Find Me Where the Water Ends (So Close to You) by Rachel Carter Page A

shoulders.
    “They’re miles away.” I gesture at the trees around us. “They think we’re headed north. We have a little bit of time.”
    Tim lifts his head. There are black smudges under his eyes and the lines around his mouth seem to have grown deeper overnight.
    I stand up, my own muscles aching. It is twilight and around us the woods are gray and shadowed. We left the pine forest half a day ago and now the trees are shorter, newer, with green leaves and crowded branches. “I’m not having this argument again. Thirty-one and I are camping for the night.” I pause, careful not to look at Wes. “You can both keep going if you want.”
    Twenty-two glances over at him, but Wes is too busy glaring at me to notice. “I would never leave you here. We’re staying together.”
    “We can’t stop now. They have trackers,” Twenty-two argues. “And infrared. It’s too dangerous.”
    Tim keeps his head bent, wincing as I touch his shoulder.
    “The trackers won’t work in the woods—there’s no reception.” Wes crosses his arms, his expression still dark. “And infrared only works if they can find us. They’re tracking us with manpower and dogs. We can avoid them, at least for one night.”
    The trackers were invented a few years ago—small robotic scanning devices that look like remote-controlled airplanes. They follow movements, smells, and sounds, but like cell phones, they run on wireless technology. Out here in the miles and miles of wilderness, they have no way of transmitting information.
    “We’ll stay,” Wes says. “We all need to rest.”
    “Who put you in charge?” Twenty-two asks.
    “No one.” Wes’s voice is calm, though he does not take his eyes off my hand, still hovering over Tim’s shoulder. “You’re welcome to leave if you want. But I don’t think you should. We have a better chance if we stay together.”
    They are hardly words of love, but Twenty-two’s scowl melts away. Without her usual pinched expression she is even prettier, and I turn away from them both, reaching out to help Tim get back to his feet.
     
    The four of us sit in a tense circle on a large patch of deep-green moss. We have no tent to set up and we cannot build a fire—without a roof the smoke would give our position away. The few supplies we took from the barn are spread out in the middle: an empty container for water, a solar- powered flashlight, and a rusted compass.
    “We need food,” I say into the silence.
    “We have the shotgun.” Tim lifts it up slightly. “We could hunt, though it’s probably too loud.” Ever since Twenty-two pulled the knife on me he has kept a firm grip on it, the bulky weight perched awkwardly in his arms.
    “We can try and catch fish.” I point through the trees. “The stream isn’t that far from here.”
    “I can fish.” Tim looks over at me and smiles. “I used to do it with my dad.”
    Twenty-two straightens, her head snapping up. “You remember your father?”
    Wes frowns, glancing between Tim and me as though he’s seeing us both for the first time.
    “I’ll go with you,” I say quickly. “I’m not very good with fishing, but I can carry stuff.”
    “Great.” Tim doesn’t acknowledge Twenty-two’s shocked expression. “You can be my helper.”
    “No,” Wes cuts in. “Twenty-two can go with Thirty-one.”
    Twenty-two blinks as though she just stepped out into the sun. “I’m not going to the water.”
    “Why not?” I ask.
    “I’m just not going.” She keeps her tone even, but I think of three days ago when we first crossed the stream. Twenty-two would not put her feet in the water; she simply jumped from bank to bank. I suggested following it for a while, but she refused, steering us back into the woods.
    “Is it the water?” Tim raises his eyebrows. “Are you scared?”
    She doesn’t answer.
    Wes’s mouth falls open just a bit, his eyes on the mossy ground. When he looks up he says, “Twenty-two will stay here. I’ll go with