She’s in shorts and a T-shirt, her hands bunched in both sides of her hair, her mouth stretched wide, even though her scream has dribbled into silence.
I grit my teeth against my swimming head and start walking. Emily sucks in another breath. I think she wants to scream again, but she’s empty. She backs up, up, up until she’s against a tree near the pile of our stuff, the color drained from her face.
Is she going to pass out? I think she might, so I move faster, feeling the ground go wobbly. My steps thud off rhythm. Emily spots me and yelps.
I reach for her, not sure if I’m trying to comfort her or hoping she’ll catch me. She scuttles beyond my reach, her eyes like bits of coal.
“Emily, it’s OK!” I say, lifting my hands.
She flinches again, and I hear footsteps coming my way.
“You’re freaking her out.”
Jude, of all people. Puke down the front of what I’m betting is a sixty-dollar T-shirt.
He crouches, and I follow his lead. We’re treating her like a cornered dog, and I don’t like it. What are we going to do, offer her a Beggin’ Strip?
“All right?” Jude asks her.
Emily’s face hardens at him, but she nods.
I swipe a shaky hand through my hair, and my knees are too weak to hold the crouch. My butt hits the ground, so I just sit, trying to breathe. Trying to think.
“Mr. Walker’s alive, but he’s not conscious,” Lucas says, his heavy footsteps behind me.
“Did he get sick?” Jude asks.
Lucas sneers. “Apparently, that’s just you, little girl.”
“Don’t be a jerk,” I snap, then to Jude, “I feel raunchy too.”
“Like, hungover raunchy, right?” he asks.
I wouldn’t know, so I shrug, but Lucas mutters something that sounds agreeable. Jude’s shoulders hitch down a notch, and he finally takes that last earbud out.
“What the hell happened to us?” he asks as he’s coiling the white cord, examining the bare plug with a frown.
“They did it to you too,” Emily says. We all turn to her. She crosses one arm over her middle and juts her chin at Jude’s arm. “Your word is different.”
“What w—” He never finishes. Because when he turns his left wrist up, we all see it. The letters are ornate like a tattoo. Or maybe henna. His reads Deceptive.
Emily lifts her wrist, and I have to squint to make out the letters.
Damaged.
Lucas checks his and snorts. “Of course.” Then he flips his wrist up so we can all see.
Dangerous.
My turn. I swallow against the lump in my throat, and it goes down hard, bruises my insides. Just do it. Do it.
I turn my wrist up, praying so hard for a familiar olive stretch of clean skin. I see the black marker ink immediately. My mouth goes watery and sour before I even read it. I hold it up but close my eyes because I know they won’t like it.
My word is Darling.
Chapter 4
No one says a thing. Maybe what’s written on our wrists is all the words we need. Or maybe we’re all trying not to throw up. It’s probably both. We need to think. We need to do something.
I lumber to my feet, still spinny and sick. Lucas steadies me with a hand to my hip, and I recoil. “Don’t!”
He backs away, palms raised. “Calm down, Darling.”
“Yeah, I’d love to know why you get the nice word,” Jude says, voice rough.
The letters on my wrist burn. “It’s not like I wrote this.”
“Then who did?” Emily asks. She’s not accusing me—she’s scared. “Who did this?”
Lucas palms the back of his neck. “My money’s on the asshole who ripped all our stuff to shreds.”
My eyes drift over the other campers. The thing is, at least some of these words fit. Lucas is dangerous, and one look at Emily makes it clear she’s got issues. Whoever did this could have known that. They wouldn’t have bothered if they didn’t know, right?
Not that someone knowing us would make this logical. Nothing about this makes sense, not the destroyed supplies or the fact that we slept away the day or the fact that we’ve got personalized tattoos branded on our wrists. The only thing I’m sure of is that it all adds up to something bad.
“What’s his word?” Jude asks, nodding at Mr. Walker’s tent.
Lucas shakes his head. “He doesn’t have one.”
“How can you be sure?” I ask, feeling my eyes narrow.
His expression sharpens. “Because I think I would have noticed when I was hauling his ass around. He’s wearing a T-shirt. I saw his lily-white arms pretty well.”
“But why wouldn’t he have a word?” I ask. It bothers me, and I know that’s stupid. I’m acting like someone’s made a list of rules, and in those rules, everyone gets a word.
“We need help,” Emily says.
Lucas exhales. “Yeah, and we need to figure out where—”
I inhale sharply, interrupting him. “Ms. Brighton.” Her name tastes like salvation. Jude looks up, and I take a breath and look at everyone. “We need to find her and Madison and Hayley. They have their phones! They can help us.”