The Calling

ELEVEN

DANIEL STOOD GUARD WHILE I checked out the cabin. The terrain here was rocky grassland—sparse trees, lots of bushes, sections of tall grass. So I crawled through the grassy sections to the cabin. Then, I stood and slid along the back wall until I could peek through the window.

There was a woman inside. She was drinking from a juice box and munching peanuts. Even the sight of it made my stomach growl. As she ate, she leafed through a file.

I crawled back and told Daniel that I thought the woman had just stopped for a snack before resuming her search. We found a good place to sit it out and watch the cabin.

After a few minutes, Daniel said, in a low voice, “So you think Sam’s right. About me.”

“I do.”

He studied my expression, then nodded. “Okay.”

“You don’t?”

“My head says it’s crazy, but my gut… It feels like when I spend all night struggling with a math problem and finally the answer comes. There’s this click, and I know it’s right even before I check my work. Lately, there’s been a bunch of things that just seem … wrong. With me. About me. When Sam explained, I felt that click.”

“Good.”

He nodded, but he didn’t look convinced that it was “good.” It would have been easier for him if Sam had explained that he was suffering from a hormonal imbalance or even mild mental illness. That he could believe. This was a lot harder.

“Guess now we know why my dad hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” I said.

“Maybe. He doesn’t like me much, though. He knows what I am. I think he didn’t find out until my mom left and now he suspects I’m not his kid.”

“You are. I think pretending otherwise is just … easier for him. Your mom drops this bomb before she leaves, and he doesn’t know what to make of it. He’s confused. Maybe even a little scared of you. He doesn’t like feeling that way about his son, so he tells himself you aren’t his son.” I caught his gaze. “Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with you. Not your mom leaving. Not your dad being angry. She made choices she couldn’t deal with, so she dumped them on him. He couldn’t deal with them, so he dumped them on you. They aren’t your problems. But you’re handling them just fine.”

“Thanks.”

His lips curved in a faint smile. It wasn’t enough. I wanted to make him really smile. Make him happy.

“So now do we get to talk about your problem?” he said.

“Hmm?”

“Whatever you’ve been wanting to tell me and haven’t.”

“I—”

“You’ve had a lot on your mind, and you can’t seem to find the right time or the right way to say it.”

I nodded.

“It’s about these people,” he continued, waving at the cabin. “You’ve found out something else. Something about you, not me.”

“Does your new bag of tricks include mind reading?”

He laughed. “Only when it comes to you, Maya. So, do I get the story now?”

I nodded. “It’s… It’s about Rafe. Kind of. Why he came to Salmon Creek. He was looking for something. Someone. We…”

I struggled to think of a way to finish that line. Daniel waited patiently.

“It… It’s about his sister,” I said. “Or it starts there. Kind of. Do you remember the tattoo artist? Her—”

The bang of a screen door made us both jump. Footsteps thumped on wood. Then the woman stepped off the front porch and strode to the ATV.

“I guess I have to wait a little longer to hear the rest,” Daniel said.

When the woman disappeared on the ATV, we headed for the cabin.

The interior looked like I expected. Two rooms—a main one and a tiny bedroom. Dusty stuffed fish and moth-eaten elk heads on bare walls. A wood plank floor that seemed as if it hadn’t been swept in years. Cobwebs decorating the ceiling. Furniture that would have been rejected by Goodwill. Mouse droppings everywhere. A few dark furry bat forms hung from the upper eaves. In the city, the place would have been condemned as a public health hazard. Here, it was just a typical hunting shack.

As we searched for food, I found the file the woman had been reading. It was tucked in a cupboard. When I picked it up, Daniel shook his head.

“We can’t take anything like that. Risky enough stealing food. They’ll definitely notice if their papers are missing.” He walked over. “Are they … about us?”

I showed him the top one, a topographical map of the island. Beneath it was a list with all our names on it.

“Okay, read fast,” he said. “I’ll find food.”

I skimmed the document. More than once I had to slow down, not sure I was understanding. I forced myself to keep going, assimilating as much as I could while jotting down names and phrases on a pad of paper left on the table.

Daniel came back. “Got nuts and granola bars, drink boxes, and two bottles of water. We can refill the bottles at streams. I could take more, but then it’d definitely be noticed.”

“That’s good. Just give me a sec to finish—”

Footsteps thumped on the front porch. Daniel grabbed the papers from my hand. As he put them back, I dashed into the bedroom. There wasn’t a closet. I dove under the bed.

I doubt anyone had cleaned under there since it was moved into the room, and maybe not even before that. The inch-thick dust I could live with. It was the mouse droppings and used tissues that would have sent me scurrying for another place. But there wasn’t time. Daniel dove in behind me, and we lay with our heads near the foot of the bed, so we could peer out the doorway.

I watched boots walk in—expensive hiking boots and a few inches of denim pant legs. One person. Male. He let the door swing shut behind him, and headed straight for the cooler. He popped open what sounded like a beer bottle, and chugged the contents.

As he drank, he wandered, the thump of his boots punctuated by the tap-tap of texting. Then he grunted.

“Damned hellhole,” he muttered. “Oh, sure, there’ll be cell service. Right. The only thing this island has is mosquitoes.”

Our mosquitoes weren’t bad at all—I only had a bite or two after a day in the woods. He was just being cranky. It sounded like the same man who’d hit the deer, and obviously, his mood hadn’t improved. He muttered some more as he tried to text again, then picked up the radio, hit a button, and complained to someone on the other end.

“If it’s an urgent message, I can relay it to headquarters,” said the man on the other end. “But I have a feeling it’s not urgent, Moreno.”

“No? You don’t know Sheila. If I don’t call her by tonight, she’ll be throwing my things out of the apartment window, sure I’m shacking up with some girl in Vancouver.”

“I’ll let you call her on the satellite phone later, okay? If you get your ass back out here.”

“Yeah, yeah. I was just grabbing some water.”

He disconnected. We waited for him to go. And waited. Apparently, he wasn’t done drinking his “water.” At least five minutes passed before he finally made his way toward the door.

He got the door open, then came back and rustled around in the pantry. A pause. Then “huh.” I knew Daniel had been careful about putting everything back the way he found it. Daniel was always careful.

The guy grabbed a granola bar, wrapper crinkling as he ripped it open. He munched it on the way to the door. We watched his boots as he hesitated. He turned, as if looking around the cottage. Then he took another bite, and chewing loudly, headed out.

“He made us,” Daniel whispered as he shot from under the bed.

I scrambled after him. “What?”

“He knows we’re here.”

“Are you sure?”

Daniel was already at the door, throwing it open and charging through.