She scrambles to her feet, dazed. Anvi. Anger and sadness hang thick in her throat.
“I was wrong,” she whispers.
“Like hell you were.” Percy’s tapping at the tablet. “Which browser did you use?”
Linda’s thoughts stretch, desperate to find some benign explanation for why Anvi would be exchanging emails with her kidnapper. But the only answer she can find is that Anvi is part of this.
“Which browser?” demands Percy. He’s staring at her with a firmness she hasn’t seen from him in days.
“You’re the one who found Madeline,” says Linda, deflecting. His attention, her own thoughts. Anvi—why?
“Finally connected the dots?” says Percy. “Good for you.” He pats at his pockets. “Goddammit,” he whispers again. “Don’t move.” He storms past Linda, slamming the door. “Lorelei! Where’s the key?”
The key. If he doesn’t have it—Linda tries the knob. It turns.
Percy’s footsteps rush upstairs. Linda doesn’t have much time. She has to get out of here. Now that Percy knows she isn’t really cooperating, she doesn’t know what he’ll do.
You can do this, she tells herself. You have to do this. Anvi doesn’t matter. Her betrayal doesn’t matter.
She leaves the room.
Percy’s car keys and pocketknife are on the kitchen counter. Linda snags the knife and turns to the front door. It’s closed, but Percy hasn’t put the chair back yet.
Lorelei’s voice comes from above, raised: “She’s a mouse, Percy. What’s she going to do?”
Indignation flares through Linda; she snaps the knife blade open, grips the handle tight.
She opens the front door. Silent as a mouse, she thinks as she slips into the chilly dusk.
Outside. She’s outside. Evergreen air flows across her face, glorious and energizing. For a fraction of a breath that’s all she knows. Then her attention snaps back to her situation.
Move.
Within a few steps, her socks are soaked.
“Hey!” Percy’s voice, sharp and loud. Linda flicks her head around and sees him darting out the front door. Lorelei is standing in one of the upstairs windows, staring down at her with a frown.
Linda abandons any attempt at stealth and sprints down the driveway, slipping across sleek gravel and little pits of mud. Her wet socks drag and slap around her toes.
Behind her, a car door slams.
She doesn’t hear the engine start, but maybe her breath is too loud, her pulse too urgent in her temples. Maybe he is about to run her down. She should have taken the keys. Why didn’t she take the keys? Stupid.
She rounds a curve and glances back—no car, no Percy, not yet. There’s no sign of a road ahead; the driveway here is long and straight. She darts into the woods, slapping her way through wet cedar and young Douglas fir. The pocketknife is still in her hand. If he doesn’t see her, maybe he’ll think she made it past the driveway’s next bend.
“Linda!” Percy’s voice isn’t far. This is the first time she’s heard either him or Lorelei use her name. She keeps running. Her left foot lands on something sharp. There’s a deep pain as she feels her skin slicing open, and she stumbles. A rock, a root, a glass bottle thrown into the woods—she doesn’t know. She fights her body’s protective urge to limp.
“There’s no one for miles,” Percy yells. “Nowhere for you to go.”
A lie, it has to be. They’re in Cedar Lake, or near. If she runs far enough, long enough, she will come across a road or a house. A person. She will shout, I’m Clone Girl, and they’ll give her shelter, if only for the SocialHub post that will inevitably follow.
“Linda!”
The light is fading, the forest growing dim. She’s crashing through the trees; he must be following the sound. She can barely breathe.
A dense thicket of brush erupts ahead of her. Her left foot yelps with every step, and she’s lost her right sock. She ducks behind the thicket.
She can’t hear Percy. Maybe she’s lost him. Maybe now that she’s silent—
“This is pointless!”
Slowly, she turns her head. Percy emerges as a shadow between two trees, walking calmly. He’s maybe fifty feet away.
Linda clutches the pocketknife as Percy advances. Her cut foot pulses with pain, and she fears Percy must be able to hear the shallow huffs that aren’t bringing her enough oxygen. He’s drawing closer in the falling light; she watches him through the thorny brush, able to make out the shape of him but not details.
He’s stopped calling out. Linda doesn’t know if this is good or bad. Maybe he thinks she’s too far away to hear him. She hopes so. She hopes he keeps walking and never turns around. Instead, he stops and picks up something from the ground. Her sock. Linda’s chest is tight with need: The need to gulp down air; the need to spring from her hiding place and run. The need to make Percy leave her alone, whatever it takes.
Percy rubs at his face. He’s too far away for Linda to ambush him, too close for her to run. Suddenly he punches a tree and yells, “Goddammit!” The shout fades, and he stands there shaking out his hand. Then, so softly Linda can barely hear, he says, “Haven’t I done enough? When will it be enough?”
Light-headedness settles over Linda. This is not the body language of someone who will calmly march her back to the house. Percy starts walking again, and Linda closes her eyes, just for a few seconds, and takes a deep, quiet breath to settle herself. She wishes she could start this day over and try again.
She wishes she could stand up, splay her hands, and bring down Percy with a lightning spell.
Something snaps, near. Linda’s eyes pop open and she goes as still as stone.
Percy is standing on the other side of the bramble. She can hear his labored breath. He walks around until he’s standing directly in front of her, facing away.
She imagines jamming the pocketknife’s short blade into his throat and twisting it in. She wonders if she could do it, what it would feel like.
Go, she begs silently.
He turns around.
Their eyes meet. Linda watches surprise blossom across his face. Then she’s on her feet, shoving past him. He grabs at her sleeve, but she pulls free, and she’s running full tilt. She doesn’t care that her foot hurts. She doesn’t care that she doesn’t know where she’s going. The knife is still in her hand.
A thunderous roar, like a firework going off just behind her. Linda stumbles but keeps going, darting through the trees. Her ears ring.
The gun from when Percy first took her.
He just shot at her.
He’s not trying to recapture her—he’s trying to kill her.
She finds a burst of speed—and then there’s a wall before her. Out of nowhere: sheet metal, towering above. Linda nearly smacks directly into it. She looks side to side, quick. There’s a tree to the left with branches hanging over the wall. She darts that way. She can’t hear Percy over her own ruckus. She can’t think. She’s overwhelmed by the need to get away.
She leaps to grab one of the cedar’s lower branches, then scrabbles her feet up the trunk and heaves herself into its limbs. Her arms are screaming; it feels as though her shoulders might pop out of their joints. She tears her way higher. She’s above the wall now; the branch in her hands extends past it. If she can inch over, she’ll be able to drop down.
“Linda!” Percy’s voice cuts through the twilight. “Stop!”
She can feel him raising the gun. She thinks of Dr. Tambor, of that school in Arizona. Of all those who have faced a lifted barrel with no means to escape.
She jumps.
Nibbler tumbles, slamming against the back of Anvi’s seat. His yelp pierces her despite the screeching brakes and her own scream. The car’s headlights spin through the twilight; she can’t see, she’s waiting for impact. Then they stop. Anvi’s seatbelt is tight to her chest. Her temple throbs from where it smacked the side window.
Slowly, she realizes the airbags didn’t deploy. They didn’t hit anything.
“Are you okay?” asks Arthur.
Anvi cranes her sore neck toward him. He’s flushed, sweating, and his hands are suctioned to the wheel. “Yeah,” she says. “You?”
Arthur nods.
A whimper from the back seat. Terror latches onto Anvi. She unbuckles and topples out of her door onto the road’s shoulder, then scrambles to open the back. Nibbler is a lump on the floor. She reaches out, her heart breaking—but Nibbler’s head lifts, and he licks her hand.
“It’s okay,” she tells him, summoning a soft, happy voice. “You’re okay.” She hopes it’s true. Nibbler crawls out of car, his tail tucked, and rubs his skull hard against Anvi’s stomach. She wraps her arms around him and sniffles as her fear loosens. “Maybe we should get you one of those stupid-looking seatbelts, after all.”
When she lifts her head, Anvi sees Arthur standing at the hood of the car, talking into his earcuff. His legs intersect one headlight, sending long shadows across the road. Two other vehicles have pulled over, and Arthur waves the Good Samaritans ahead. “We’re fine, thank you.” She blinks her attention back to Nibbler and runs her hands down his body to make sure he’s not hurt. He whimpers and pulls away when she touches his left hip. There’s no blood, no obvious wound. She hopes it’s just a bruise.
The burned smell of overused brakes is heavy in Anvi’s nose. She wants to talk to Arthur, but she also doesn’t want to leave Nibbler—especially this close to the road. So she waits. A woman calls over to her, asking if she’s okay. Anvi gives her a thumbs-up, then gently leads Nibbler to the grass and sits, her hand tucked around his collar. Nibbler noses her chest again, then sits tightly against her, facing the opposite direction.
“Don’t worry,” she whispers to him. “I’ve got your back too.”
It’s getting darker and there’s a wet chill in the wind. When Arthur walks over, Anvi feels a nip of guilt; he’s moving like an old man who’s just had a near-miss car accident. She should be helping him.
“Are you okay to keep going?” asks Arthur.
“We don’t need to wait for the police or anything?”
Arthur shrugs. “The car’s fine, and we didn’t hit anything.”
“Then who were you talking to?”
“My doctor’s office.” At Anvi’s confused look, he explains, “My Sheath monitors my heart rate. I had a scare a few months back, so they check in when there are abnormalities.”
She thinks of her father and what his scare so quickly foretold. “Are you okay?” she asks.
“Yeah, it’s just a precaution.” He pauses. “One sec.” He answers his Sheath. “I’m fine, Victoria. A deer just jumped out in front of us while I was driving….No, and I already talked with Dr. Hammond. I…Wait, what?” His eyes widen. “Yes, let Detective Lopez know,” he says. “Thank you….No, never mind that. Good work.” The call ends and he turns to Anvi.
“What happened?” she asks.
“We got an alert about log-in attempts to Linda’s bank account,” says Arthur.
“IP address?”
“I pre-authorized the bank to release it. All the police have to do is track it.”
“That’s great,” says Anvi. “That should take like three seconds.” She thinks of how awful Linda looked in the video they watched before leaving, but if Linda’s trying to access her bank account, that at least means she’s alive.
Assuming Linda’s the one trying to access it.
“In the meantime,” says Arthur, “I think we should stick with our original plan.”
Anvi can hear the hope in his voice. She climbs to her feet, keeping a hand on Nibbler’s collar. “Let’s go.”