Take Me Tomorrow

Chapter 25: Ignore the Blood

I tried anyway. My foot slipped, just as predicted, and I closed my eyes, waiting to hit the cold, drowning water. Instead, though, a pressure wrapped around my upper arms. I opened my eyes to find Pierson holding onto me. He must have hurdled over the embankment. Once his fingers dug into my biceps, he lifted me like he spent his days picking up one hundred and thirty pounds. "You good?" he asked, steadying us on the bank of the river.

I couldn't speak. My body was exhausted from running, questioning, and Anthony's gun escapade, but I had to concentrate. As foggy as my mind was, it still focused on Anthony as he crossed the river. I only had a moment to look at Pierson in private.

He had cerulean-colored eyes, bright and alert, and auburn hair cleanly cut against his ears. A thin, pink scar stretched from his scalp to his right eyebrow, but I hadn't seen it before. He may have even been younger than me. Phelps used minors for his dirty work just like Noah's father did. Or, there was something else I didn't know.

Anthony's foot squished against the mud as he hopped onto the embankment. "This way," he ordered as he pulled his foot out of the wet ground. He walked off of the trails and into the trees.

Pierson dragged me after him. Twigs cracked, and branches smacked against my exposed arms. I winced as leaves skimmed my face and bugs crawled up my legs. My ankle throbbed. We were immersed in trees, but Anthony walked as if he knew exactly where to go. That's when I saw it—large Ts carved into the trees we passed. They were too deep to be deer sharpening their antlers or other animals looking for food. Humans made them.

When we burst through an opening, Anthony flailed his arms about. I stumbled as Pierson yanked me backward. His calloused fingers moved across my wrists, and then my handcuffs clicked. I was free.

I pulled my hands forward and rubbed the raw skin. "Thank you," I muttered, trying to ignore the blood that stained the lines in my palm. Noah. Was he okay? Alive?

"As promised," Anthony spoke up, but he wasn't looking at Pierson or me. He faced a thick brush of darkness. The trees moved, and a boy pushed out of the branches, the thorns digging into his brown curls.

I rushed past Anthony, but no one tried to grab me. Miles. I latched onto his coat as tightly as I could.

Miles' arm tightened around my shoulders, but he didn't speak.

"Let's go," Anthony said to Pierson.

I peered back, watching as the boys turned to leave. Anthony had what he needed—information—and he didn't need me after that. At least he had kept his word. I was free.

The trees shuffled around for what seemed like hours before I relaxed at the silence. I buried my nose in Miles' shoulder, and my eyes burned beneath my eyelids.

"We thought"—his voice cracked as he struggled to continue—"you might have been killed. Lyn's a mess."

I leaned back. Miles looked years older. His dark eyes that once danced were now soft and weary, his heavy eyelashes dragging his eyelids down.

"What about Broden?" I asked. "The others? Where are—"

"We'll talk later," Miles interrupted as he gestured to the black sweater they forced me to wear backward. "Ditch that thing," he said as he shook his own jacket off. "You look awful."

"They didn't exactly let me shower," I said as I pulled the black sweater off. I dropped it on the ground and accepted Miles' heavier jacket. My hands shook, and I stuffed them in the thick-padded pockets before Miles could see.