“I kind of hate to suggest this,” said Kate, “but maybe it’s time we talked to the only person around here who did know her. I mean does. He seems to be getting perkier.”
We all turned to look at Randolph, who was sitting up, scowling in a familiar way, and not singing a nonsense song. As we watched, he reached out to the creosote bush that had been sharing its puddle of shade with him, yanked off a handful of it, threw the handful on the ground, and eyed it with satisfaction.
“Randomly tormenting the innocent,” observed Louis.
“Yep,” I said grimly. “He appears to be back to normal.”
“If only he could spend his entire life in a state of life-threatening dehydration, he’d be a much nicer guy,” said Kate. “Weird and with a really bad singing voice, but nicer.”
Reluctantly, we all lugged ourselves to our feet and started toward Randolph. When he saw us, he yelled, “Hey! I’m thirsty. Which one of you morons is hogging all the water?”
I saw Kate tense up, but I said quietly, “I know, I know, but hold off. Remember we want his help.”
When we got to Randolph, Aaron said, in his cheerful way, “It looks like you’re feeling better.”
“Fit as a fizzle,” said Randolph, thumping himself on the chest.
“Fiddle,” mumbled Kate.
“What was that?” growled Randolph.
“‘Fit as a fiddle’ is an idiom that dates from the early 1600s. Originally it was used to describe suitability or appropriateness rather than health, and while its exact origins are unknown, some speculate that it refers to the way a violin fits snugly under the chin,” said Aaron. I glanced at him, his tired face and anxious eyes. I knew he was doing his best. He’d dialed way back on the info-spouting lately, but when he got stressed, the facts just seemed to pop out on their own.
Before Randolph could throw something at Aaron, I jumped in. “Randolph, we were hoping you’d help us,” I said.
“Ha! Like that’s ever gonna happen.”
“Not us,” said Kate. “Daphne.”
It was exactly the right thing to say. I could practically see the storm cloud over Randolph’s head dissolve.
“Oh,” he said.
“You know her better than anyone,” I said, following Kate’s lead. “We think you’re her best hope.”
Heaven help me—and Daphne—this wasn’t a lie.
Randolph dropped his sneer and, for a few seconds, looked almost human, blinking and flattered and about seven years old. Then he smirked and said, “More like her only hope. You guys are obviously clueless. Okay. What?”
“Well, she was supposed to meet her father, but it seems like she never did, and she doesn’t seem to have run into any trouble along the trail. So we were wondering if you have any idea about where she might have gone instead.”
“The answer to that is a big fat nowhere,” said Randolph. “She never would’ve stood up her dad.” After a second, he added, “That girl thinks he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread.”
“In 1928, Iowan Otto Frederick Rohwedder perfected the first loaf-at-a-time—” began Aaron, but before I could even send him a warning glance, he stopped, which was good because it meant that I never had to take my eyes off Randolph, so I caught the expression that flickered over his face right after Aaron said the Otto Frederick Rohwedder thing. It was an expression I had never seen Randolph make before and, until that moment, would’ve bet wasn’t even something his face could convey: pity. Randolph felt sorry for Daphne.
“She thinks he’s great,” I said. “But you don’t, do you?”
He stuck out his jaw. “Yeah, I do! The guy is like the coolest dad in the world. Anyone would kill to have a dad like that.”
Lie. Lie. Lie.
“Do you really think so?” I asked.
“Most definitely!” said Randolph.
Lie. But I knew that if I called him on his lying, he’d get mad and clam up. No matter how irritating Randolph was, if we wanted his help, I had to tread lightly.
“I know Daphne confided in you. Why don’t you tell us what you know about him?” I asked. “It might help.”
Randolph punched his thighs with his fists, not hard, but not that lightly either. He was thinking. He stopped punching and looked up.
“Okay, so there was this one Christmas break when he invited Daphne to go snowboarding in, like, one of those awesome places in Colorado where movie stars and whatnot go. He bought her a business-class ticket and everything. He got to the place a couple days ahead of her, and get this, he met Vaughan Gray!”
“Who’s Vaughan Gray?” asked Louis.
“X Games? Snowboarder? Only the best in the whole entire freaking world?” said Randolph disgustedly.
“Oh.”
“Anyway, Vaughan and a bunch of his X Games buds were taking off for this other really amazing resort in, like, Park City, Utah, and they invited Daphne’s dad to come with them.”
“Wow,” I said, doing my best to sound impressed. I’d never been a snowboarding fan and honestly only knew Vaughan Gray because he starred in some funny soap commercials that Janie loved, but it seemed like a bad idea to tell Randolph that.
“Did he go?” asked Aaron.
“Duh. Of course he went,” said Randolph. “Do you know how many people would kill to hang with guys like Vaughan Gray? Like, millions.”
He stopped and squinted up at the sky.
“Go on,” Kate said. “Please.”
Randolph shrugged. “That’s it.”
Lie.
“Really?” said Kate gently. “Because it seemed like there was more you wanted to say. To, you know, help Daphne.”
At the sound of Daphne’s name, Randolph’s face got serious.
“Okay. A couple days later, Daphne’s dad texted her all these awesome pictures of him with the X Gamers. Obviously, she was blown away. She printed a bunch out and hung them on her bulletin board, after she got home.”
Randolph dropped his eyes as he said this, but not before I saw the pity flare in them again.
“Home from where?” I asked.
Randolph kicked the clump of leaves and branches he’d broken off the creosote bush. “Well, the really hilarious thing is that she got the pictures while she was waiting at the airport,” he said.
“Which airport?” asked Aaron. “Was she about to get on the plane to go to Colorado?”
“No. The airport in Colorado, stupid,” said Randolph. “She was in baggage claim. Had been there for a while, I guess.”
“How long?” asked Louis.
“Why does it matter?” snapped Randolph.
“It might,” I said simply.
“Whatever. All day. I mean, I think that’s what she said. Like the place was practically deserted. The janitors were mopping and whatnot.”
“So hold on,” said Aaron, frowning. “He left town and forgot to pick up his daughter at the airport? She waited there for hours and hours?”
Randolph glared at her. “Dude! It was the chance of a lifetime to snowboard with those guys! In his position, I would’ve done the same thing.”
Lie.
“Anyway, it was fine. She got a cab to this fancy hotel, ordered room service, took a bath in a tub as big as a swimming pool. She had a blast. And he came to get her late the next night, so she got to spend a full twenty-four hours in the hotel. By the time he got there, they only had a day left before Daphne had to go home, so they never actually went snowboarding, but that was cool because the hotel was awesome.”
“He didn’t come get her until the next night?” I asked. “He didn’t rush back? So, what? There was a snowboarder party that day he didn’t want to miss?”
I was so horrified by Daphne’s dad that I had forgotten to tread lightly. I braced myself, waiting for Randolph to lash out at me, get defensive. But the odd thing was, he didn’t.
He looked straight at me and said, “I guess the snow conditions were especially dandy. He brought her a T-shirt from that other resort, though, sig
ned by Vaughan Gray. So it was all good.”
His tone was hard, quiet but bitter. You didn’t have to have a lie-detecting unsuperpower to know that Randolph didn’t think there was anything “all good” about any of it.
After a while, Kate said, “I don’t buy it. No one could really forget his own kid like that.”
We looked at her, surprised.
“I guess Daphne’s dad could,” said Louis.
“He admitted to it,” said Randolph defensively. “That’s totally what happened!”
“Forgetting your kid doesn’t exactly make you look good,” said Aaron. “Why would anyone lie about that? Kate? What do you think?”
Kate lifted her chin. She looked furious. “Yeah, forgetting your kid is bad. I can only think of one thing worse.”
Aaron, Louis, and I exchanged puzzled looks.
“Oh!” I said, suddenly understanding. “The only thing worse is if he remembered and still didn’t pick her up.”
“Yeah! Just left her there because he chickened out, couldn’t handle the parent-child alone-time thing,” blurted out Randolph angrily. Quickly he collected himself. “Not that that’s what happened. It would just be kind of a typical dad thing to do.”
We all stared at Randolph. Deserting your kid because you were scared to hang out with her was a typical dad thing to do?
“Okay, but if her dad had let her down like that before,” I said, “why would she have agreed to this plan, the one we’re in the middle of? Why would she ever trust him again?”
Louis shook his head, baffled. “No idea.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” said Aaron.
“Kate?” I asked.
Kate shook her head. “I don’t know. She’d have to be stupid, and Daphne is a lot of things, but she’s not stupid.”
There was a scuffle, and Randolph was on his feet, jabbing his finger at us. “You’re the stupid ones!” he said. “Your dads probably—what? Go to your dopey little soccer games? Take you out for ice cream afterward? Sit in the audience at your stupid band concerts to hear you play the stupid flute? Give you high-fives when you ace your special little math tests?”
Randolph’s voice was dripping with sarcasm, but he’d actually just given a pretty accurate description of my dad. From the looks on the others’ faces, I imagined they were thinking more or less the same thing.
“Tuba, actually,” said Kate.
“You want to know why Daphne would trust him to show up this time, brainiacs?” said Randolph. “Because he’s her dad. I bet there are even kids out there whose dads left when they were five and never called or wrote and probably don’t even know where their kids live, especially because they spend a lot of time in foster care, whenever their moms decide to be ‘unfit,’ but every single time the dumb doorbell rings, the kids think, I bet that’s him. That’s just how it works, morons.”
He turned his back and stomped away, kicking up clouds of dust as he went.
I didn’t like Randolph. I wasn’t sure I had it in me to ever like him. But right then, I was blindsided by this huge wish that one day, someone would like him. No, it was more than that. I wished someone would love him, all-out love, the way my parents loved me. The wish burned my eyes and tickled my throat, and it took everything I had not to cry on the spot.
After what seemed like a long time, Aaron said tentatively, “You know where Daphne just might be?”
We all nodded, except Randolph, who had found another, much smaller creosote bush fifty yards away, and appeared to be trying to kick it to death. I turned around and pointed to the jagged cleft in the rock face.
“On the other side of that slot canyon, at the edge of the Rio Grande, waiting for her dad,” I said.
“Who forgot to come,” said Louis.
“Or didn’t forget,” said Aaron.
“Let’s go get her,” said Kate, starting to walk toward our heap of backpacks.
“Wait. We can’t leave without Randolph,” said Aaron.
He was right. We couldn’t. Kate heaved a sigh and walked back to where we stood.
“I meant let’s go get her,” she said wearily, “just as soon as Randolph is finished murdering the local shrubbery.”
“Randolph, the herbicidal maniac. Does he really need to come with us?” said Louis. But before anyone could answer, he shouted, “Hey, Randolph, let’s go get Daphne!”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Aaron Archer
The Desert
NOW THAT WE KNEW DAPHNE had stuck to her plan, all we had to do was hike to the end of the path. No wondering. No wandering. No worrying we’d missed her, or the place she’d gotten lost, or hurt, or whatever had happened to her. Clouds drifted overhead. Our trail led through the remains of an abandoned farm. Not much was left. A rusty windmill. A ramshackle house. A tilting fence. A collapsing barn. And—
“Hey, Aaron!” said Audrey. “A red wheelbarrow!”
It was still in pretty good shape too, propped against a gnarled locust tree. Not a white chicken in sight, though. And of course, no rainwater. This was the desert.
As we left the decrepit farm behind, the trail dropped into a sandy streambed lined with cottonwood trees. It felt like we were walking down a green tunnel. The wind swirled, ruffling the leaves around us so their silver backs flashed. Dusk began to darken the sky to the west, although it felt too early for nightfall.
I realized we’d done it. We’d solved the puzzle. Audrey, Louis, Kate, and me. Even Randolph, behind us, stomping the occasional cactus pad to keep himself occupied, had helped. Soon we’d have Daphne. We’d have water—and all we’d need to do to drink it would be to drop in a couple of iodine pills.
We’d hike back to camp. Enod and Kevin would bring the sheriff to rescue all of us, and if they didn’t, well, I knew we’d figure out what to do about that too. We were the Fearless Four, Plus Randolph.
A blast of wind roiled the cottonwood leaves. They heaved like a green wave. Above us, the sky had dimmed almost to black. One last shaft of sunlight stabbed out of nowhere, and in it, I could see the streambed loop around a half-buried stone in the trail and disappear into the gash in the cliff.
“That,” murmured Louis, his face turning white, “is way deeper than the last one.”
“But at least, if there are any bats,” I said encouragingly, “they’re probably gone for the night.”
“I’m not going to let my imagination run away with me,” vowed Louis, strapping on his headlamp. The rest of us dug ours out of our packs too.
“I haven’t got a light,” complained Randolph.
“Then stay here,” suggested Audrey.
“No way,” said Randolph. “I’m coming with you! To see Daphne! I’ll step where you step.”
“Swell,” muttered Audrey.
I remembered the canyon’s name from Jare’s map: Gage Cut. Its mouth flared like a trumpet, buffed by ten million years of swirling water, sculpted like the entrance to a spectacular, spooky cathedral. The sand of the streambed sifted a few yards into the gap, and then the floor became polished stone.
“Look,” said Louis, pointing at shapes in the sand. “Daphne’s big clodhopper bootprints.”
“How did this place even get here?” wondered Randolph, gazing at the dips, channels, pools, and grooves carved into the floor of the passageway as we hiked.
“Erosion,” Kate said.
“Nuh-uh,” said Randolph smugly. “You’ve got to have rainwater for that. And it never rains in the desert, stupid.”
Which was all it took. As soon as Randolph finished calling Kate stupid, the first drop hit.
“Oh, no,” I said, slowing to a stop on the trail in the depths of the canyon.
I realized I might actually have done it: killed us all.
In the slit at the top of the canyon, a green streak of lightning snaked across the sky, unlike anything I’d ever seen, as thick as a school bus. By its glare, I checked my watch. Five thirty p.m. It wasn’t nighttime at all.
And for us, time ground to a halt. Compared to the storm, engulfing us with astounding speed, we could only move in slow motion.
“Turn around! Go back!” I cried.
Louis and Audrey jostled into each other. Randolph tripped over Audrey and fell to his knees, blocking the way out.
It wasn’t nighttime. The sky was just black.
Dusk doesn’t fall in the west.
Dusk falls in the east.
That wasn’t twilight darkening the sky.
It was a storm cloud larger than any I’d ever seen, so big it had filled the entire horizon, so colossal I hadn’t recognized it until now.
“Hurry! Get up!” I cried. “Get up, Randolph! Run!”
The thunder from the lightning bolt dropped into the canyon and hit like a sledgehammer. Audrey reached out to steady herself against the stone wall. Louis dragged Randolph to his feet.
Another bolt of lightning flared, a spiderweb of white arcs as bright as day. In the flash, I saw all my friends’ faces, frozen in astonishment. A hiss sounded, softly at first, like a drop of water in a skillet, growing until it sounded like the roar of a NASA rocket lifting off. Hot, sizzling thunder. And then the rain began. It came in buckets. It came in sheets. It came in cascades down the stone walls.
Like Randolph said. It never rains in the desert.
It pours. And when it pours, more water can fall in one hour than in an entire year. Or in two, or four.
“Get out!” I cried. “Run!”
But it was already too late. I felt it, flowing around my toes—a tongue of water surging down the passageway, sucking at our feet, tugging at our ankles. In seconds it had reached our shins and we could barely stand up in it. This was the first trickle of the flash flood that would soon rage down the canyon.
More lightning, this time an orange bolt striking the rim. When the clap of thunder came, it was like being smacked in the head with a board.
Everything I thought I’d been right about, I’d been wrong about. The map, the trail, the endless baking sheet we’d trekked across that day, everything leading to this spot, drawing all the paths together, ours, Randolph’s, Daphne’s, the storm’s—I hadn’t understood it. And because I hadn’t understood it, I’d put us all in harm’s way.