“Hernán knows better,” Silvana says with a laugh.
And Maddie’s lovesick puppy dog has proved more resourceful than I gave him credit for. Yet he’s evidently still missing.
“We have a special caller on the line,” Bill “The Thunder” Lewis says over the radio, and everyone goes quiet again. “Hello, Mrs. Wainwright?”
“Yes, this is Elizabeth Wainwright.”
Holden makes a strange choking sound from the front of the line.
“Thank you for taking our call. Please, tell us something about your son.”
“Holden is my only child. He’s a sweet boy,” Elizabeth says, and she genuinely seems to believe that. “He’s allergic to mold and he’s never really been fishing or even camping without prepackaged meals, so the rain forest is truly a less-than-ideal environment for his health.”
Silvana shines her light at him, and Holden’s jaw is so tight I’m afraid he’ll dislocate it. He loves to talk about going on safari with his dad, as if that makes him a badass, but he never mentions the private guide who cooks, packs the Jeep, and makes all the travel arrangements.
Holden camps like a rich boy.
“So, if whoever has him is listening, please tell us what you want. We’ll do anything. Just please send our boy home.”
The back of Holden’s neck is flaming now. If he were a cartoon, fire would be shooting out of his ears.
“Mrs. Wainwright, we hope your son’s captors have heard your plea. That’s it for tonight, folks. Please tune in tomorrow when we come to you live with Neda Rahbar at the sit-in vigil at Elmore Everglades Academy. And don’t forget you can pick up your ‘keep hope alive’ bracelets here at the studio!”
Silvana steps in front of Holden as Óscar turns off the radio. “‘Oh, please send him back! He’s good for nothing, but we’ll pay anything!’”
The gunmen laugh, and she turns to play to her audience.
“If Wainwright’s mami will pay a fortune for her entire son, what would she pay if we send back just a piece of him at a time?” Silvana pulls Holden to a stop by one arm and lays the blade of her huge knife flat against his left nostril. “How much for his pretty little nose?”
We’ve all stopped walking now. Most of the flashlights are trained on them, so we can all see the show.
Holden is frozen. Pen looks terrified, and I want to throw up.
This is all my fault.
Silvana’s men laugh harder, and she lets him go, muttering in Spanish about how useless he is.
Holden fumes, humiliated. Penelope watches him, obviously unsure how to help.
I should stay away from him because when he’s angry, he acts without thinking. But someone has to talk him down before he does something stupid.
“You okay?” I ask softly, while everyone else starts walking.
Holden turns on me. “First chance I get, I’m taking that bitch down.” Spittle flies from his lips and he speaks through clenched teeth. “Are you with me, Genesis? Because if you get in my way, I’ll take you down too.”
As he marches past me down the dark jungle trail, I see the fury raging in every step he takes. I am terrified that even if the rest of us are ransomed, Holden is never going to get out of this jungle alive.
32 HOURS EARLIER
MADDIE
“It’s Monday night.” I sit on the foot end of our mummy-shaped sleeping bag and stare up at the trees through the transparent top of our tent, listening to the chorus of croaks and chirrups all around us. Everything feels oddly peaceful. “We’ve missed the car that was supposed to pick us up at the parque entrance. But Genesis’s plans change on an hourly basis, and there’s no cell reception in the park. Abuelita won’t consider us truly missing until we’re at least twenty-four hours late.” At the head end of the sleeping bag, Luke takes off his outer shirt and rolls it into the shape of a pillow. “Even if they didn’t get my text, when I’m not back tonight, my parents will call in the National Guard. Or whatever the Colombian equivalent is.”
“Do they know who you’re with? Or where you went?”
“I told them, but there’s no telling how much they processed.”
“They don’t care where you’re going or who’s with you?”
“It’s not that, really. My friends whose parents are divorced think it’s great that mine are still so into each other. But the thing about happily married parents is that sometimes they’d be just as happily married even if they weren’t parents.” He shrugs and unties his boots. “But once they realize I’m gone, they will definitely sound the alarm.”
“Good.”
“So . . . how do you want to do this?” Luke stares down at the sleeping bag so deliberately I realize he’s avoiding looking at me. But there’s nothing he can do about the flush creeping up his neck. “I’ll sleep on the ground. You can have the bag.”
“It’s only fair if we share.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
I unzip the bag, but spreading it out in the cramped space is like playing Twister in a cardboard box. Luke’s face gets redder every time I bump into him or have to duck beneath his arm, but he stays inside the tent, as if he needs to prove he’s comfortable sharing it with me.
“We should get some sleep,” I say at last. “We need to be up at first light.”
My legs ache and my head is throbbing, and now that we’ve stopped hiking, I can’t imagine taking another step before the sun comes up. Though it can’t be any later than eight p.m., I’ve never felt more exhausted in my life.
After a couple of awkward attempts to get comfortable without touching each other, we finally give up and lay spine to spine, with Luke nestled between me and Moisés’s rifle.
His warmth against my back feels surprisingly intimate in the chilly night. I am suddenly conscious of every breath I take, because he can feel the movement. I can’t remember how to breathe at a natural pace.
If I breathe too fast, he’ll think I’m nervous. If I breathe too slowly, he’ll think I’m asleep, and I’ll have to pretend I am.
“Hey, Maddie,” Luke whispers.
“Yeah?”
“Are you scared?”
“Terrified,” I tell him. “You?”
And Maddie’s lovesick puppy dog has proved more resourceful than I gave him credit for. Yet he’s evidently still missing.
“We have a special caller on the line,” Bill “The Thunder” Lewis says over the radio, and everyone goes quiet again. “Hello, Mrs. Wainwright?”
“Yes, this is Elizabeth Wainwright.”
Holden makes a strange choking sound from the front of the line.
“Thank you for taking our call. Please, tell us something about your son.”
“Holden is my only child. He’s a sweet boy,” Elizabeth says, and she genuinely seems to believe that. “He’s allergic to mold and he’s never really been fishing or even camping without prepackaged meals, so the rain forest is truly a less-than-ideal environment for his health.”
Silvana shines her light at him, and Holden’s jaw is so tight I’m afraid he’ll dislocate it. He loves to talk about going on safari with his dad, as if that makes him a badass, but he never mentions the private guide who cooks, packs the Jeep, and makes all the travel arrangements.
Holden camps like a rich boy.
“So, if whoever has him is listening, please tell us what you want. We’ll do anything. Just please send our boy home.”
The back of Holden’s neck is flaming now. If he were a cartoon, fire would be shooting out of his ears.
“Mrs. Wainwright, we hope your son’s captors have heard your plea. That’s it for tonight, folks. Please tune in tomorrow when we come to you live with Neda Rahbar at the sit-in vigil at Elmore Everglades Academy. And don’t forget you can pick up your ‘keep hope alive’ bracelets here at the studio!”
Silvana steps in front of Holden as Óscar turns off the radio. “‘Oh, please send him back! He’s good for nothing, but we’ll pay anything!’”
The gunmen laugh, and she turns to play to her audience.
“If Wainwright’s mami will pay a fortune for her entire son, what would she pay if we send back just a piece of him at a time?” Silvana pulls Holden to a stop by one arm and lays the blade of her huge knife flat against his left nostril. “How much for his pretty little nose?”
We’ve all stopped walking now. Most of the flashlights are trained on them, so we can all see the show.
Holden is frozen. Pen looks terrified, and I want to throw up.
This is all my fault.
Silvana’s men laugh harder, and she lets him go, muttering in Spanish about how useless he is.
Holden fumes, humiliated. Penelope watches him, obviously unsure how to help.
I should stay away from him because when he’s angry, he acts without thinking. But someone has to talk him down before he does something stupid.
“You okay?” I ask softly, while everyone else starts walking.
Holden turns on me. “First chance I get, I’m taking that bitch down.” Spittle flies from his lips and he speaks through clenched teeth. “Are you with me, Genesis? Because if you get in my way, I’ll take you down too.”
As he marches past me down the dark jungle trail, I see the fury raging in every step he takes. I am terrified that even if the rest of us are ransomed, Holden is never going to get out of this jungle alive.
32 HOURS EARLIER
MADDIE
“It’s Monday night.” I sit on the foot end of our mummy-shaped sleeping bag and stare up at the trees through the transparent top of our tent, listening to the chorus of croaks and chirrups all around us. Everything feels oddly peaceful. “We’ve missed the car that was supposed to pick us up at the parque entrance. But Genesis’s plans change on an hourly basis, and there’s no cell reception in the park. Abuelita won’t consider us truly missing until we’re at least twenty-four hours late.” At the head end of the sleeping bag, Luke takes off his outer shirt and rolls it into the shape of a pillow. “Even if they didn’t get my text, when I’m not back tonight, my parents will call in the National Guard. Or whatever the Colombian equivalent is.”
“Do they know who you’re with? Or where you went?”
“I told them, but there’s no telling how much they processed.”
“They don’t care where you’re going or who’s with you?”
“It’s not that, really. My friends whose parents are divorced think it’s great that mine are still so into each other. But the thing about happily married parents is that sometimes they’d be just as happily married even if they weren’t parents.” He shrugs and unties his boots. “But once they realize I’m gone, they will definitely sound the alarm.”
“Good.”
“So . . . how do you want to do this?” Luke stares down at the sleeping bag so deliberately I realize he’s avoiding looking at me. But there’s nothing he can do about the flush creeping up his neck. “I’ll sleep on the ground. You can have the bag.”
“It’s only fair if we share.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
I unzip the bag, but spreading it out in the cramped space is like playing Twister in a cardboard box. Luke’s face gets redder every time I bump into him or have to duck beneath his arm, but he stays inside the tent, as if he needs to prove he’s comfortable sharing it with me.
“We should get some sleep,” I say at last. “We need to be up at first light.”
My legs ache and my head is throbbing, and now that we’ve stopped hiking, I can’t imagine taking another step before the sun comes up. Though it can’t be any later than eight p.m., I’ve never felt more exhausted in my life.
After a couple of awkward attempts to get comfortable without touching each other, we finally give up and lay spine to spine, with Luke nestled between me and Moisés’s rifle.
His warmth against my back feels surprisingly intimate in the chilly night. I am suddenly conscious of every breath I take, because he can feel the movement. I can’t remember how to breathe at a natural pace.
If I breathe too fast, he’ll think I’m nervous. If I breathe too slowly, he’ll think I’m asleep, and I’ll have to pretend I am.
“Hey, Maddie,” Luke whispers.
“Yeah?”
“Are you scared?”
“Terrified,” I tell him. “You?”
