The First Death (Columbia River, #4)(46)

He broke into a jog, and Rowan cried out as her leg bounced.

“Shhhhh.” Malcolm went back to a quick walk, trying his best not to jolt her. They entered the tall trees and the moon vanished. He plunged forward into the dark.

His arms ached. She was light, but he couldn’t do this for very long.

I’ll carry her for as long as it takes.



I can’t stop. Must keep going.

Malcolm halted, panting hard, and leaned one hand against a tree, staring up at the hints of blue sky between the pine trees. It was the afternoon of the second day since he and Rowan had escaped. Yesterday he’d carried her all day but taken frequent breaks. They’d figured out a way for her to ride on his back that made it easier for him, but he still couldn’t go that far without stopping. It was hard to carry her without bumping her leg.

This morning he had left her where they’d slept overnight, telling her he could move faster to find help and that he would mark the way so he could lead someone to her. He’d been dragging his heel, making gouges in the dirt and breaking branches, so he could trace his path back.

Was I right to leave her behind?

They’d drunk at a creek the evening before, but there was no food. He hadn’t even seen berries on their trek. Although if he had, he wouldn’t have known if they were poisonous and so wouldn’t have tried them anyway. Desperate, Rowan had chewed a couple of leaves and spit them out, saying they were bitter.

Malcolm hadn’t seen any trace of people. No roads. No paths. No tents. He kept thinking he heard cars or voices, but he couldn’t find them.

Even if she was with me, we still wouldn’t have found people to help us.

There had to be a town somewhere. The forest couldn’t go on forever.

His feet hurt. He was thirsty. He was hungry. He was tired of crying.

But he started walking again.

“Where you going, boy?”

Malcolm froze.

Is his voice in my head?

“Answer me, boy!”

He slowly turned. The bearded man was twenty feet away, and he had a rifle slung over one shoulder. Waves of anger rolled off him. A few feet behind him was the man who had freed them.

Was this a game?

“You thought your sister and you could escape?” The big man shook his head in disgust. “Stupid kids. You’ll be punished for this.”

Malcolm wanted to run, but his feet hurt so bad. And the man had a gun. He had no doubt he’d shoot him if he ran.

Maybe being dead is better than going back with him.

But he needed to stay alive for Rowan.

The men moved closer. The smaller man took Malcolm’s upper arm, and they followed the armed man. Malcolm stared at his feet for a long time as they walked but occasionally glanced at the man who had freed them. He wanted to read his face, see a sign of hope, but the man wouldn’t look at him.

He wondered again if it had been entertainment for them.

Another cruel game to get their hopes up and then destroy them.

Malcolm halted as he realized they weren’t on the path he’d made to Rowan. His throat started to close as he panicked.

How will I find her?

They hadn’t asked where she was, so they must have found her first. The second man yanked his arm, and Malcolm stumbled along. He looked at the man again, hoping to see a hint that they’d already taken Rowan back to the shed. The man’s face was stony and closed off, and Malcolm wondered if he’d gotten in trouble too.

No one spoke the entire walk. The big man didn’t look back at Malcolm, who could tell he was still angry by his shoulders and stride. Malcolm didn’t dare say a word.

It was nearly dark by the time they got back, but they didn’t go to the shed. Instead, they headed toward a building, and Malcolm thought it was where he had been taken twice before. He’d never seen it from the outside, but it was rectangular and small.

Is Rowan back in the shed or in this building?

The bearded man led them around to the back. Behind the small building was a large wooden box. The man lifted the lid.

“The shed you were in is bigger than you deserve. This is more appropriate for boys who run away.”

Tears burned down Malcolm’s face. He tried to step back, but the silent man had a hold on his arm. The box was about the size of his mother’s Jacuzzi bathtub. He wouldn’t be able to stand.

“Get in.”

Shaking, he peered inside, hoping to see Rowan. Instead, he saw broken chunks of wood and cobwebs in the corners. He wondered if it had been used to hold chopped wood.

The second man shoved Malcolm’s arm forward, and he awkwardly climbed into the box. It smelled like dirt, dusty and old. He sat cross-legged, hoping the lid won’t make him bend his head when he closed it. The two men stared down at him.

“You shouldn’t have been bad and run away,” said the big man as he frowned. “See what you’ve made me do because you need to be punished? I have no choice.” His voice was sad.

“I’m sorry, sir.” It was the first time Malcolm had spoken since they’d found him, and his voice was hoarse.

“Get him some water,” the big man said, and the second one left.

Malcolm closed his eyes as thirst and hunger swamped him, and he swayed in the box. He dreaded the man closing the lid. It would be dark, and he wondered if there were spiders.