“The mudslide.”
“It’s not real,” Linda said. “It’s more manipulation, that’s all. It has to be.”
Charity’s brow knitted. “I was there. I saw it, remember?”
Linda reshuffled her thoughts, coming up with a new scapegoat, another reason they weren’t actually trapped. “It has to be cleared by now.”
“Brandon would have left if it were.”
“Then we’ll clear it.”
“You didn’t see the thing, Lin.”
Linda broke all at once. She shook in Charity’s arms, her tears soaking Charity’s shirt as she clenched at the legs of Charity’s pants. Charity ran her hands through Linda’s hair, shushing her like a child.
As Linda’s heaving slowed, Charity pulled back. “Let’s go. It’s worth a shot.”
• • •
“There are no towns for miles,” Charity said as she shoved a sweater into her backpack. “We need to find Brandon’s hog. We’re not equipped to go that far on foot.”
“Where did he put it?”
“It’s parked on the side. With the keys left in it.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He was mad when we came back and just stormed in. But I’ve got a keen eye.” Charity grinned.
Together, Charity and Linda finished packing their necessities into two bags and slung them over their shoulders. They slunk through the hall and down the stairs, but the crew were busy with the picnic, and they encountered no one on their way out the front door. Once they stepped foot into the mist, however, they realized their issue: the producers had set up the picnic within view of the front doors. No one looked up as they opened the door, but it was only a matter of time before they were caught in the corner of Deja or Brandon’s eye.
They ducked back inside.
“Back door?” Linda said, and Charity nodded as she grabbed Linda’s hand and tugged her through the manor to the kitchen, and out through the servants’ entrance.
They pressed their bodies against the exterior walls and found the motorcycle leaning against the building. Charity tapped at the keys left in the ignition.
“Thank God for morons.”
“In this context,” Linda said as she peered out, trying to suss out a path to escape.
The back and sides of the manor were closer to the forest than the front with its flat, mowed expanse and apple orchard. If they drove around the manor, they’d encounter the same issue as before. As they stood squashed against the wall, the truth dawned on Linda.
“They’re going to hear us,” she said.
“But they won’t be able to catch us.” Charity climbed up and straddled the cycle. “Hop on, lady.”
Linda had never ridden before, but she didn’t want to admit as much to Charity and risk losing the illusion of cool she’d somehow emitted in Charity’s direction. As she struggled to mount, Charity grabbed hold of her hand and helped her over, then passed her a helmet.
“Hold on tight to me,” Charity said, and without another word, she started the engine.
Before Linda could worry, they were zipping through the mud toward the edge of the woods. Linda glanced over her left shoulder to see a kerfuffle of bodies rising, then racing toward them—Sabrina, Deja, Brandon, and Tatum, nearly the whole damn gang—but then their bodies became smaller and smaller as the motorcycle carried them forward to the gates, which opened at the cycle’s approach. Linda thought for one moment about Sabrina being stuck at the manor, then let it go. Sabrina was a show darling. They’d never let anything bad happen to her as long as Tristan was around.
Linda was soaked, but through the rain, she saw Charity clicking a handheld button to close the gates behind them.
As the gates swung shut, the wind whipped her hair. She understood the appeal of hogs, and in her elation, she imagined Charity and her weaving through the streets of Los Angeles, the perma-sun beaming down on them, the world watching them go—always go—nothing, no one, to stop them.
Charity braked. Linda slammed forward into her body. When the whiplash subsided, her eyes focused through the rain. They’d traveled only a few miles down the only road, and before them, the path was covered with rocks and mud so tall she couldn’t see to the other side. The whole side of the cliff had disintegrated onto the road.
“Fuck.” It was all Linda could say.
Charity stood with her feet balancing the bike, hands still on the bars, mouth twisting. “We have to turn back.”
“No.” Linda let go of Charity’s shirt, tumbling over the edge of the bike into the dirt. “We can’t do that.”
Charity kicked the stand out and dismounted, then reached a hand to help Linda back up, but Linda scurried away in the dirt like a frightened rodent.
“No,” she said again, and she turned so her hands and knees struck the soil as she crawled, slowly at first, then faster, eagerly approaching the mudslide, scrambling for purchase in the slick of the ground. “Damn it, no.” She tried to find a handhold. Her hands closed over a rock, but the rock slid, taking her with it. She tried to find a foothold, but every hard surface was surrounded by mud. There was no way over. No way through.
Charity’s hand closed over her shoulder and yanked her back. She felt her body behind, safe and warm, as Charity wrapped an arm around her shoulder.
“It’s a few more days,” Charity said. “We’ll get through it. Together.”
Linda tried to believe, but when she looked at her hands, the mud covering them looked like blood through her blurred vision.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Linda