I can’t lose him. I won’t.
The thought forces me up. As if moving through deep water, I step toward the closet and pull out black sweats. I get dressed slowly, wondering if I’m dreaming, if Wes being here was just a figment of my imagination. But I can still feel the traces of blood on my hands.
It was real. I have a chance.
My house is silent this late at night. I wash my hands in the upstairs bathroom, and then tiptoe down the long hallway. The door to my parents’ room is firmly shut, and I press my cheek to the cool wood. I think I hear them breathing inside, but it’s probably just the sound of my heartbeat pulsing in my ears. “Good-bye,” I whisper, not knowing when I’ll see them again. If I ever will.
There is only a half moon tonight, but I don’t need the light. I know where I’m going. I walk down the driveway, feet crunching on the loose gravel. I don’t bother to be quiet, not yet.
It is a long walk in the darkness, and my sneakers make a steady, constant rhythm on the pavement. After a while, time starts to lose meaning and I can’t tell if I’ve been out here for minutes or hours. It reminds me of hiding in the back of Lucas’s truck as he drove us to Camp Hero. I was so afraid of what I was walking into, but there was something lulling, calming, about crouching in total blackness in a place that seemed to exist outside of time.
That was the night Mary caught me sneaking back into the Bentleys’ house and I told her I was meeting Wes because I was in love with him. I wasn’t, not then, but I’m glad that I didn’t completely lie to her. Because here I am, running away to be with him.
I walk through downtown Montauk. Only when I reach the highway do I veer to the right, up over the dunes and out of sight of any passing cars. I’m the only person on the long stretch of beach, and all I can hear is the shuffling of my feet on the wet sand and the waves breaking hard against the shore. The whole world has been reduced to black and white—the dark spread of the water and the moon shining silver and gray above it all.
It is late and getting later. I move more quickly.
Before the forest starts, I climb off of the beach and into the trees. I’m on the west side of the park, and though I don’t know exactly where Wes is, I have a pretty good idea. He said he needed to take care of the body and there are only so many places that are far enough away from the Montauk Project’s Facility.
I scan the woods as I walk, listening for unfamiliar sounds. The smell of the ocean fades, overwhelmed by the scent of fresh dirt and green, growing things. There is a fence up ahead, but long ago someone ripped a hole in the chain link, probably a conspiracy theorist out looking for clues. I duck through the small space, wincing as the metal bites into my skin.
The southwestern side of Camp Hero is the most deserted part. I walk slowly through the woods, remembering the countless times I came here with my grandfather. The memories leave me feeling empty. I was never receptive to Grandpa’s theories, but at least in this time line he had me to confide in. How lonely it must be to quietly lose yourself in your own mind.
It is darker in the dense forest, with almost no moonlight shining through the heavy canopy of leaves overhead. Knotted branches of trees reach out for me as I pass. The last time I visited Camp Hero at night, I was sneaking into the Facility, praying that I could warn Dean before he disappeared. But I failed then.
I can’t fail now.
Wes and Seventeen were on patrol, so there probably aren’t any other recruits out here—but I can’t be too careful. I know what happens in these woods. I move more cautiously through the trees and underbrush. But it’s too dark to see the ground clearly, and I keep tripping over roots and large rocks.
My toe collides with a sharp stick and I stumble. I hiss under my breath and then freeze as I hear something rustle the leaves.
I wait, perfectly still, but there’s no other sound. I straighten and take another step.
“You’re making too much noise.”
The whisper comes from my left and I spin toward it to see Wes standing there, silhouetted in the trees.
“I’m trying to be quiet.”
He comes closer. The night creates hard planes on his face, and even in the dark I can tell that he’s scowling. “What are you doing here, Lydia?”
“Looking for you.”
“Why would you do that?” His voice is low and suspicious.
I rise to my full height. Even though I barely come up to Wes’s shoulder, I feel better. Stronger. I feel more like myself than I have in a long time.
“I’m coming with you.”
“Lydia.” He practically growls my name. “I’m not delivering you to the Montauk Project. I won’t let them kill you.”
“They won’t. I have a plan.”
He doesn’t answer.
“You’re going to nineteen eighty-nine, right? To investigate the election. Take me with you.”
“Are you joking?” His tone is incredulous, almost angry. But I won’t let that faze me.
“No. I want to go with you on your mission.”
“How would that ever work?”
I pause, a little horrified at the words I’m about to say. “You haven’t told them Seventeen is dead. I can take her place. I’ll pose as a recruit.”
“Lydia.” His hand curls around my upper arm. “Why would you want to become a recruit? Why would you ever want this life?”
The wind is picking up. I hear it whip the leaves before it reaches me, sending my hair in a thousand different directions. A few red
