?”

Dr. Ames sat in the hallway, lounging in a plush leather desk chair against the wall outside our rooms.

If my heart could have burst through my chest and run down the hallway, out into the pouring rain, it would have left me. But it stayed, frantic, pounding, while I answered.

“It's . . . I was a little hungry, so . . .”

“Cat, Cat, Cat . . . We simply can't have our patients running about at all hours of the night. What would your mother think?”

“I want to call my mom,” I blurted. I'd never wanted anything more.

Dr. Ames looked at his watch. “At this hour? You'll scare her half to death. You can call her in the morning.” He put his hands on the arms of his chair and pushed himself up. “You need your rest, kiddo. Are you having trouble sleeping?” He took another step toward me, put his hand on the edge of the door. “Because I could give you something for that.”

“That's okay.” I practically leaped back into my room. “I'm actually really tired. Thanks.” I closed the door and stood with my back to it, my heart pulsing in my throat. I pushed in the lock, but it didn't matter. It couldn't keep me safe. Dr. Ames was in charge of all the keys. Dr. Ames was in charge of everything.

I couldn't breathe; I needed something—anything—to wipe away the image of his face outside my door. I picked up the bag of clay from my dresser, took out what was left, and kneaded it over and over in my hands until they stopped shaking.

I squeezed the clay, pulled and smoothed its surface. I tried to
shape an osprey, but it didn't work. I started over and over, but every time I thought I might have its shape, the soaring feel of its wings, I'd hold up the clay to look and realize it was all wrong. All wrong.

Tears streamed down my face onto the big, ugly gray lump of bird and made it all slimy, and I gave up. I squeezed as hard as I could, until both my hands ached and the clay oozed between my fingers.

I flung the clay to the floor, crossed the room to the window, and looked out. The night was silent and quiet and dark.

Slowly, I flipped the latch and I pushed up on the sill. My clay-streaked fingers left gray smudges, but the window opened without a sound. There was the tiniest click when I pushed out the screen, caught it, and lowered it to the ground outside.

I heard a cell phone ring in the hallway, and I froze. I could hear Dr. Ames's voice, but not his words. I wanted to go to the door and listen. But more than that, I wanted to get away.

Lightning illuminated the lawn, the pond, and the never-ending swamp beyond, the river of grass and snakes, poachers and drug runners. And Molly. Somewhere. Could I find her?

I pushed the window up as high as it would go and leaned my head out into the rain.

The clinic's exterior lights came on and flooded the night with light. Sergei stood patrol on the sidewalk, wrapped in rain gear as if he'd be there all night. Were they all part of this? The orderlies and Elena the chef? Did they all know? Or were they simply carrying out the duties on their clipboards?

It didn't matter. Even if Sergei didn't know the truth, I couldn't
tell him. He wouldn't understand me, and if I tried to run, he'd take me straight to Dr. Ames.

I brought my head inside and closed the window.

There was no way I could get past him.

Still in my wet clothes, I curled up on top of the bedspread, knees tucked tightly into my chest. I didn't sleep.

I stayed that way until the rain stopped and the sun rose over the trees.

It was after the sun came up—almost six thirty—when I heard the door next to mine open and close. I rushed to my door but hesitated to open it. Would Dr. Ames still be waiting there, watching?

But the footsteps were quieter, softer than his. I opened the door.

Quentin stood in the hallway, hovering between my door and Sarah's as if he were afraid to knock on either one, afraid a monster might pop out. But the monster was gone—he'd crept away sometime during the night while I lay there, not sleeping, in my room. The coffee mug next to his chair was empty, too.

“We need to get everyone together,” I whispered to Quentin, “and then we need to—”

“Good morning!” Dr. Ames called down the hallway. He'd emerged from his office, briefcase slung over his shoulder and—was that a rolling suitcase behind him?

I looked at Quentin and made a fast decision; we had to pretend everything was fine.

“Good morning, Dr. Ames.” I tried to make my voice relax. “Sorry about last night. I guess we were kind of dumb.”

“Well, kids will be kids.” He walked up to us and parked his suitcase as Sarah and Ben joined us in the hallway. Sarah was still in her sweatpants and T-shirt, but Ben was dressed like he might have been going to school. “Oh good,” Dr. Ames said. “Since you're all together, I need to talk with you about today.” He took a deep breath, then looked from Ben to Sarah to Quentin to me. Was he trying to decide who to call into the lab? Who did he want to “change” first? It felt like we were standing in the path of an oncoming train with nowhere to go.

Dr. Ames let out his breath in a big whoosh. “I know we'd planned on moving forward with your treatment today, but there's been an issue with funding for the clinic.”

“Oh,” Quentin said. “So there's . . . a delay?” I could almost see the thoughts churning behind his brown eyes. What did that mean? Was it even true? Would we have more time? Enough to escape?

“No.” Dr. Ames shook his head, and my heart sank. We wouldn't have more time. The train was coming for us, and there was nowhere to—

“I'm afraid the project has been discontinued,” Dr. Ames said. He gave a sad smile and shrugged. “You're going home.”

“We are?” Sarah's eyes lit up.

“When?” Quentin asked.

Dr. Ames looked at his watch. “Soon.” He adjusted the briefcase over his shoulder and grabbed the handle of his suitcase. “Pack your things right after breakfast. We'll have a boat waiting at the dock to take you to Everglades City, and from there, you'll
take a van to Miami. We've already called your families, and they'll be flying in tonight to meet you at the airport.”

“But this is so quick! What about our treatment?” Quentin asked. His voice was bursting with questions, but that was the only one he asked aloud.

Dr. Ames sighed. “It's been a long time coming, I'm sad to say. I thought we'd be able to hold on a few more weeks, but that's not to be. Hopefully, our funding situation will improve down the road, and perhaps we'll be able to have you back.”

I shivered.

“But for now,” he continued, “the clinic is shutting down.” He pulled his suitcase down the hall toward the door. “Get some breakfast,” he called over his shoulder. “Pack your things, and take headache medicine if you need it. We'll be leaving the docks at nine.” He walked out the door, and we watched through the window as he stopped along the sidewalk to talk with Dr. Gunther.

“Dr. Gunther looks way more upset about the clinic closing than Dr. Ames,” Sarah said. Dr. Gunther's gray-white eyebrows knit together over his eyes as if they'd never come apart, and his hands flew through the air as he spoke to Dr. Ames.

“This is Dr. Gunther's whole life,” Ben scoffed. “He's nothing without this place.”

Quentin turned to him. “How do you know so much about Dr. Gunther?”

Ben shrugged. “Dr. Ames tells me lots of stuff.”

“And you trust Dr. Ames?” I scoffed. “He's the one who—”

“Shh!” Quentin glared at me. I didn't blame him; I'd heard
my own voice rising. I couldn't help it. “Don't be stupid. Not when we're this close to going home.”

“Our cell phones will work in Everglades City, right?” Sarah's voice was full of life. “I'm calling my mom the second I have service.”

“She'll be on the plane, probably,” I said. But my voice sounded weak, even to me. None of this made sense. When had Dr. Ames called our parents? Early this morning? What could have happened to change everything from the time he stopped me outside my door? He wouldn't let me call Mom until morning. Had he then gone and called her himself? And told her to come get me? It didn't make sense. And I was pretty sure you couldn't even get a flight from the West Coast on such short notice and make it to Miami the same day.

I looked back out the window. There were two airboats tied to the dock. Dr. Gunther was gone—I didn't see where—but Dr. Ames was talking with another man on the dock, and neither of them looked happy. The man looked familiar, but from the window, I couldn't tell why. And there wasn't time.

“Who's that guy?” Sarah asked.

“Never seen him.” Quentin frowned. “And what's the second airboat? It's not Molly's.”

“I don't know.” I'd taken medicine, but it wasn't fending off my headache. I pressed my hands to my temples. “One boat's to take us to Everglades City, I guess.
If
he's telling the truth.” I hadn't meant to say that aloud, but I did.

“Of course he's telling the truth,” Ben blurted. “Where else would we be going?” I stared at him. While I felt all confused and
tied in knots, he looked happier than I'd ever seen him. And it felt wrong. Ben had
wanted
to be here so he could get well and ride horses again. Now, he didn't even seem to care that the clinic was shutting down.

If that was the truth.
My mind couldn't let go of that
if
. I couldn't get on that boat without knowing more.

I turned to Quentin. “We need to get into Dr. Ames's office.”

He didn't argue. “But what about Gunther?” Dr. Gunther hadn't come back into the clinic, and we couldn't see him out the window. Was he in the hangar with Trent, helping him pack up his laboratory? Or with Kaylee, getting her ready to leave? It didn't matter.

“I'm going.” I started down the hall to Dr. Ames's office. I didn't care if no one followed me. I needed to know the truth.

It was almost too easy to find.

When the four of us got to Dr. Ames's office, the door was wide open. His laptop computer was there on the desk, with his e-mail program open, the most recent message right there on the screen, dated last night.

Sender:
R. J. Wiley

Recipient:
Mark W. Ames

Subject:
Moscow

Mark,

As we discussed tonight, the risk associated with continuing the Everglades project is too great at this point. We can still contain the public relations damage if we let Fish & Wildlife nail Gunther for possession of endandered species. Let that be the reason we shut down. The clinic dies, but the project lives on with Narayev in Russia. He can complete work on the
remaining subjects and launch the next step from there. In the morning, we'll move forward with plans to explain the disappearance of the subjects.

I've scheduled an 11 am charter plane for tomorrow. Private Sky Jets operates out of Miami International Airport, and your confirmation number is 472BRQ. Please note that you will need to provide identification for the following passengers listed for the flight:

There was his name at the bottom of the screen.

Ames, Mark

“Just him?” Sarah whispered. I could feel her breath on my shoulder. “I thought Dr. Gunther was going, too.”

“Scroll down.” Quentin reached past me to the mouse and scrolled until we could see the full list. Dr. Gunther's name still wasn't there. But our names were.

Grayson, Catherine

Hayes, Quentin

Jacobsen, Sarah

McCain, Benjamin

Perkins, Trent

All of us, except for Kaylee. On a list of passengers leaving for Moscow in a few hours.

I sucked in my breath. I couldn't move, except to shake my head. It was too awful, too surreal to be true. But there it was.

“We're not going home,” Quentin whispered. “We're going to Russia.”