The Taking: The Countdown Part 2

Shooting a questioning, and probably panicked look at him, I begged to know, Why? Why are you doing this?

But Tyler just shook his head and pointed a single determined finger toward the surface.

Somehow I understood what he was trying to tell me-something or someone was up there. I don't know how he knew that. I hadn't seen anyone, but that wasn't important.

He was convinced. And he was freaked out by it. Enough so that he had no intention of going back up there anytime soon.

So what then? Did that mean he was willing to die because of it?

He kept his lips . . . lips that had nearly been on mine just minutes earlier, pressed tightly closed as he harnessed his air reserves. But he couldn't hold his breath forever and he'd have to let it out soon.

Then he'd have no choice but to inhale.

His body wasn't like mine.

Mine . . .

My lungs were fine. I had more than enough breath remaining . . . more than enough time.

An idea sparked. Something I'd seen once, probably on TV, which made the whole thing seem more than a little bogus. But maybe . . . just maybe, if there was even an ounce of validity to the concept I could buy Tyler an extra minute or two.

I closed the small gap between us, not completely unaware of how undressed both of us were as our bare skin pressed together. But more than anything, I prayed he'd go along with me. Hoping, if there was anything to this, I could get it right.

Blood rushed noisily past my ears as I strained to reach his mouth, and suddenly the feel of his lips on mine was no longer just a memory. It was achingly real.

Unfortunately, there was no time to savor it.

It took Tyler a second to realize my intention, but when he did, his eyes went wide and he flinched slightly in surprise. Only, now I was the one gripping him and I wasn't about to let him go. I ordered him with my crumpled brow to Be still!

I had to concentrate, to be careful. Mindful. There couldn't be any s.p.a.ce between our lips, not a single gap or opening, or else water would bleed through. The seal would literally have to be airtight, or else I would be breathing water directly into Tyler's mouth and I would drown him. I was already worried I wouldn't be breathing any actual oxygen into his lungs, that all that was left in me was carbon dioxide-a little tidbit I remembered from tenth grade Life Science-and this whole effort would be futile to begin with because carbon dioxide was useless to him . . . just waste matter his body couldn't process.

But I thought when I'd seen this on TV, they'd said there was some oxygen leftover when someone exhaled, and right now some oxygen was better than no oxygen, wasn't it?

When I was as sure as I could be that my mouth was secured over his, I slowly . . . so very, very slowly, and very, very firmly began parting my lips. With my deliberate actions, I directed Tyler to do exactly as I did, at exactly the same rate. I tried to ignore how soft his mouth was, and the way I could feel his pulse beating where my fingertips pressed against his neck.

So far, so good, I told myself, trying to remain clinical about this despite my own rising pulse.

I blinked at him, trying to instruct him about timing, and as if reading my thoughts, as if we'd done this a thousand times before, Tyler blinked back. I ignored my doubts, the part where I knew that the tiniest wince or gasp could ruin everything. I tried not to imagine the worst.

When there was enough of an opening, or what I hoped was enough, I'd intended to exhale, giving Tyler a much-needed boost to his depleted oxygen supply.

But what I hadn't counted on was that he would have to exhale first. He'd been holding his breath for so long that he had no choice but to expel it before he could take in any more.

When he did, he filled my mouth with air. But even worse . . . far, far worse, the seal had just been broken, and it was my fault because I'd dropped my head to keep from choking. And the whole time all I could think was, This is it. I've killed him. He can't make it any longer. I can't save him again. . . .

My eyes squeezed shut as my body struggled not to inhale-to swallow huge mouthfuls of water, even though I probably deserved to die down here.

When I felt Tyler's fingers gently grip my arms, I reluctantly opened my eyes. He was there . . . alive. And not just alive, but grinning back at me.

Grinning!

I had to blink several times to make sense of it. To put the pieces together. Then he held up his hand and gave me the thumbs-up. As if I'd done this. As if I had anything at all to do with whatever was happening.

I was slow, but eventually I got it: Tyler hadn't needed me to be his human oxygen tank. He'd never needed me because he could hold his breath too, same as me. He just hadn't realized it until we were down here.

Beneath my palms, which were now flat against the bare skin of his chest, I could feel his heart pounding. I spread my fingers wide, letting them explore his muscles as the look on his face told me everything I needed to know: Tyler was okay. We were okay.

Then, just when I finally felt my body easing, just the slightest bit, his lips drifted toward mine and I thought maybe I'd been mistaken. Maybe I'd misread the pounding of his heart and he did need me to breathe for him after all.

But when his lips landed on mine, it wasn't for any practical purposes-he didn't need me to save his life or anything. It was just a kiss. An abrupt, waterlogged peck that was over as quickly as it had begun.

I wasn't sure if I should take it as a sign of things to come-the kiss I'd been antic.i.p.ating right before he'd tossed me into the pool. Or if he'd just been swept up in the moment over his newfound skill and gotten carried away.

Either way, my lips were buzzing long after the kiss ended.

When we broke the surface again, Tyler kept his hand closed protectively around my wrist. My heart was still cras.h.i.+ng wildly as I waited for Tyler to give the all clear, although it could just as easily have been the underwater kiss that caused the banging.

"It's okay," he exhaled, his grip loosening. "They're gone."

"They? How many of them were there?" I asked, opening my eyes at last. Before we'd emerged from the water, Tyler had signaled for me to shut them, and as I saw the shards of light flaring back at us from the ripples, I knew why-the glow from my eyes.

At that moment, they'd become a liability, so I'd put my sight in Tyler's hands, letting him guide me to the edge of the pool. I wouldn't admit it, but I'd preferred it that way. My skin tightened everywhere his fingers skimmed my body as he'd eased me onto the rocks. It had been hard to breathe, almost impossible, when I'd slid across him wearing almost nothing.

I watched now as he pulled himself out of the water and crouched on the bank. I'd seen Tyler without his s.h.i.+rt before. A few times. But with his bare chest glistening beneath the moonlight . . . well that was a whole 'nother story. One I wanted to burn into my memory.

He glanced back at me, confusion clear in his eyes. "Two, maybe? You didn't hear them?"

I tried to remember if there'd been anything, but I shook my head.

"You're kidding? It was so clear. They were so . . ." He reached down to help me out. "We have to get back and warn your dad."

I let him haul me up and s.h.i.+vered as the cold night air blasted me. Water dripped in rivulets down my bare skin, puddling at my feet. "Why? Who were they?"

His green eyes were feverish as he shot nervous glances past me, in the direction of the woods beyond the steaming water of the hot spring. He yanked his jeans from the tangle of our clothes pile and then pa.s.sed me my s.h.i.+rt. "I don't know. But there was something . . . strange about them."

"Strange, how?"

"Strange, like-" He frowned. "I'm not sure how to explain-this is gonna sound crazy-but they were talking in static. Like they were talking over some sort of radio frequency."

I'd just started toweling off with my s.h.i.+rt when his words. .h.i.t me. "How do you know you weren't hearing a radio?" I thought of the way Tyler's voice had sounded that night in the desert. Would I have called it static-y?

"I told you it was crazy. I just knew." He threw my jeans at me and then wriggled into his, not an easy task when you were still dripping wet. "We need to get out of here in case they come back."

"Wait," I prodded, wanting him to explain. "Like how exactly? Obviously it freaked you out enough that you thought you needed to risk drowning us. Tell me what you heard." I crossed my arms defiantly, refusing to get dressed until he answered my question.

He glared back at me, but I could tell from the set of his jaw he'd already given in. "G.o.d, you're stubborn. Has anyone ever told you that?" I bit back a grin because I desperately wished he could remember the first time he'd told me that-that I was stubborn-back when he'd begged me to admit I had feelings for him. My heart had been pounding for a completely different reason then. "I can't explain exactly," he exhaled, clearly annoyed. "But it was like I sensed them before I ever heard them. Like I . . ." He s.h.i.+fted, and his hand kneaded the back of his neck. "Like I felt their footsteps coming. Then I heard this strange vibrating sound, or, I don't know, maybe I felt that too. But it was like they were speaking in code or something. Like they were communicating in sound waves." He pursed his lips, looking at me like he was saying, I told you it was crazy.

And it was, but it wasn't the most far-fetched thing I'd heard, not by a long shot. Especially considering that Tyler and I were no longer human and had just held our breath for who knew how long.

"Do you know what they said?"

He shook his head. "Something about the Returned maybe? But that was when I pulled you under the water."

My stomach plunged, even as I found my voice. "What about the Returned?"

"Kyra, we don't have time-"

I caught hold of his arm. "Just guess."

He looked at me, his eyes drilling into me when he said the words that turned my skin to ice and made my heart stop: "I know how it sounds, but I might've heard: 'The Returned must die.'"

A sour taste filled the back of my throat and the ground tilted beneath me. I shook my head.

The Returned must die.

No way was that a coincidence.

Tyler froze beneath my fingertips. "What is it?" I started to ask, but he was already dragging me backward. My chest tingled in antic.i.p.ation. "Are they back? Do you hear them again?"

"No," he answered distractedly. Then vaguely added, "I don't know."

When I finally heard something, it was faint-the snapping of a branch maybe. It was far away.

I might have see-in-the-dark super-vision, but we'd just learned that Tyler's hearing was vastly superior to mine.

The underbrush shuddered then, the bushes shaking more violently. Someone was in there. Chills raced along my spine. I wanted to run but my feet were rooted in place.

Nancy exploded out at us, bursting from the foliage with leaves and twigs all matted in her fur. I nearly had a heart attack. Branches snagged and pulled at her, but didn't slow her at all as she barreled forward, looking every bit an animal on the run.

Every nerve fiber in my body was on high alert. She shouldn't be here. She should be back at camp . . . with my dad.

She came skittering to a stop at the edge of the warm spring, her nails clattering against the rocky embankment. Then she turned toward us, and her body went utterly and totally still.

It was me, I realized. Me, she'd fixated on as she lowered her front haunches, her teeth bared.

I felt it in my gut, the wrongness of the situation. The not-Nancyness of her behavior.

She was confused, I tried to reason, she had to be. This was Nancy and I was me.

But seeing her hackles rise, and hearing her breath as it s.h.i.+fted from a heavy pant to a deep and guttural growl, caused the skin at the back of my neck to p.r.i.c.kle.

What if I was wrong?

"It's okay, girl," I whispered, but my voice wavered. Nancy just showed even more of her teeth and her growl deepened.

"What's wrong with her?" I wanted to know.

Tyler's voice was unshakable. "Get dressed. We need to go." His hand on my shoulder steered me back a step and then another. "Easy now," he guided. "Slow." After I'd s.h.i.+mmied into my jeans, he pressed my shoes into my hands and without missing a beat, I slipped them on, not bothering to tie them.

We'd barely managed to get three steps from Nancy before a beam of light flickered out from the trees at our backs. It was bobbing crazily and my first thought was: they'd come back. Nancy had led them right to us, and we had nowhere to run.

But it was my dad's voice I heard. He was breathless and yelling for us from between the brush.

"Go," Tyler mumbled absently. And then, with more conviction, "Go."

Then I could make out my dad shouting the same thing Tyler had just said, "Go!"

"Go? Dad, what-?" I shoved away from Tyler to reach my dad now. To get a glimpse of him.

And when I did, when I finally spotted him, he was running, or rather staggering. Moving as hard and fast as he could manage.

His s.h.a.ggy hair was damp, and his plain white unders.h.i.+rt clung to his belly.

"Get to the truck, Kyra! Run." His last word came out on a wheeze, but his panic-stricken expression melted into relief once he spotted me and my glow-in-the-dark eyes. He paused only for a second as he clutched his chest, his fist curled around his trademark flannel. He gasped for air like an asthmatic, but then forced himself to keep going, his long strides tearing at the brush.

Tyler sprang into action. "Let's go." His voice rumbled against my ear as he tugged me toward our camp.

Panic gripped my throat, Darth Vaderstyle.

We should've been unfindable. My dad had taken extreme measures to ensure no one, not even Simon and the others, would know where we were.

But what if it was them? What if they'd somehow tracked us down and were here . . . now, Agent Truman and the rest of his creepy Daylight Division? They'd like nothing more than to pin Tyler and me down, like dried-out b.u.t.terflies in their collection.

Oddities to be marveled at.

Without thinking, I started to reach for Nancy's collar as I pa.s.sed her, but she snarled at me and I recoiled, torn somewhere between fear and rejection.

So we left her. My dad would have to deal with her.

When we reached camp, my dad wasn't far behind. To say I was impressed by his stamina would have been an understatement. Still, he was more than a little winded when he appeared in the small clearing, his breath coming in hard, heaving gasps. He waved the flashlight around at our tent and all our stuff, which was scattered around the dead remains of what had once been a campfire. "Leave . . . it. All . . . of it," he wheezed. He fumbled in the pocket of his jeans and, probably because I'd never pa.s.sed my driver's test, he tossed the keys to Tyler. "You . . . drive."

Oblivious to the fact that it was me who'd set Nancy on edge, my dad half dragged the unwilling dog and shoved her in the backseat of the truck before climbing in after her. She was still growling, but it was lower now, coming out in breathy woofs. But the awareness that she didn't want to be anywhere near me crawled over my skin like a million fireflies . . . unpleasant and unwanted.

I took shotgun as Tyler fired up the ancient pickup truck. If my dad had somehow lost whoever he'd been running from in the woods, there'd be no fooling them now-the engine was big and old, and crazy loud. It rumbled as Tyler slammed the truck into gear, the transmission grinding before it caught, and then we were bouncing over backwoods gravel roads that were riddled with potholes, hills, and ruts.

"All right, we need to sort out what just happened back there," I managed, finally able to breathe normally as my dad gave up his stakeout and swung around to face us.

For the first hour or so after we'd slammed out of the campsite, my dad refused to say a word, keeping a silent vigil through the grimy back window, which was fine because somewhere along the way, during that hour, Tyler had reached over and taken hold of my hand. It hadn't stopped him from focusing on driving though, as he alternated his attention between the road we were flying down and the rearview mirror.

I thought for sure he'd have to let go of my hand eventually whenever we'd hit a particularly treacherous pothole or when he had to make a perilously sharp turn, especially since my dad's ancient truck clearly didn't have power steering. But he never once did.

And every now and then, his thumb would stroke my palm, or his fingers would tighten, just enough to let me know he still knew I was there, and even though we were running for our lives, I'd momentarily forget to be terrified.

"I think we lost them." My dad shot one last look over his shoulder, a just-to-be-sure look, before settling forward in his seat. If he noticed that Tyler didn't have both hands on the wheel, he didn't mention it.

"Who?" I asked, my own gaze dropping to Nancy beside him. She hadn't stopped making those warning sounds from the back of her throat . . . not growls exactly, but low mistrustful whines. "And why is she doing that?"

My dad rubbed Nancy's head and she quieted down a bit. "Your eyes. Pretty sure it's your eyes. Spooked her." He leaned over my shoulder and pointed to the glove box. "In there. Sungla.s.ses. See if those don't help some."