hoodie.”
“Okay, you go first. I’ll follow.”
You grab your pack from the floor, keeping it in front of you as you wind down the stairs. The bottom of the McDonald’s is crowded. A few people head past with trays piled with fries. You weave through them, pushing out the front door as two boys in football jerseys walk in.
You don’t look at the man until you’re at the corner. Just a quick sideways glance. He’s still staring. Have they reallyfound you already? How? Without the tracking device, they have no way of knowing you’re in New York.
A minute passes, and you wonder if Rafe is actually coming. He might have been cut off inside the McDonald’s, trapped by another hunter before he could get out. The man in the baseball cap moves to the edge of the sidewalk, turning to look at the oncoming traffic.
Rafe shoves through the door, racing toward you. You don’t stop walking as he approaches. The man fixes his gaze on Rafe and immediately starts to cross the street, toward you. He darts in front of a cab, quickening his steps.
You put your pack on your shoulders and double your pace, moving as fast as you can without drawing too much attention. “He’s following us,” you say when Rafe catches up. You go half a block but the man’s still right behind you. “When we get to the corner, we sprint.”
Neither of you look back. You’re focused on the street sign ahead, preparing to run.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AFTER TEN BLOCKS, the man is still keeping pace. Broadway is busy with people carrying shopping bags, others lingering in front of store windows, staring up at mannequins in designer clothes. But there’s not enough of a crowd for you to stay hidden.
Racing around the next corner leads you to a residential street with narrow brownstones. You notice an elderly man half a block up, with white hair and stooped shoulders. He has his key in the front door of his building. “He’s our chance.”
Rafe sees him, too, and slows to a walk. You’re suddenly aware of what you must look like, out of breath, Rafe in a baggy sweatshirt and ripped, dirty jeans. You grab his hand and smile. You hope you seem like any other teenagers would, walking hand in hand, oblivious to everyone else.
The man disappears inside and you lunge, catching the door just before it clicks shut. You hold the knob just a few inches from the frame as the man takes the last few steps to the first landing.
When he’s gone you slip inside, Rafe right behind you. You lean back against the wall, relaxing when the lock clicks in place. “Did you see him?” you ask. “How close was he?”
“He hadn’t turned the corner yet.”
You scan the lobby. There’s a narrow marble staircase, the edges of the steps worn. Two apartment doors open onto the ground floor. There’s no back exit. You peer out the glass door, looking down at the street below, waiting for the man to walk past.
“He shouldn’t be able to find us here,” you say. “Let’s go to the roof.”
When you get to the top of the stairs you push outside. Staring down at the quiet street below, you take a deep breath. Streetlights flicker on. You drop your knapsack on the ground.
“Did he recognize you?” Rafe asks.
“He must have; he was definitely following us. But I didn’t see a gun.”
“It might’ve been behind his back. He was just waiting for an opportunity.”
“How could they find us already?”
“I don’t know.” Rafe sits down beside the door, puts hishead in his hands. When he speaks, his voice is broken. “I hate this. It brings it all back.”
He doesn’t need to say what. You can tell by the way his face has changed, the way he yanks off his cap, fingers kneading his scalp. He’s remembering what happened on the island.
You sit down beside him, pulling one of his hands to you. “We’re okay, though. We’re safe.”
“We’re not. We’ll never be. And that’s the most messed-up thing about it.” He keeps his head down. His knee shakes,
“Okay, you go first. I’ll follow.”
You grab your pack from the floor, keeping it in front of you as you wind down the stairs. The bottom of the McDonald’s is crowded. A few people head past with trays piled with fries. You weave through them, pushing out the front door as two boys in football jerseys walk in.
You don’t look at the man until you’re at the corner. Just a quick sideways glance. He’s still staring. Have they reallyfound you already? How? Without the tracking device, they have no way of knowing you’re in New York.
A minute passes, and you wonder if Rafe is actually coming. He might have been cut off inside the McDonald’s, trapped by another hunter before he could get out. The man in the baseball cap moves to the edge of the sidewalk, turning to look at the oncoming traffic.
Rafe shoves through the door, racing toward you. You don’t stop walking as he approaches. The man fixes his gaze on Rafe and immediately starts to cross the street, toward you. He darts in front of a cab, quickening his steps.
You put your pack on your shoulders and double your pace, moving as fast as you can without drawing too much attention. “He’s following us,” you say when Rafe catches up. You go half a block but the man’s still right behind you. “When we get to the corner, we sprint.”
Neither of you look back. You’re focused on the street sign ahead, preparing to run.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AFTER TEN BLOCKS, the man is still keeping pace. Broadway is busy with people carrying shopping bags, others lingering in front of store windows, staring up at mannequins in designer clothes. But there’s not enough of a crowd for you to stay hidden.
Racing around the next corner leads you to a residential street with narrow brownstones. You notice an elderly man half a block up, with white hair and stooped shoulders. He has his key in the front door of his building. “He’s our chance.”
Rafe sees him, too, and slows to a walk. You’re suddenly aware of what you must look like, out of breath, Rafe in a baggy sweatshirt and ripped, dirty jeans. You grab his hand and smile. You hope you seem like any other teenagers would, walking hand in hand, oblivious to everyone else.
The man disappears inside and you lunge, catching the door just before it clicks shut. You hold the knob just a few inches from the frame as the man takes the last few steps to the first landing.
When he’s gone you slip inside, Rafe right behind you. You lean back against the wall, relaxing when the lock clicks in place. “Did you see him?” you ask. “How close was he?”
“He hadn’t turned the corner yet.”
You scan the lobby. There’s a narrow marble staircase, the edges of the steps worn. Two apartment doors open onto the ground floor. There’s no back exit. You peer out the glass door, looking down at the street below, waiting for the man to walk past.
“He shouldn’t be able to find us here,” you say. “Let’s go to the roof.”
When you get to the top of the stairs you push outside. Staring down at the quiet street below, you take a deep breath. Streetlights flicker on. You drop your knapsack on the ground.
“Did he recognize you?” Rafe asks.
“He must have; he was definitely following us. But I didn’t see a gun.”
“It might’ve been behind his back. He was just waiting for an opportunity.”
“How could they find us already?”
“I don’t know.” Rafe sits down beside the door, puts hishead in his hands. When he speaks, his voice is broken. “I hate this. It brings it all back.”
He doesn’t need to say what. You can tell by the way his face has changed, the way he yanks off his cap, fingers kneading his scalp. He’s remembering what happened on the island.
You sit down beside him, pulling one of his hands to you. “We’re okay, though. We’re safe.”
“We’re not. We’ll never be. And that’s the most messed-up thing about it.” He keeps his head down. His knee shakes,
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