Page 35

Ted

When I woke up to the sound of tires rolling down the quarry road, my first thought was, It ’ s over.

Sheena Halverson had gone to the cops. Or maybe I ’ d fucked up and left a fingerprint on the ransom note somehow, even though I ’ d worn gloves whenever I touched it. Could the cops run prints that fast? How would they know to find us here, though?

Fucking hell. I sat up and looked in the rearview mirror—nothing yet—then over at Andy in his Honda Civic—still asleep. “ Dude, wake the hell up,” I hissed through the cracked window of the van. “ Someone ’ s coming. ”

For a second, I thought about cranking the key in the van ’ s ignition and leaving Andy to fend for himself. However, there were two problems with that plan. One was the stick shift. Two was the van was facing the wrong way to make a run for it. In half a mile, this section of the quarry dead-ended at the old dump pit—which had been closed a couple of years ago when it got full.

I shook my head. “ No, think,” I muttered to myself.

I hit the power button on my phone and scanned through the dozen or so notifications I ’ d set to come through from KTRB ’ s crime beat.

The last one still read “ UPDATE: Northridge Elementary Bus Found, Abducted Students Still Missing.” There was no mention about me or Andy. But would they really announce it on the shitty local news if they knew it was us? Especially when they hadn ’ t found us?

The tires were getting louder. Andy was awake now, looking over at me with that dumb deer-in-the-headlights look he got on his face when he didn ’ t know what to do.

I gripped the steering wheel and stared, waiting to get a glimpse of the vehicle on the straightaway before I did anything stupid.

My fingers relaxed as old Paul Scaug’s truck came into view, splashing through the puddles that had formed in the ruts overnight with all the rain. Paul was annoying as hell, but he minded his own business.

“ For shit ’ s sake,” I muttered and glanced back at Andy, who was already opening the door to the Civic and waving.

I hurried out of the van to join him. We ’ d planned for this possibility—somebody stopping by the quarry over the weekend for some reason—but I didn ’ t feel like leaving the ad-lib to Andy. Not after what he ’ d done last night.

Paul ’ s eyes, two raisins underneath skinny gray eyebrows in his wrinkly face, flicked from me to Andy. He didn ’ t seem suspicious though. He looked thrilled to see us, which was almost as bad.

“ Don ’ t say anything stupid,” I muttered to Andy out of the corner of my mouth and lifted a hand up to wave at Paul.

Andy grunted. “ Screw you.”

I forced myself not to look at the piece of sheet metal lying on the ground twenty feet away as Paul stopped the shiny blue Tacoma—his pride and joy—a few feet away from us and cranked down the window, squinting into the sun. “ Didn ’ t expect to see you two idiots out here this morning,” he grunted.

I rolled my eyes and forced a laugh that sounded real enough to my ears. I lifted up my shirt to show him my gun then pointed to the van and the beer cans on the ground I hadn ’ t bothered to clean up from last night. “ Redneck Friday night. Came out here to hunt woodchucks and got wasted.” I raised my arms as if to say, haven ’ t we all been there before? Since it was Idaho, Paul probably had. He ’ d worked at the quarry since Andy ’ s dad had opened it twenty years ago.

I ribbed Andy in the side and gave him a look. He grinned and said, “ Don ’ t say anything to my dad, okay? He has a soft spot for whistle pigs.”

It was true. It was a running joke among the guys who worked at the quarry. Andy ’ s dad braked whenever he saw the cat-sized rodents. Everybody else sped up. Last year, Paul had gotten one taxidermied and stuck it in his office.

Paul laughed like this was the funniest thing he ’ d ever heard. “ You get any?” he asked, and my heart nearly pounded out of my chest when he glanced toward the sheet metal. Sweat started to bead down the back of my hoodie.

“ Nah, ” I said, forcing another laugh. “ We bagged more beer than woodchucks last night. Might hang out a while and try again though.”

Paul nodded and craned his head out the window a little longer. For a second, I was afraid he might ask if he could join us. Or that Andy might offer. But then he said, “ Well, good luck. I won ’ t say nothin ’ . Bag one for me, all right? I told my son I ’ d bring him some scrap rock for his yard. Don ’ t you be telling your dad about that, neither,” he said to Andy with a wink. He tilted his chin at the camper shell of his truck.

Andy grinned like an idiot, and so did I. “ You got it.”

Then Paul waved and drove past us, and I finally let myself look over at the sheet of metal.

I let out a big whoosh of air. “ You think we should check on the kids?”

Andy snorted. “ Yeah, let ’ s open it up right in time for Paul to drive back through and see us doing it. You ’ re such a pussy about those little shits.”

I rolled my eyes, but he was right. If they ’ d gotten a little wet down there, they ’ d dry out. And if everything went like it was supposed to with the ransom later tonight, they ’ d be back home by tomorrow morning.

“ Guess we gotta shoot some whistle pigs now,” Andy said, scratching the back of his head and looking in the direction Paul’s truck had bumped down the road.

“ Nah, too much noise,” I said. “ Let ’ s have a couple of beers. There ’ s sandwiches on top of the cooler, too. We ’ ve got all day before we gotta leave for Little Eddy anyway.” The truth was, I had a soft spot for the rodents, too. Not that I ’ d say so to Andy because he ’ d only call me a pussy again.

“ Breakfast of champions for a couple of goddamn kings,” Andy crowed as he walked away without telling me that I should be the one to get the beers from the cooler in the lean-to. We were both in a better mood this morning, thanks to a few hours of sleep.

I pulled out my phone and checked the time—and my news notifications.

“ Abducted Students Still Missing” hung on the screen in its little alert bubble.

As if to drive home the point, there came a muffled thud from the direction of the bunker.

It wasn ’ t the first bump or thump I ’ d heard. There were eleven people down there after all, and it was faint enough that even if Paul had heard it, it wouldn ’ t have drawn his attention unless he was listening for it. The sound made my tense shoulders inch higher toward my ears anyway, though.

Paul would get his scraps and leave soon, I told myself, shoving down a growing sense of unease. The sun had come back out, the rain had stopped, and we just had to hang tight for a few more hours.

Then we could get the ransom—and finish what we started.