Secret at Mystic Lake (10 page)

The woods felt eerily silent once the boys had gone. We did our best to fill the silence with idle chatter; Bess and Zoe spent an hour breaking down each designer's chances on
Project Runway
, and for once George actually sat and listened, and even put in a few comments here and there. After dinner—kind of a depressing meal of protein bar chunks, wild blackberries, chestnuts, and dandelion greens—Zoe insisted that we have a karaoke competition. At first I felt kind of ridiculous, belting out a Katy Perry song to the silent pine trees, but after we got going, I had to admit that it was really fun and helped us use up the manic energy we were all feeling. George sang a One Direction tune that Bess was shocked she even knew, and that led to a bubbly conversation about pop music and some pretty funny jokes about boy bands from Zoe. We kept talking and
laughing until the moon was high in the sky, and then finally our constant yawning made it hard to ignore the obvious.

“I guess we should really go to sleep,” Zoe said, looking nervously out into the dark. “Can't put it off forever.”

We all agreed—we were too tired to argue. We set up our sleeping bags in a cross shape, with our heads at the center. Nobody said anything, but I think we were all thinking that it would be impossible to disturb one of us without the rest of us waking up too. Safety in numbers. It was all we had.

For a few minutes we all just lay there. Zoe had a flashlight, and she said she knew she should turn it off to conserve the batteries, but she didn't want to just yet.

“Hey, cuz?” Bess said sleepily.

“Yeah,” said George. She sounded tense, and I wondered if, like me, she was thinking about whether she'd actually get to sleep.

“I'm really sorry about how I acted at the beginning of this trip,” Bess said. “I thought I was just teasing,
but you're right—this was your big thing. I'm sorry if I made you feel bad about it.”

“It's cool, cuz,” George replied. “And for the record? For like a minute? While we were decorating the cupcakes with edible glitter? I kind of had fun at your makeover party.”

“I hate it when we fight,” Bess added. “George, you'll always be my BCF. Best Cousin Forever.”

“Likewise.”

“Well, good night, guys—I should probably turn this off,” Zoe said, flicking off the flashlight. As feeble as the tiny beam had been against the huge woods, I was still unprepared for the darkness when it was off. It felt like we were trapped in a black velvet cloud. I raised my hand in front of my face but still couldn't see it. Clouds must have been covering the moon.

As tired as I was, my mind was still racing in too many different directions to fall asleep just yet. I kept thinking over the events of the day, all leading to one big question: Whodunit? Henry or Dagger?

Dagger was right that Henry had the only motive;
but at the same time, Henry seemed so doofy and clueless, it was hard to imagine him as a criminal. Except, of course, when he'd lunged at Dagger after he asked him about the fight—that was scary. But on the other hand, we still didn't know Dagger's real full name—awfully convenient for someone planning to commit a crime. And he had a pretty huge knife, as much as he tried to insist it was a totally reasonable object to bring camping. But on the other hand . . .

I yawned and closed my eyes. Just for a minute . . .

When I woke up, it was still pitch-black and silent.
Go back to sleep,
I told myself immediately.
Wait till it's light.
But my bladder would not listen. I squirmed in my sleeping bag, urging myself to hold it for just a little while—just until it was light! Which might only be an hour or two.

But it quickly became obvious to me that that was not an option. I had to get up to find a place to relieve myself, and I had to do it now.

I sat up in my sleeping bag and scanned the area
outside our tent. Blackness. Nothing. But just as I was forcing myself to squirm out of the bag, I heard movement.

Zoe. She sat up too, looking sleepy.

“I have to go so bad,” she whispered. “I've been holding it for an hour. Should we go together?”

“Oh, gosh, yes,” I said breathlessly, unable to contain my relief. “I don't want to be a wimp, but . . . safety in numbers!”

Zoe smiled and we got out of our sleeping bags, then slipped out of the shelter with Bess and George still fast asleep. Zoe shone the flashlight at the trees. It should have made me feel safer, but instead it just seemed to emphasize how dark the woods were outside its feeble beam.

“There are some good privacy trees over here, I think,” Zoe whispered, leading me back toward the stream. “You take the tall one over there. I'm going to go nearer to the stream. Are you okay if I take the flashlight?”

“Sure,” I whispered, thinking how I kind of liked
Zoe now that I'd gotten to know her. “You'll come back when you're done?”

“Of course. We'll walk back to the tent together.” Zoe walked away through the trees, leaving me in privacy.

I had never felt so relieved to take care of business and get back to bed. I stood by my tree, waiting for Zoe to come back and pick me up, but all was silent over by the stream. I figured maybe nervousness was getting the better of her, and tried to be patient.

How long had it been? It felt like five minutes or more, but surely it hadn't really been that long? If Zoe was having some kind of trouble she'd tell me, right? She knew I was waiting . . . tense . . . alone . . . in the dark . . .

“Auuuuuughh!”

The scream sliced the air like a knife—unmistakably Zoe's. I felt my insides wrench. Barely a second later, I heard the second voice.

“Gotcha!”

My lungs turned to ice.

Henry!

“RUN, NANCY!” I HEARD ZOE
yell—followed closely by another scream. Adrenaline flooded my senses, and I could feel my heart pounding in my ears.
I have to run,
I thought,
but where?
I could barely see my hand in front of my face, and who knew where we were, besides “in the woods”?

Then I heard footsteps coming through the trees, and my instincts took over. I ran. I scuttled between trees and through brush, I tripped over logs and got up and kept going. I skinned my knees and elbows but barely felt it—I knew I just had to keep running. My
life depended on it. It had to be Henry behind me, and he knew I was there, and there was no way he was running after me just to chat.

After a few minutes the footsteps behind me faded away. Had I lost him? I crashed through some bushes and reached the stream. My eyes had adjusted to the night by then, more or less—there was a sliver of moon high in the sky, and it gave me just enough light to see a few feet ahead of me. I stopped and tried to listen, but it was hard to hear anything over the blood rushing in my ears and the crazy thudding of my heart.

Something moved through the brush near the campsite, coming in my direction. Henry was still behind me—if I didn't move, he'd catch me soon. I gasped for air, trying to catch my breath and make some kind of plan. The stream burbled and poured over rocks and boulders. As I watched the water flow, I remembered something I'd read once in a book: If you're being followed and you walk through a river or stream, you leave no trace behind. No footsteps,
no scent for dogs to pick up. I took a deep breath and plunged my feet into the freezing-cold water.

Immediately my ankles ached from the cold, but I didn't have time to whine about it. As quietly yet quickly as I could, I made my way over the rocks downstream. I kept going for what seemed like hours but may have only been minutes. Every so often I could hear something moving in the woods and my heart seemed to stop; I never knew whether it was just wildlife moving around . . . or Henry.

Henry. So it was him. Did that mean he'd actually done something to hurt his sister? He must have; that's why he'd led us in circles through the woods, to keep us from telling anyone. And now he'd come back to get us, I realized with a gulp. I remembered Zoe's terrified screams and shuddered. Then I thought of Bess and George, how I'd left them asleep under the tent. Were they still safe? Had Henry found them as well? What did he plan to do to all of us?

After a while, the stream bent around a curve, and then I could see the lake shimmering below in
the moonlight. Mystic Lake—the stream must empty into it. The sight of the lake we'd been biking around all this time gave me hope somehow, and that hope increased when I got a little closer and could make out a small dock jutting out from the bank—with a canoe tied up to the side.

A canoe. I'd gone canoeing a few times in Girl Scouts. I was terrible at steering, but at least I could keep the vessel afloat (unlike Bess, whose canoe had capsized somehow, so she'd ended up in the water). And if I could paddle out into the lake, I'd be safe—unless Henry was a champion swimmer, he couldn't come after me.

I ran through the stream, up onto the bank to the dock. My feet made splashing sounds in the water, giving away my location to anyone listening, but I didn't care. As I scrambled down the dock toward the canoe, I heard them again: footsteps. Now he was crashing through the trees just a quick run away; soon he'd reach the edge of the trees, and then he'd surely see me, if he hadn't already.

I dove into the canoe, rocking it terribly and making even more of a racket. I started unwinding the rope that fixed the canoe to the dock. Focus . . . focus . . . I heard someone just yards away at the edge of the woods. With trembling fingers, I unwound the last piece and pushed as hard as I could away from the dock.

Paddle. Paddle. I wasn't exactly an expert canoer, but I knew that the faster I got away from the dock, the less likely Henry was to come after me. I forced myself not to look back, just to keep paddling, focusing on a spot in the middle of the lake that was shining by the light of the moon. If I could just get there . . .

Splash. Splash.
The paddle cut into the water, over and over again. An owl hooted somewhere, and I took in breath after desperate breath of night air. Finally I looked up and saw that I was nearly at the point I was aiming for—much too far for someone to swim after me. Only then did I allow myself to look back.

My blood chilled. I was far enough away, and the moonlight was weak enough so that I could only make out a shadowy figure on the edge of the dock. The
figure saw me, though. As I pulled the paddle back through the water, it raised its hand, as if to wave.

Gulp.

I was safe now—or was I? The figure couldn't come after me, but I was also completely vulnerable. I realized now that we were in a small pocket of the huge, sprawling Mystic Lake; you could probably circle the whole area in about an hour. And he could track my movements wherever I went; if I began paddling for the far bank, for example, he could easily try to outrun me on foot and meet me there.

What now?

I pulled out my phone, knowing it was a long shot, and I was right: no service. Trying to calm my still-pounding heart, I took a deep breath and looked around. Then another terrible thought occurred to me.

If Henry was behind everything and he'd come back here, what did he do to Dagger?

I shuddered. I hoped the meditation-loving nature enthusiast was still alive.

Then I caught sight of something across the water,
not far from the direction I'd come from. It was a small wooden structure—a shed—no, a cabin. I felt a tingle of hope in my chest. There were no lights on, but if I could get over there, maybe there would be someone inside, sleeping—or even just a landline I could use. Or a bike. Or a car. (George once taught Bess and me how to hot-wire a car—for emergencies—and I was not above using that information in a pinch.)

If I could get to that cabin, maybe I could find a way to get help.

I started paddling, at first trying to be stealthy about it, then quickly realizing how ridiculous that was and just trying to move the canoe as fast as I possibly could. After what felt like an eternity, I was close enough to see that the cabin had a small dock. About a dozen yards away I gave up paddling and just jumped into the lake, swimming wildly for a ladder on the dock's side. I was desperate. I knew seconds counted if I was going to get help before Henry found me.