I sit up, my heart hammering, as I stare into a face I can’t believe I’m seeing.
It’s thinner than I remember. And hairier.
But it’s Mike’s face.
“Nate?” he says again.
I lunge for him, wrapping my arms around him and hugging him tightly to me. He reeks of body odor and dirt and river water. But he’s here. He’s really here. Alive. Like I knew he would be.
He winces, pulling back from me. “Easy, easy.”
He grabs his knee, and when I look, I see that his leg below the shin is broken, the bone poking through the skin.
“Jesus, Nate,” he says, tears welling in his eyes. “I can’t believe it’s really you.”
“Mike,” I say, not believing the sound of his name. “Mike, what happened to you?”
He motions at the leg. “This,” he says simply. “Caught a sieve, just like you. Fell out of my kayak and broke my leg. It was all I could do to get to this ledge.”
“You’ve just been here this whole time?”
“Well, not right here.” He nods back into the rock face, and I can see where he’s been sleeping—between a boulder and the rock wall. How many cold nights has he spent here? In so much pain.
“I told them,” I say angrily. “I told them you were alive! I told them!”
He points up at the sky. “Hard to see me through all that.” I follow his pointed finger and see what he means. Branches and trees hang over the cliff face. Even if he could somehow signal the search helicopters, with his limited mobility there would be no way for them to see through all that.
“Mike, I know what happened,” I say. “I know about Bob Higgins and his toxic waste pools on Clearwater property.”
“Higgins,” Mike snarls. “His henchmen chased me when I caught them. I sprinted back for camp, and they chased me in their trucks. The only way I could get away was to grab one of the kayaks and take the plunge.”
I’m about to tell him about Mr. Evans, but I stop myself. After everything he’s been through, I wonder if I should wait. He’s so weak and so injured. I don’t have the heart to add more pain.
“Thank god I had a bag of trail mix with me,” he goes on.
“That’s all you’ve been eating?”
“Was eating. I ran out yesterday morning. Figured I’d have to turn to bugs soon.” He laughs, but it’s a sad laugh, and his eyes well up again and he grabs me, hugging me tightly.
“Wait,” I say, backing away. “I have something for you.” I fish into my pocket and pull out the knife. He smiles, taking it in his hands like he can’t believe it’s real. “When I saw that, I knew something was wrong.”
“God, what are you doing here, Nate? What are you doing, trying to take on the Black Hole?”
“We came to find you!” I tell him.
“We?”
And then I hear them, over the roar of the Starling—Owen and Mercy shouting my name. They come running along the bank, hopping over rocks and picking their way over boulders. But Mike and I are too hidden—they’ll never see us.
“One sec,” I tell Mike, and I pop up, maneuvering my way over another rock so Mercy and Owen can see me. “Guys!” I shout. “Over here!”
Mercy and Owen climb up onto my rock. “Nate!” Mercy cries, hugging me. “What happened!? We saw you getting dragged toward shore and—”
“Guys,” I say, interrupting Mercy. I motion down to where Mike is sitting.
Owen’s and Mercy’s jaws drop.
Mike grins. “I said boom chick-a boom!”
I laugh at the camp song, but Owen and Mercy don’t move.
Because they can’t believe we did it.
We found Mike Elliot.