Wake Up Missing (15 page)

“What?” Ben tried to push Quentin out of the way to see. “That's crazy.” He leaned in to the screen. “This is an airplane charter reservation,” he said weakly. “It doesn't mean anything. It could be a research trip for Dr. Gunther now that he's done here, or—”

“Ben,” Quentin said, his voice rising. “Our names are on that passenger list.”

“No . . . no.” Sarah's eyes filled with tears and fear, all at once. She'd felt all along something was wrong, longer than any of us. But this morning, for a few minutes, she'd believed she was going home.

I put a hand on her arm, maybe to make her feel better, maybe to steady myself. “We can still think of something. We were close to getting away before, and we—”

“We're out of time! We're leaving in, like, an hour.” Sarah was choking back sobs. “They're not going to let us near the boats before then. We'll never escape!”

“Maybe not right now.” Quentin's jaw muscle twitched, and his eyes flashed, angry. “But somewhere along the way, somewhere on that boat or getting into the van, we may have a chance to run. We need to
make
that chance. We need to stay together and stay ready.” His eyes moved from Sarah, to me, to Ben, as if he could weave a knot to bind us all together.

“The phone!” Sarah lunged for it. “I'm calling my mom and dad.” But when she pressed the buttons, there was some recording, and she dropped it to the desk, crying. “There's a stupid password.”

“We can e-mail, though!” Quentin leaned over the computer,
just as a voice drifted through the open window. I peered out, careful to stay out of sight, and saw Dr. Ames hurrying up from the dock as one of the airboats pushed off into the water. “He's coming! We have to go!”

“Hold on!” Quentin was almost pounding on the keys. “I can't get this to open a new message!”

“There's no time!” I pulled at Quentin's arm, and we hurried for the door.

“We never saw this. We can't let on that we know anything,” I said, looking back.

But Ben wasn't coming. He'd stayed at the desk, squinting at the screen as if he still couldn't understand.

“Let's go!” I hissed, and he jumped as if he'd been someplace else. He rushed to the door and looked back at Dr. Ames's desk before he followed us down the hall toward the cafeteria.

Dr. Ames was waiting there with a stack of white cardboard boxes. “Sorry to rush you,” he said, “but the van's meeting us earlier than I thought, so we need to get going.” He pressed a boxed breakfast into each of our hands. “Bagels, cream cheese, and a banana for the ride,” he said. “Get packed and bring it with you, okay? Meet at the boat in ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes!” Sarah's mouth hung open, and I saw tears welling in her eyes again. She couldn't let on that we knew.

“It's okay,” I said quickly, and put an arm around her. “I don't have much stuff,” I joked, “so I'll help you pack your Frisbees.”

Quentin followed us, but Ben lingered and said something to Dr. Ames.

“You coming?” Quentin called.

“Yeah, but . . .” He turned to Dr. Ames. “I'm allergic to bananas. Can I get something else?”

Dr. Ames put an arm around Ben's shoulders and waved us on. “Let me get this guy something he can eat, and I'll send him right down.”

“Great,” Quentin said tightly, and turned down the hallway, but then stopped. I knew he was worried about what Ben might tell Dr. Ames. So was I, but what could we do? Nothing.

“Everything okay?” Dr. Ames smiled at the rest of us, that same warm smile he'd flashed when Mom and I arrived. “Go on and get packed. I know it sounds like a long morning of travel, but you'll be back with your families in no time.”

I nodded and followed Quentin toward our rooms, but I had to look back at Dr. Ames once more. I'd never seen anyone lie so well.

Ben was already at the dock when we got there. He had a duffel bag, the one he'd had back in Everglades City that first day, when his aunt was there and Mom was there with me. Back when I was nervous for all the wrong reasons.

Trent was at the dock, too, already on the boat. How would Dr. Ames explain that, when he'd told us Trent had gone home?

Trent sat right next to the driver's chair with a bag at his feet, his fingers busy with a tiny screwdriver and some kind of gauge or something, maybe part of the navigation stuff from the old plane in the hangar. His eyes moved back and forth from the boat's controls to the mess of electronics in his lap.

“Hey,” I said. “Remember me? From breakfast that day?”

He looked up and blinked once. “Indeed, I do. I've made tremendous progress with the alternating current since then.” He went back to fiddling with the mess of wires and panels in his hands.

There was a splash to our right, and I turned to see a blue
heron gulping down a frog or fish. It was so close I could see the way the water beaded as it dripped down sleek blue-gray feathers.

Trent reached for something in his bag and startled the heron. I watched it take off, pumping its wings, and wished I could fly away, too.

What would happen to us if we couldn't escape? Would I recognize a great blue heron a week from now? A month from now? Or would I turn into Marie Curie or one of those other scientists and be like Trent, focused on some scientific problem that got planted in my head? I watched him bite his lip in concentration as he turned the gauge over in his hands.

We
had
to escape. Because looking at Trent, I knew if they took me away and finished their project, even if Mom and Dad found me one day, I'd never be
me
again.

Dr. Ames walked down the path with a scruffy guy who was easily half a foot taller than he was and twice as wide. “Great, you're all right on time,” Dr. Ames said, “and I see that you're getting reacquainted with Trent. As you know, he'd gone home, but he'd come back to us for additional treatment this week. It's so unfortunate that we've had this funding issue.” He shook his head.

“Where's Kaylee?” I asked. She hadn't been on the plane list from his office either. What happened to her?

“She's not feeling well, Cat—as you know, her injury was more severe than yours, and she's still suffering debilitating headaches. You know how loud these airboats can be, so her parents have decided to arrange for a medical helicopter instead. She'll be picked up later on.”

A lump swelled in my throat, but I nodded and didn't say
anything. It felt like letting Lucy send Amberlee away all over again, only worse. A thousand times worse. How could we leave Kaylee behind? What would happen to her? What kind of person would just nod and let this happen? What kind of person was I?

“All right.” Dr. Ames looked down at our bags, heaped up in that open space on the boat's deck. “Got everything?”

Somebody must have nodded.

“Great.” He smiled and climbed onto the boat, and the man with him climbed into the seat at the control panel. Trent immediately leaned over to investigate the boat's switches and panels. When Dr. Ames pulled out the boat's operations manual and handed it to Trent, his face lit up like Christmas morning and he immediately started reading.

I hadn't seen this airboat driver from the window; I'd hoped, somehow, Molly would be back. But instead we had this guy—young and muscular, with a tattooed vine that curled around his neck and down his shoulder and disappeared under a torn white T-shirt. He reached under his seat, pulled a thermos from an oversize duffel bag, and took a long drink from it while Dr. Ames helped us onto the boat. Unzipped, the driver's bag flopped open, and inside, I could see a big handheld floodlight, ropes, and a thick, rusted metal hook. The airboat floor was smeared with brown-red stains that I didn't even want to think about. Best case scenario: he might have been an alligator poacher. But I knew from Molly's warnings that worse things went on in the swamp.

I found my voice again. “Isn't Dr. Gunther coming?” His name hadn't been on the charter plane list either.

“He's finishing up some work at the clinic.” Did I imagine it? Or did Dr. Ames's eyes darken? “He'll join us later.”

I had more questions, but the boat guy—he never said hello or told us his name—started up the giant propeller fan, and we left. We zipped through channels, past the shacks in the mangroves, past the spot where One-Eyed Lou should have been guarding her babies, but I didn't see her. The boat must have scared her off. The roar of the engine never let up; we didn't get earplugs this time, and my head was pounding.

This driver was no Sawgrass Molly. He never looked up at the osprey nests, never slowed to peer into the tangled grass along the banks and search for gator babies. And he looked like he wanted to swat Trent, who was leaning over, studying every press of a button and flick of a switch at the control panel.

The driver maneuvered the boat through the river's grassy bends as fast as he could without running it up on the mud banks. This trip was happening too fast. Once we got to Everglades City, once they locked us in that van, there would be no chance to escape.

Quentin sat up straighter as we approached the mouth of the river, where it opened up into wider waters. He switched seats so he was next to me, staring up into a cypress on my side of the boat as if he'd moved to search for eagle or osprey nests, and he leaned in close. “What if we jump?”

“Now?” I watched the water rushing by. I couldn't tell how deep it was; there were no reeds, no grasses I could see. Nothing to reassure me. “Where would we go?”

He pointed to the shoreline, maybe fifty yards to our left. It was thick with brush, but a thin brown trail snaked up from the water's edge and disappeared into the green. Could we make it that far? Could everyone swim? Sarah probably could—there
didn't seem to be a sport she didn't love—but I had no idea about Ben. And Trent? Trent wouldn't even acknowledge we were there, so it wasn't likely he'd jump into the river if we told him to. We couldn't leave him.

I looked at the long stretch of water and shook my head. “We'd never make it there before they reached us in the boat.”

Dr. Ames looked back over his shoulder at us, and Quentin craned his neck to search the treetops again. He pointed up, and I followed the line of his arm. There was nothing there.

“Keep looking that way,” he half shouted into my ear. The engine was so loud there was no way anyone else could hear him. “I think we could do it. I'm pretty sure airboats can't go in reverse. And the river's pretty narrow here; he couldn't turn around easily. It might take long enough that we could—”

As if the boat itself could hear our plans, it shot forward. I grabbed a railing to catch myself and looked up. While Trent fumbled to retrieve the screwdriver he dropped, the driver pushed the throttle as far as he could. Apparently, the river was plenty wide here to open it up and fly.

I looked at Quentin. Any chance we had at jumping from the boat was gone.

In less than a minute, the boat slowed, and we pulled up to an empty dock in Everglades City. Dr. Ames stood over us while the driver tossed a line around a barnacle-crusted post.

Sarah hurried over to Quentin and me—maybe hoping we'd thought of something. Or maybe she felt better being close. Ben lingered at the bow of the boat, staring into the swamp as if he'd simply given up. Maybe he was the smart one.

“All right.” Dr. Ames stepped onto the weathered dock and reached out to us. I had to force myself not to shrink back.

I reached up for his hand. “Thanks.” Sarah and Ben and Quentin climbed off the boat, too. The dock was small, and it kept wobbling under my feet. Dr. Ames caught my arm to steady me. I wanted to shove him away and run, but I didn't.

“Balance is often the last thing to come back.” His mouth smiled, but his eyes didn't. They looked past me. I turned to follow his gaze and watched a dark-blue van with tinted windows kicking up dust on the gravel-dirt road as it approached the dock.

“Let's go, Trent.” Dr. Ames waited while Trent reluctantly left the boat's control panel and climbed onto the dock.

“Thanks.” Dr. Ames pressed a fifty-dollar bill into the boat driver's hand. “Perfect timing.” Gravel crunched as the blue van pulled up next to us. “Our ride is here.”

Dr. Ames flung our bags on top of some big crates in the back of the van and slammed down the rear hatch. He slid open the side door and stood, waiting.

Trent wouldn't leave his backpack full of electronics in the back. He scurried up the steps, clutching it to his chest, and scrambled into the far back. There were four rows—two bucket seats in the front, then two small benches, with room for people to get in and out by the sliding door, and a long bench stretching across the back of the van. Trent slid across that long bench, unzipped his bag, spread out all his tools and wires, and went back to work.

I stood frozen at the door.

“Cat?” Dr. Ames raised his eyebrows.

My throat tightened. Everything was closing in on me, and it was only when I felt Quentin's hand on my shoulder that I could say anything at all. “I . . . feel a little sick from the airboat ride,” I said. “Is there someplace I can get water?”

I knew there wasn't. I didn't want to get in that van.

Dr. Ames frowned. “Headache? You took medicine this morning, didn't you?”

“Yes. My head's okay. I'm just queasy.”

“The airboat was never a problem for you before.”

“That guy drove faster.”

He nodded, then gave a tight smile. “I'm afraid this luxury waterfront property is a bit lacking in facilities.” He swung an arm out at the empty gravel parking lot. “We'll stop and get you something to drink once we're on the road.”

“Okay.” But I didn't move. Climbing in that van felt like climbing into a coffin. “Can you give me a minute? A little fresh air and I'll be fine, probably.” I stepped back and tried to breathe. I wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go.