“Any idea where?” Jake asked.
Luther shook his head.
“He could be in another room like you were,” Flanna said. “We’ll continue searching after we get you to the main room. If he’s down here, we’ll find him.”
“Are there cameras?” Luther asked.
“Presumably,” Flanna said. “Probably behind the grates in the ceiling, which are too high to reach. Our jailers have the ability to lock off any of the rooms remotely whenever they want. Apparently, that’s how they get supplies down here. They isolate us in whichever room we’re in, dump the supplies, then unlock the doors so we can get to the supplies.”
“The perfect prison,” Buck said. “No direct contact. No chance of us overwhelming them.”
“Buried alive,” Luther said.
“In a big coffin,” Ana added.
Flanna opened a door to yet another room. It was the same size as the others, but that’s where the similarity ended. It was like a gigantic concrete loft with sofas, chairs, tables, and beds. In the right-hand corner was a fully equipped kitchen. Laurel was sitting at the kitchen table, so totally absorbed in her work that she didn’t look up. A man Luther assumed was Doc was sleeping on a sofa, his head wrapped in bandages. Standing in front of the oven were another man and woman. Luther had only met them a few times in his life, but he ran to them anyway.
“You’re alive!” he shouted.
“Luther?” Sylvia O’Hara asked, her eyes squinting in doubt.
“I cut my hair,” Luther said, throwing his arms around her. She was a lot thinner than he remembered.
Timothy dried his hands on a towel and gave Luther a pat on the back. “Grace? Marty?”
“Marty was on Ted’s boat with Dylan Hickock and Agent Crow, who I guess you don’t know. They must have reached the jaguar preserve by now. The last time I saw Grace she was back at camp.” He looked at Buck and Ana for help.
“We sent her back to feed the hatchlings when we went out looking for Luther,” Buck said.
Luther felt his ears burning. His little walk had caused a lot of trouble.
Ana hugged Sylvia and Timothy with tears in her eyes. “We’d just about given up hope.”
“O’Haras are hard to kill,” Timothy said. “I wish our reunion was under happier circumstances. This tomb is the last place we wanted to see you, or anyone else.”
“It’s Blackwood’s?” Ana asked.
“Who else?” Timothy said tightly. “But we didn’t know that for sure until Doc and Laurel showed up and told us. We haven’t seen a living soul since we were locked in here.”
“But Blackwood is at the Seattle Ark.”
“No, he’s not,” Laurel said, looking up from her work. “He brought us down here personally and locked us in a room with a little help from his little triplet friends.”
Luther looked at Sylvia. “So you know about the hatchlings and everything.”
“Probably not everything, but we’ll have plenty of time for you to fill us in.”
“An eternity,” Timothy added. “No one’s going anywhere. We’ve been trying to escape for months.”
“We’ll continue the loop,” Flanna said. “We didn’t get very far. Wolfe might be in another room.”
“I’ll head in the opposite direction,” Buck offered. “Meet you in the middle. It will save time, and that way we won’t miss them if they’re walking in the same direction you’re moving.”
“I’ll go with Buck,” Ana said.
“I’ll go with —” Luther began, then smelled, and saw, the chicken sizzling on the frying pan.
Buck smiled. “We have this covered. Just save some food for us.”
“Okay,” Luther said. “Where did you get the chicken?”
“From the chicken coop,” Sylvia said. “When we first got here, they gave us eggs. Timothy built an incubator and we hatched them. Saved some for laying, some for eating.”
“And as soon as they figured out what we were doing, the fresh eggs stopped,” Timothy said. “Which means they’re watching us.”
“If you don’t mind …,” Sylvia said, looking at Buck. “When you pass by the chicken room, can you throw some scratch to the chickens and water the garden?”
“You have a garden down here?” Buck asked.
“Full spectrum grow lights, and dirt, provided by our keepers,” Timothy said.
“The vegetables are kind of pitiful with the compost we’ve managed to produce,” Sylvia added. “But they’re a welcome break from those stale MREs. What we need is fertilizer.”
“Do you have carrots?” Buck asked.
Jake laughed. “You and your carrots.”
“I’m afraid we don’t,” Sylvia said.
“We’re going to have to do something about that,” Buck said.
“I hope we don’t get stuck down here long enough to grow carrots,” Ana said. “Let’s get going.”
Luther watched the two teams walk through their respective doors, then turned his attention back to the sizzling chicken.
“I wish Marty was here to do the cooking,” he said.
Sylvia shook her head. “I don’t. There’s no way out of here. Believe me, we’ve tried. Wherever Marty and Grace are, there’s a chance that they’re safe. I don’t want my kids anywhere near this place.”
Luther didn’t want to be the one to tell her that her “kids” had learned the truth after she and her husband had disappeared — that Grace was not in fact Marty’s twin sister, as they’d both grown up believing, but his cousin.
“What’s that faraway look for?” Sylvia asked. “What are you thinking?”
“Uh …” Luther hesitated. “I was wondering if I could have a drumstick when the chicken’s finished cooking?”
“Sure,” Timothy said, smiling. “But I get the other one.”
“Deal,” Luther said. This was going to be interesting.
“It’s not safe,” Grace said.
“It’s a little late for us to be worrying about safety issues now,” Marty said.
They were standing at the edge of a roaring river as logs the size of small ships tumbled past in the boiling current. The hatchlings were cavorting back and forth on the opposite shore a hundred yards away. They looked like a couple of puppies stranded on the wrong side of a busy highway.
“We’ll be killed,” Grace said.
Marty pointed at the footprints along the muddy bank. There were dozens of them, including sneaker prints that had to be Luther’s. “Looks like Luther made it to the other side. The prints end at the water.”
“Well, he didn’t swim,” Dylan said. The first day he’d met Luther, he had to save him from drowning.
“Nobody could swim across that,” Grace said.
“They didn’t swim,” Marty said, pointing to the opposite shore. Pulled up onto the bank were several dugout canoes.
“It couldn’t have been easy to cross in those, either,” Dylan said.
“But possible,” Marty said. “Let’s see if they left us a dugout on this side.”
They searched the river for a quarter of a mile in each direction and found nothing. By the time they made it back to their original spot, the hatchlings had moved on. Marty caught up to them with the dragonspy. They were running through the jungle, sniffing the ground once in a while.
“They’re obviously still on the trail,” Marty said. He dumped his pack on the ground and took off his T-shirt.
“What are you doing?” Grace asked.
“Going for a swim. Between us, I think we have enough rope to stretch across. I’ll paddle across, tie the rope to a tree, and you two can pull yourselves over.”
“No,” Grace said.
“What? We’re just going to give up?”
“No.”
“You can’t have it both ways, Grace.”
“I realize that,” Grace said. “I’ll take the rope across.”
“No offense, but you’re not much of a swimmer.”
“I’m
not going to swim.”
“You can’t throw a rope a hundred yards.”
“But I can take it over the top,” Grace said.
Marty looked up at the tree branches hanging over the river. Most of them were touching, but the ends were pretty thin. “I’m not sure they’d hold your weight.”
“What are you two talking about?” Dylan shouted. “Grace isn’t a monkey. She can’t possibly climb up there and get to the other side without falling and killing herself.”
Marty continued to peer up into the canopy. “I wouldn’t be so sure. Grace is smaller and lighter than we are, she has almost perfect balance, she isn’t afraid of heights, and before all this happened, she was headed to the circus to become a high-wire artist.”
“And I’m standing right here,” Grace said sharply.
“Sorry,” Marty said. He hated it when adults talked about him while he was right in front of them.
“And I wasn’t heading to the circus,” Grace continued. “Laurel taught me how to walk a high wire to get me over my fears.”
“Do you think you can get across without falling to your death?” Marty asked.
“Pretty sure,” Grace said. “But I’ll need your help playing the rope out so it doesn’t get tangled in the branches. When I get to the other side, I’ll tie it off, and you and Dylan can come across like it’s a zip line.”
“You’re making it sound a lot easier than it’s going to be,” Dylan said.
“We always do that,” Marty said. “We’ll cut the rope on the other side so Yvonne and her gorillas can’t use it to get across.”
“But then we won’t have a way to get back,” Dylan pointed out.
“We can use the dugouts.”
Grace led the way, with Dylan following and Marty taking up the rear. She had picked the biggest tree she could find closest to the water. It was covered with lianas — vines that could be used as foot- and handholds — but even then the climb wasn’t easy. After about fifty feet, Marty was gasping for air, inhaling insects, and choking. Dylan, whose butt was about two feet from Marty’s face, seemed to be having the same problem. Grace, on the other hand, was a hundred feet in front them, moving up the tree as quickly if she was crawling on level ground.
Marty caught up with Dylan, who had paused to clear his throat. “I think you’re wrong about her not being a monkey.”
It took Dylan a couple more good hacks before he could respond. “I think she’s stirring up the insects, and we’re climbing through her bug cloud. I think I swallowed a flying beetle.”
“I found a good place to cross!” Grace shouted down at them. “Hurry up!”
Ten minutes later, they arrived at Grace’s perch, out of breath, covered with bites and scratches. Marty looked at his cousin. She was sweating, but that was about it. He shook his head in wonderment.
“What?” Grace asked.
“You,” Marty said. “The same thing happened when we were in the Congo. No bug bites. No scratches. It’s like you have insect repellent in your veins instead of blood, and some kind of invisible anti-scratch barrier on your skin.”
“What’s your point?”
“Jealousy, I guess.”
“Give me the rope.”
Grace tied the rope around her waist. Marty tied the other end around a stout branch. From where they were straddling the branches, they couldn’t see more than five feet through the hazy green. Marty took his Gizmo out of his pocket. The hatchlings were still cavorting through the jungle, and still on the scent. They didn’t look like they were going to turn around anytime soon.
“I guess they don’t want to cross back over the river,” Dylan said.
“I wouldn’t, either,” Marty said, taking the spyglasses out and slipping them on. “I’ll keep an eye on your progress with these.” He flew the dragonspy back to the tree, and Grace started across a branch toward the river … on her feet.
“Wait a second!” Marty shouted.
Grace turned her head. “This takes concentration, Marty.”
“It would take a lot less concentration if you did it on your hands and knees.”
“The branch is a lot thicker than the wire I’m used to walking on.”
“It’s also slippery with dew and moss, and it’s swaying in the wind.”
Grace ignored him. She put her arms out to her sides for balance and disappeared behind the foliage with the rope stringing out behind her like a monkey’s tail.
“Can you see her?” Dylan asked as he played the rope out.
“I can see her,” Marty said, but wished he couldn’t….
* * *
Grace was above the raging river, trying not to think about the tumbling flotsam and jetsam a hundred and fifty feet below, or the ache in her arms from her rapid climb up the tree.
If I fall, I’ll drown or be crushed.
She paused, closed her eyes, and remembered what Laurel had told her about the high wire. Look at the wire in front of you. Don’t look down at your feet. Don’t think about the steps. Look beyond your fear at the goal.
It had been weeks since Grace had been on a high wire, and she’d never tried to walk on a swaying branch. Marty had a point about crawling along the branch instead of walking on top of it, but what he didn’t understand was that to keep your balance, you had to be light on your feet, and that was impossible on your hands and knees. Grace could feel the limb vibrating more the farther she stepped out on it.
Don’t look down at your feet. Don’t think about the steps. Look beyond your fear at the goal….
Her goal was a stout limb growing from a tree directly opposite the one she was on. When she’d started out, that limb had appeared parallel to the one she was on, but now it looked about three feet higher. Her weight was causing the limb she was standing on to arc downward. She paused to catch her breath. The dragonspy was in a hover two feet above her head.
“I might have to come back,” she said to the dragonspy. “I should have picked a higher branch.” She wasn’t sure that Marty would understand, but then the dragonspy took off to the end of the limb, buzzed around the limb she was trying to reach, and flew back to her.
“See what I mean?”
The dragonspy moved up and down.
“I’ll just go a few more feet.”
The dragonspy moved side to side.
“I’ll be fine, Marty,” Grace said. “Just a few more steps and I’ll be able to tell if I can get to the limb.”
Again, the dragonspy moved side to side, a little more frantically.
“Out of my way,” Grace said. “Before I swat you.”
The dragonspy hovered about an inch from her nose, as if it was trying to block her.
“Get out of the way. You’ll make me fall. I have to focus.”
She took a step, then another, then — CRACK! The branch gave way and Grace fell, but only about four feet. The rope had gotten tangled around the limb. It had saved her life but had knocked the wind out of her. The dragonspy was in a hover just above where she was dangling. She felt vaguely confused and wondered if she had broken her back. She tried to say something, but found she didn’t have enough air to speak yet.
And what would I say anyway? Help? I’m okay? Or worse … You were right, Marty.
She grabbed the rope and righted herself, which took some of the pressure off her back and made it so she could breathe more easily. She heard something above her and looked up. Marty was scooting along the broken branch like he was straddling a horse. His quick appearance could only mean that he had left the trunk the moment she’d ignored his warning. Marty stopped about twenty feet from the end and looked down at her, then at the tangled rope. He appeared surprised and relieved at the same time.
“Lucky,” he said. “I’m happy to see you.”
“You saw the branch was compromised,” Grace said.
“If you mean the branch was rotted, yeah. Of course you totally ignored me.”
“It wasn’t you, it was the dragonspy, a
nd I had no idea what you — it — was trying to tell me. How about pulling me up?”
Marty took a closer look at the rope and the branch. “Easier said than done. If I pull on the rope, it’s going to come loose and you’re going to fall. If I scoot closer to you, the branch will break and we’ll both fall. Any chance you can pull yourself up?”
Grace wasn’t sure. She regretted scrambling up the tree like a monkey ahead of Marty and Dylan because now her arms were worn out. “Guess I don’t have much choice.”
Marty shook his head. “Afraid not. On the bright side, I can anchor the rope from here. If you fall, you won’t fall very far.”
“That’s reassuring.”
Grace started up the rope, feeling a little self-conscious with Marty looking on. If he was at the end of the rope, he’d be up it like a spider, despite having climbed the tree a few minutes before. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally reached the top and with great effort managed to straddle the branch. Marty was grinning.
“That wasn’t funny,” Grace said, still out of breath.
“That’s not why I’m smiling. We haven’t sat this way since we were kindergartners. It reminds me of the teeter-totter we used to play on. Remember?”
She did. Only Marty would think of something like that a hundred and fifty feet above the rain forest floor. “What I remember is that you always tried to bump me off.”
“Yeah,” Marty said. “But you always hung on.”
Grace smiled back at him. “What now?”
“We scoot back to Dylan, but before you do, you need to unhook yourself from the rope.”
“Why? We’ll need it. All I need to do is find a branch that’s higher than the one I’m trying to get to. That was my mistake.”
“That, and picking a rotten branch,” Marty said. “Which isn’t your fault. Every branch on this tree could be rotten at the end. It could take us hours, maybe days, to find the right branch, and we don’t have the time. Luther and the others are somewhere up ahead, and they’re in trouble. We need to get across this river right now, and I have a good idea how to do it quickly, but it would take too long to explain.”
“And I probably wouldn’t like the explanation,” Grace said.