Not If I Save You First by Ally Carter (10)

Maddie

Logan didn’t know what time it was. Usually he was good about stuff like that: finding north, knowing how much daylight must be left. Maybe it was from spending so much of his life surrounded by the Secret Service. Logan had received more than a few lessons from well-meaning agents on knowing when someone looks out of place in a crowd or when a vehicle just doesn’t quite fit in.

Someone had even told him once that if his father hadn’t been president, he might have been a good candidate for the Blackthorne Institute (whatever that was—it didn’t even have a website), so it felt weird not knowing where he was or where he was going.

When Logan remembered how far north they were and how close they were to the shortest day of the year, he had to wonder how much daylight even remained. He knew there were parts of Alaska that didn’t get any sun at all in the middle of winter and some that got a few hours. Some got more. But Logan didn’t know that much about this part of the state. Alaska was more than twice the size of Texas, after all. And then Logan had to hand it to the man at his back: There was no better place to get lost.

Maybe that was why it took him a moment to realize that someone was talking.

It took a moment more to realize that no one was talking to him.

Logan turned slowly. The storm had broken for a moment, and a rare bit of sunlight broke through the heavy canopy of the trees.

Some rainwater puddled on the ground, and Logan realized that it had started to freeze. Now that they weren’t moving he could feel it: The air wasn’t just chilly anymore; it was downright cold. He stomped his feet and wanted to put his hands in his pockets, but they were still cuffed in front of him and growing numb. Logan had no idea if it was from the tight cuffs or the cold air. It didn’t matter. It was the same person’s fault either way.

“Nyet,” the man said, and something about it made Logan want to laugh.

Then Logan saw the telephone.

And he actually wanted to laugh harder.

“There’s no signal, dude!” he yelled. The words seemed to echo in the vast wilderness.

“Shut up!” the man spat in English, then turned his back to Logan.

He put the satellite phone to his ear and started talking fast and in Russian, and something in the sound of those guttural vowels and consonants made Logan shiver in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.

He remembered the feel of his shoulder hitting the wall as the men rushed down the center of the corridor. The flutter of a red dress. The piercing pain of the bullet slicing across his arm. The blood.

And the sounds of Maddie’s screams.

Maddie.

Maddie was gone. She’d been gone for what felt like ages, it was true. But now she was the kind of gone he couldn’t pretend away. He’d just gotten her back, and this man had taken her from him.

“I just got her back!”

Logan didn’t even realize he was yelling until the man spun and stared at him. The phone was to his ear, and now that he was facing Logan, Logan could hear every word.

Logan’s Russian wasn’t perfect, but he recognized “Yes, I have the boy” when he heard it.

Logan wanted to smile at the words—not at what they were but that he’d understood them.

The morning after That Night, Logan’s dad had pushed Logan’s wheelchair down the hall to see Maddie’s dad. Afterward, on the ride back, Logan had turned to his father and said, “I’m going to learn Russian.”

His dad was still running a hand over the resignation letter that Mr. Manchester had given him, handwritten on hospital stationery. He must have understood what was happening—how much everything was going to change, even if Logan didn’t yet realize that the president losing the head of his Secret Service detail meant the first son was also going to lose his best friend.

“Did you hear me?” Logan had said. “I’m going to learn Russian.”

“Okay,” his father had told him. “Go ahead.”

So he had. It was perhaps the one good decision Logan had ever made in his life. At least it was the only one that seemed worthwhile in that moment.

“Yes. I am certain we will not be followed,” the kidnapper said. He looked directly into Logan’s eyes, and Logan tried to keep the same look of enraged indifference that he’d had before. He couldn’t let on that he understood. It might be the only weapon he had, and he wasn’t going to lose it too soon.

“Is the plane ready?” the kidnapper asked. “We will be there. You just make sure we have a doctor.”

Only the last part surprised Logan, and he made a conscious effort to school his features, hide his reaction. Once he thought about it, it made a kind of sense. Logan wasn’t really hurt yet, after all. But if he kept annoying this guy, he would be. And whoever this man was working for—whatever their motivation might be—no one drags the president’s son through the wilderness in a storm if they don’t need him alive.

They need me alive, Logan thought, but it didn’t bring him any comfort. They thought he might be a pawn, a useful tool. They thought he had value. Logan would have laughed if it hadn’t been so funny.

Instead, he just said, “He hates me.”

The man took off his pack, slipped the satellite phone into a side pocket, and quickly drew the zipper shut—but not before Logan noted which pocket the phone was in.

It was like he hadn’t spoken at all—like maybe he was the one speaking in another language, so he said again, louder, “He hates me!”

Finally the man looked up, and Logan couldn’t help but cock an eyebrow, careful not to tip his hand.

“That was a ransom call, wasn’t it?” Logan lied, and Maddie’s killer seemed pleased to realize that the first son was as stupid as everyone said. It had always been in Logan’s best interest to keep it that way. Now more than ever.

“If that was a ransom call, I hope you asked for a miracle, because the president of the United States hates me.”

Maybe it sounded like fear, or anger, or moody teenage angst, but Logan wasn’t really ready for the sight of the Russian dropping to a log and asking, “So are you saying I should just kill you now?”

“No.” Logan shook his head. “I’m saying you should let me go. You see, he doesn’t actually care what happens to me. But he would care a great deal if he were to be embarrassed. If someone took something that belongs to him, he’d need to make an example out of that somebody. So you’d be better off just letting me go.”

The kidnapper studied Logan, as if maybe the intelligence he’d been given was off—like maybe the first son wasn’t just sloppy and stupid, like maybe he might also be a little bit insane.

That was okay, Logan thought. There were times when insanity could be very beneficial.

“If you’re right and there’s no one looking for me, then that means no one knows I’m missing. Yet. If you let me go, it might stay that way for a while. You could be long gone, back to wherever you came from, before anyone even starts to care.”

The man leaned closer, his accent heavier. “I will care.”

Logan shook his head, like this man with the knife and the gun—this man who had hit Maddie in the head and kicked her in the gut, then pushed her off the edge of a cliff like she was a pebble and he wanted to see how far she would fly … Logan looked at him like he was the weak one, the one destined for disappointment.

When the words came, they were actually filled with pity. “You’re not going to get what you want.”

But the Russian stood slowly and leaned closer. “I already have what I want.”

For a second, Logan actually believed him. It took a moment for him to remember.

“You don’t seem to understand how this hostage business works. See … you take me. Then you trade me for something infinitely more valuable.”

“Get up,” the man said, as if Logan hadn’t spoken at all. “We have lost too much light already.”

That was when Logan realized that the sun wasn’t where it should be. The days were so short; Logan had no idea what time it was. He only knew that when he started to stand, his head pounded. The earth tilted. And the meal he’d shared with Maddie and her father last night seemed forever ago.

“Move!” the man shouted.

Logan didn’t want to do anything, but he knew he couldn’t just sit there—he couldn’t just die there. Because then he wouldn’t be able to kill this man later.

So he swallowed his pride and asked, “Do you have anything to eat?”

“We eat when we rest. We rest when we lose the light.”

“That’s a great plan,” Logan told him. “But I didn’t have breakfast and we’re not going to make any time until I get a little gas in the tank. I’m no good to you this way.”

The thing that Logan hated the most was how much that was true. Maybe that’s why the man believed him, because a moment later he was swinging off his pack and digging through a compartment, then tossing Logan something that looked like an energy bar. The writing was in Russian, some brand name Logan didn’t know. But he ripped open the package and dug in, eating just the same.

“You eat while we walk,” the man said, pushing Logan up the hill.

“What? No beverage? I was hoping for a nice latte.”

The Russian threw him a canteen so quickly that Logan was actually surprised he caught it.

“Now walk,” the man said.

Maddie was surprised when she finally heard the talking.

It had been so long since she’d been used to any kind of voices. That was the weirdest thing about her new life: It wasn’t just the lack of people—it was the lack of sound. There was no radio in her world. No television. No YouTube or whatever Internet thing kids were into. A dozen different fads could have come and gone and Maddie wouldn’t have even known they existed.

Sure, her dad brought her newspapers and magazines. Sometimes she watched movies that they had on DVD. She had her mom’s old CD collection, and sometimes when Maddie was all alone she’d blast the soundtracks from nineties movies just as loud as she could and dance around the cabin like no one was watching. Because no one was.

But most days, Maddie’s world was silent except for the sound of birds and running water, chain saws and the crack a tree makes just before it falls.

Voices didn’t belong in that forest, but when Maddie heard them, they sounded like music.

Because the voices meant Logan was still alive.

Of course, if he kept talking to the man that way he wouldn’t be for long. Maddie took some degree of comfort from the knowledge that she probably wasn’t the only person in those woods who really, really wanted to kill him.

When Logan shouted, “I just got her back!” something inside of Maddie froze. She wondered for a moment if maybe she’d spent too long away from civilization. Maybe some words changed meaning while she was away because Logan sounded like someone who had just lost his very best friend.

Maddie might have felt sorry for him if she hadn’t lost her own best friend years ago.

She made herself stay in the shelter of the trees, listening. Watching.

Logan is alive, Maddie thought again, and for the first time in hours she really let herself breathe.

He seemed more mad than afraid. She’d never seen him look like that before. But maybe he looked like that all the time now. Maybe this was how he did teenage angst. Maybe all boys did. It’s not like she knew anyone to compare him to.

But no. It was more than that. Logan was going to kill the man who’d taken him.

Kill the man who’d hurt her.

And right then Maddie’s biggest worry was making sure he didn’t get himself killed first.

Logan ran his sleeve over his mouth. Or sleeves, rather. His hands were still cuffed, and he kept the energy bar in one, the canteen in the other. He had a feeling he should be savoring this, committing the feel of food and water to memory. He might not taste either one again for a very long time.

“So what’s your name?” Logan wanted to sound casual, maybe crazy. A sane person would be terrified by now, he knew, ranting and rambling and promising to give the man with the gun anything he wanted.

But Logan had learned a long time ago that there was nothing you could give a man with a gun to make him happy. Men with guns were only satisfied when they took. And Logan was going to hang on to the last of his self-respect for as long as he possibly could.

So he took another bite and asked, “Is it Jimmy?” Logan plastered on a smile and looked back over his shoulder at the man who might have been his shadow if the sun hadn’t gone back behind the clouds.

“Bob?” Logan guessed again. “Matthew, Mark, Luke? John? Larry? Steve?” He watched the man closely, and when the Russian’s eye twitched Logan was so proud of himself for seeing it that he might have laughed. “It’s Stefan, isn’t it?”

Stefan didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. Logan already knew he was right.

He took a big bite of his bar and turned to keep on walking. “I met some of your countrymen once. Well, I didn’t so much meet them as I watched them try to kidnap my mother.”

“Keep walking.” The words were meant to be a jab in the back, but Logan didn’t much care. Somewhere in that big wilderness there was a plane waiting on them. And a doctor just in case. Whatever his final destination, it probably wouldn’t be as cozy as the middle of those trees and rocks, lost among the rain and the temperatures that were both falling too fast for comfort. Somehow, Logan knew that very shortly this place and time might feel like a vacation.

“These bars are good. You want a bite?”

“Shut up!” Now Stefan was the one who looked like he was stuck somewhere he didn’t want to be, doing something he didn’t want to do.

Logan shook his head. “Manners, Stefan.”

But it was a mistake, because in an instant the knife was out. “Do you think you are cute? Funny? I need you, but I do not need your tongue. In fact, I see a great deal of benefit in relieving you of it right here. Right now.”

A kind of wet-weather creek had sprung up during the storm as rainwater collected on the hillside, racing down toward the river below. When Stefan stepped forward, his foot landed in the water, but it was like he didn’t even feel the chill. His rage was so hot that Logan half expected to see steam.

Logan held his hands up, stepped away. “Hey, I’m just making an honest offer.”

Stefan glared. “I’m making an honest threat.”

“I can see that,” Logan said somberly. “You’re obviously a man of your word.”

“Walk,” Stefan ordered, and Logan did as he was told.

It was only after a few steps that he exhaled, suddenly grateful that there wasn’t a knife in his back.

“So just out of curiosity, what do you think I’m worth?” he asked when he just couldn’t help himself. “I mean, it isn’t often a person’s put on the open market. What is the going rate for presidents’ sons these days? Is it more or less than what you guys were going to get for my mother? Accounting for inflation, of course.”

Logan didn’t know what to expect: The knife? The gun? Maybe a nice hard shove into freezing water? He couldn’t have been more surprised when the man said, “I did not take your mother.”

“I know you didn’t,” Logan told him. “You were what? My age then?”

He wasn’t much more than a kid now, Logan tried to remind himself. But kids are sent into war zones every day. Kids can be psychopaths. Kids can kill.

Stefan straightened. “If I had tried to take your mother, she would have been taken.”

It wasn’t a boast. It wasn’t a threat. It was a simple fact of life, and Logan couldn’t keep from saying, “I believe you.”

“Good. Now walk.”

The man stepped in front of Logan, as if to lead the way.

But with every step the echoing pulse that had been beating inside Logan’s head for hours grew louder and louder.

Maddie is dead.

Maddie is dead.

Maddie is—

When Logan stumbled over one of the big rocks near the stream, his hands plunged into the freezing water, breaking his fall.

Maddie is dead, he thought one more time.

Before Logan even realized what he was doing, his cuffed hands were digging into the ground. He was kicking at the rock that was big, but not too big. It was jagged, and even with his cold hands Logan could feel the sharp, perfect edges.

With the sound of the rain hitting the leaves and the gurgling stream it was almost too easy to sneak up on the man. Logan knew he had one shot. If Stefan didn’t go down immediately, there’d be a fight, and then the knife and the gun would come into play. Which was fine. Logan didn’t care about getting stabbed, getting shot. Logan only cared about the weight of the stone and the timing of his step.

He raised his arms high overhead, said a prayer—

And saw it.

He had to blink, certain that it was a mirage—a sign. But it wasn’t the kind of sign he was expecting, so he stepped a little closer, certain that there couldn’t really be a piece of gold dangling from a tree limb, there in the middle of a storm in the middle of nowhere.

Had Stefan seen it? Maybe he thought it strange but insignificant.

After all, he hadn’t chosen that charm bracelet six years ago, placed it on his best friend’s wrist.

He didn’t know to stand in the rain and whisper, “Maddie.”

Logan told himself that she must have left it there, lost it ages ago.

But no. The bracelet was too clean and the forest was too large and the girl was too tough to die that easily. Logan should have known.

“What are you doing back there?” Stefan’s voice came cutting through the mist, so Logan dropped the rock and grabbed the bracelet.

He held the canteen to the leaves that were dripping rainwater like a fountain.

“Refilling the canteen!” he shouted.

“Less water. More walking,” the big Russian yelled.

Stefan didn’t see the way Logan scanned the woods around them, looking for a girl who was far too careful to be seen.

He had no idea he was outnumbered.