The woman pauses, and I can almost feel the Contenders around me holding their breaths.
“In a few short moments, the two men who have graciously overseen base camp will leave. If you choose to follow one, you will be led to the next part of the race. If you choose to follow the other, you will be taken home. The decision is yours to make.”
Caroline finishes listening to the message and drops her head. When she looks back up, there are tears in her eyes.
I don’t know what to tell her. This decision is easy for me. I won’t give up. My brother loves me. And I love him right back. But her mother has never shown her enough affection to warrant this kind of personal risk. I’d understand her decision to leave. I grab her hand and squeeze. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “You don’t have to stay. We’d understand.”
“Would she, though?” Caroline says as Dink tugs on her side and looks up at her. “Would my mother understand?”
I shake my head, because I can’t find the words. And because, no, her mother doesn’t sound like the kind of person who would understand. Or the kind of person who’d have ever considered doing for her daughter what Caroline’s done for her.
“If I leave, I’m going to take him with me.” Caroline pulls Dink in front of her.
“I think that’s a good idea,” I say, though I’m fighting the urge to beg her to stay. To tell her I can’t continue this race without all of us there.
Something brushes my back, and I turn to find Guy. His eyes lock on my face. “Are you ready?” he says. “They’re already lining up.”
I glance over his shoulder and see that he’s right. The two men are positioned ten feet away from each other, and a line of Contenders stands before each person. There are fewer Contenders in front of the man on the right, and I wonder if that’s the leave or stay line.
Guy places his hand on the small of my back and a torrential current rushes through me. I wonder whether Guy is confident I’m staying, or has come to ensure I don’t go.
I look back at Caroline as Guy leads me away. I want to tell her good-bye, that I’ll never forget her or Dink. But something tells me it’s better this way. That I have to learn to move forward without lingering on the past.
Guy moves toward the left. “Is this the stay line?” he asks the girl in the back.
She nods, looks us both over, and turns back around.
Harper comes up behind us. I smile in her direction. She doesn’t return the gesture, but maybe that’s because the blond guy is still chatting away in her ear. He follows her into line like she’s his lighthouse and gives me an excited wave when he catches me watching.
I wave back and laugh despite the situation.
Titus elbows his way past us all and heads toward the front, his pack trailing behind him. He turns once to verify we’re watching. When his eyes connect with Guy’s, he looks forward and continues on.
Near the front, I see the man in the collared shirt raise his hand to silence us. For the first time, I notice there’s a small chest near his feet. It’s made from carved wood, and the latch glitters emerald green. When a hush falls over the Contenders, he opens the chest and retrieves a monstrous-sized syringe. It’s filled with a green, swirling liquid.
“Right sleeves up.” The man indicates the syringe. “You’ll only need a little,” he adds, as if this is supposed to comfort me. As if the thought of that needle going in my arm isn’t enough to make me switch lines. I glance over at the leave line. Yeah, no syringe.
The Contenders begin pulling up their right shirtsleeves. The man injects a small amount into the first Contender and moves down the line.
“Guy,” I whisper, sweat pricking my brow.
“It’s okay,” he says. “They wouldn’t kill us now.”
Kill us? Kill us? I wasn’t even thinking that. I was only worried about the syringe. And maybe that it’ll make us fall asleep again. But mostly, that the man and his mammoth needle are only four Contenders away now.
Three.
Two.
He gets to Guy, and Guy holds out his upper arm as if he’s actually excited about getting injected with a foreign substance. The needle punctures his skin and I see a bit of blood spiral amid the green. They shouldn’t be using the same needle on all of us, should they? My muscles clench tighter. Madox rears up against my leg and barks.
Yeah, no crap. That’s what I’m saying. Why is no one freaking out?
I glance at Harper, but she’s facing forward like a marine. I hate her so much right now, I could scream.
Something pricks my arm and I yelp. I turn and glare at the man. He gives me a look that says I’m pathetic and moves toward Harper. It’s over, I think. It wasn’t so bad. I glance at Caroline and Dink, and I can’t help myself. Raising my arm, I wave. I must tell them good-bye, if only in this small way. Caroline smiles warmly and waves back, her eyes still wet with tears. She raises Dink’s arm and waves for him, too. I bite my lip to keep from laughing … or crying.
And then Caroline’s face begins to blur.
THE SUN
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
When I open my eyes, the sun blinds me. I jerk my face away from the light and gag on a mouthful of grit. Glancing down, I realize what I’m swallowing is sand.
I push myself up as adrenaline courses through me.
The desert.
We’re in the desert.
I shade my eyes and glance around. Other Contenders are pulling themselves up and rubbing their faces. The memory of leaving the jungle is hazy. I can only recall the syringe.
Panic strikes through me as I search for Madox. I find him close by, jumping in a circle and biting at the sand swirling around his feet. I scoop him into my arms and glance around, looking for Guy. He’s already pulled himself upright and is striding toward me.
As he walks, I notice he’s no longer wearing brown scrubs. And neither am I. We’re now dressed in white shirts, tan cargo pants with a serpent on one of the many pockets, and brown boots that creep toward our shins. Guy’s white shirt hugs every muscle in his chest and arms as he moves. I blush against the desert sun and hope he thinks it’s from the heat. My embarrassment serves to distract me from the knowledge that once again, someone has changed my clothing without my remembering. If that’s not the epitome of creepiness, I don’t know what is. I’m discouraged to see my new threads aren’t a wardrobe improvement. I briefly consider making Madox my Toto and clicking my heels together.
There’s no place like Nordstrom, there’s no place like Nordstrom.
Already, sweat forms along my hairline. It must be a hundred degrees here. Maybe more. The heat isn’t wet like it was in the jungle. Instead, it’s so dry that each breath I take parches my throat. Realization hits me that I left for the race in August, which means it’s probably September by now. September. In the desert.
Great.
Better than August, I guess.
Hills of sand roll across the landscape like waves in an ocean. The sun is enormous, and I imagine if I stretched tall enough, I’d burn my fingertips. With the presence of a never-ending sun and the absence of heavy foliage, it’s like I can see forever. My eyes ache from taking in the vast emptiness. In the jungle, I was always seeing, always exploring something new. But here, my mind is clear. There’s a kind of beauty in the stillness. In the quiet.
Guy and his lion circle around the Contenders and move away. I’m not sure where they’re going until I see a mess of bright orange packs along the ground. The people working the race obviously dropped us here with supplies. Maybe that’s good. Maybe that means this leg will be easier.