the boat was filling up, slow but sure. “No offense, but I really wish I wasn’t stuck in this canoe with you.”
“No offense,” I replied, “but I wish I wasn’t stuck with you, either.” I wondered how my own parents were doing. Had Mom managed to escape Ms. Hand’s pals near the train station? “Actually, I’m sorry I got you mixed up in this.”
“It’s my own fault. If I hadn’t been so high and mighty on the train, I wouldn’t be involved.”
“No,” I said, “Dawkins had swiped that man’s wallet, and you were just trying to do the right thing.”
I heard a rustling, and then a scratching noise, and suddenly I could see Greta clearly: she’d struck a flame with the Zippo lighter. It cast a warm glow over her face. “Dawkins’ satchel is waterproof,” she said.
“Great,” I said and pictured Dawkins under the truck’s tires. I wished he were still with us. “What good is a lighter?”
“We could build a fire, maybe.”
“In a canoe? On a river?”
“Once we get out of the canoe, dummy.”
And then maybe the flame of the Zippo reminded her of something, because she asked, “So what happened to your family back in Brooklyn, anyway?”
“Our house burned down,” I said. “I’m pretty sure you know that.”
“Yeah, sorry about the arsonist comment earlier. I don’t really think you set your own house on fire.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Though you have to admit it was pretty freakish how the place caught fire with you at home.” She let the flame go out. “Do you think the fire had anything to do with why those people are after you?”
I stared at her in surprise. Was she right? Was the fire because of the Blood Guard? Had my mom moved us to keep the family safe? Was the person my mother had been assigned to watch ove r — o ne of the thirty-six Pure Dawkins had talked abou t — o ne of our neighbors in Brooklyn?
“I’ll ask my mom. If I ever see her again.” I reached down and splashed my fingers in the dirty water in the bottom of the canoe. “We’ve taken on a lot of water. We should probably get to shore before we sink.”
“Good idea.” Greta craned her head around, looking at the dark banks rolling past. “Let’s beach the canoe on the left up there,” she said, “where i t — w ait! Ronan, look.”
A shallow wall stretched across the entire width of the river up ahead. “What is it?”
“A dam,” Greta said. She pointed to a patch of shoreline that was a smidge lighter than the surrounding night. “And I think that’s a boat ramp over there.”
“How do we get there?” I asked. It looked impossibly far away.
“We swim for it,” Greta said. “It’s not like we can get any wetter.” She zipped up the pouches on Dawkins’ bag. “On three?”
She counted out loud, and together we flipped ourselves into the freezing river. We swam to shore and climbed out onto a concrete apron that dipped down into the shallows.
The concrete was still warm from the afternoon sun. We stretched out on it and lay there panting, letting our bodies soak up the heat.
“So if Mr. Four and Ms. Hand got out of the river okay…” I said.
“Then they’ll be really peeved.”
We both laughed. But I was forcing it a little, worried again about how they’d parted the waters like that. Did any of us have a chance against people who could bend nature to their will?
“Seriously, though,” Greta said. “If they did, they’d follow the river and check out every place we might stop.”
“But the river stopped following the highway, like, an hour ago,” I said, and got up. “They’d have to off-road it.”
The dam wasn’t much as dams go, just a long thick concrete wall about twelve feet high that curved gently from one shore to the other. On the other side of it was a large reservoir that shone silver in the moonlight, and on its far edge, an empty parking lot. We had to climb a rusty chain-link fence to get to the top, and when we
“No offense,” I replied, “but I wish I wasn’t stuck with you, either.” I wondered how my own parents were doing. Had Mom managed to escape Ms. Hand’s pals near the train station? “Actually, I’m sorry I got you mixed up in this.”
“It’s my own fault. If I hadn’t been so high and mighty on the train, I wouldn’t be involved.”
“No,” I said, “Dawkins had swiped that man’s wallet, and you were just trying to do the right thing.”
I heard a rustling, and then a scratching noise, and suddenly I could see Greta clearly: she’d struck a flame with the Zippo lighter. It cast a warm glow over her face. “Dawkins’ satchel is waterproof,” she said.
“Great,” I said and pictured Dawkins under the truck’s tires. I wished he were still with us. “What good is a lighter?”
“We could build a fire, maybe.”
“In a canoe? On a river?”
“Once we get out of the canoe, dummy.”
And then maybe the flame of the Zippo reminded her of something, because she asked, “So what happened to your family back in Brooklyn, anyway?”
“Our house burned down,” I said. “I’m pretty sure you know that.”
“Yeah, sorry about the arsonist comment earlier. I don’t really think you set your own house on fire.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Though you have to admit it was pretty freakish how the place caught fire with you at home.” She let the flame go out. “Do you think the fire had anything to do with why those people are after you?”
I stared at her in surprise. Was she right? Was the fire because of the Blood Guard? Had my mom moved us to keep the family safe? Was the person my mother had been assigned to watch ove r — o ne of the thirty-six Pure Dawkins had talked abou t — o ne of our neighbors in Brooklyn?
“I’ll ask my mom. If I ever see her again.” I reached down and splashed my fingers in the dirty water in the bottom of the canoe. “We’ve taken on a lot of water. We should probably get to shore before we sink.”
“Good idea.” Greta craned her head around, looking at the dark banks rolling past. “Let’s beach the canoe on the left up there,” she said, “where i t — w ait! Ronan, look.”
A shallow wall stretched across the entire width of the river up ahead. “What is it?”
“A dam,” Greta said. She pointed to a patch of shoreline that was a smidge lighter than the surrounding night. “And I think that’s a boat ramp over there.”
“How do we get there?” I asked. It looked impossibly far away.
“We swim for it,” Greta said. “It’s not like we can get any wetter.” She zipped up the pouches on Dawkins’ bag. “On three?”
She counted out loud, and together we flipped ourselves into the freezing river. We swam to shore and climbed out onto a concrete apron that dipped down into the shallows.
The concrete was still warm from the afternoon sun. We stretched out on it and lay there panting, letting our bodies soak up the heat.
“So if Mr. Four and Ms. Hand got out of the river okay…” I said.
“Then they’ll be really peeved.”
We both laughed. But I was forcing it a little, worried again about how they’d parted the waters like that. Did any of us have a chance against people who could bend nature to their will?
“Seriously, though,” Greta said. “If they did, they’d follow the river and check out every place we might stop.”
“But the river stopped following the highway, like, an hour ago,” I said, and got up. “They’d have to off-road it.”
The dam wasn’t much as dams go, just a long thick concrete wall about twelve feet high that curved gently from one shore to the other. On the other side of it was a large reservoir that shone silver in the moonlight, and on its far edge, an empty parking lot. We had to climb a rusty chain-link fence to get to the top, and when we
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