“Mac . . .” Serena peered around the edge of the container.
I finally found what I was looking for: a small carving of a skull in one of the planks. I jumped as high as I could and slapped the top of the board. Both it and the plank next to it popped out, revealing piles of scrap metal on the other side.
We had reached the junkyard on the edge of the Meadows—a place Amy and I used to go on dares. The secret entrance had been used by generations of students and was probably as old as the fence itself. Amy’s brother had told us about it one lazy summer afternoon, and we had spent all of the following day searching for it.
I glanced back at Serena. Judging by the surprise on her face, the junkyard was one Hemlock experience she had managed to miss.
“Go!” I said, stepping aside so she could slip through.
The shouting came again—closer, this time—as I squeezed through after her and pulled the boards back into place.
I hauled in a deep breath as my heart hammered in my chest. After a moment, voices drifted over the fence, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.
“They’re checking the nearby buildings,” whispered Serena.
“Good.” The word came out a relieved sigh as I glanced around. We were in a lane between a wall of scrap metal and the fence. Melting snow dripped off stacks of cars, filling the air with the sound of a hundred leaky faucets.
“We can’t stay here,” I said, straightening. Staying near the fence was practically asking to get caught.
Serena hesitated, then nodded. Together, we made our way deeper into the maze of precariously stacked scrap. The place became more of a mess the farther we went. Walls of cars were piled four and five high, and mounds of hubcaps reflected the light as the sun slipped out from behind a cloud.
Serena pulled her sweater tightly around herself and shivered.
A chill began creeping through my own bones—a contrast to the ache that was spreading through my muscles like wildfire—as the adrenaline started to wear off. My jacket was back at Serena’s.
When we were far enough from the fence that conversation no longer felt like a risk, Serena stopped. “What now?”
It was a good question. The man who owned the junkyard—a crotchety old guy with a beer belly that looked as hard as his head—kept the gate locked unless someone was dropping off scrap or looking for parts.
Two years ago, he had been up on charges for taking a shot at a group of teens he’d found prowling among the old cars. God only knew what he’d do if he caught us trying to sneak past him.
I reached for my phone before remembering that it, like my jacket, was back at Serena’s.
“I don’t suppose you have your cell?”
Serena shook her head. “I bailed on my bio class yesterday and forgot to grab it out of my locker.”
Okay: think. We couldn’t call Kyle or Jason. Even if we had a phone, the chance of them being able to help without putting themselves at risk was slim to none. As it was, I was praying neither of them showed up at Serena’s until the last of those men had left.
Trey was the one we really needed to get a hold of. We had to find out if he was okay and we needed to let him know that we were safe—at least for now.
Unfortunately, I had no idea how to do that.
“I think,” I said slowly, each word falling like defeat, “we should find someplace to hole up for a few hours. An old car or van, maybe. We can’t go back the way we came in, and even if the front gate isn’t locked—which it probably is—we can’t go back into the Meadows. Not yet, anyway.”
Serena stared at me incredulously. “You want to hide?”
I nodded.
“And Trey?” A hint of her pre-Thornhill stubbornness flashed across her face. “Anything could happen to him—could be happening to him right now—while we’re hiding in here.”
“Going out there won’t help him. For all we know, he’s lying low and we’d only draw him out.”
“And if they grabbed him because he made sure you and I got out of the house when he could have been saving himself?” countered Serena.
She glared at me, waiting for an answer.
I didn’t have one. I cared about Trey—I really did—but I cared about Serena more, and she was safer in here than back out in the Meadows.
“If it was Jason or Kyle, you wouldn’t just hide in here.”
I opened my mouth, but she cut me off. “You want to stay, then stay, but I’m going to look for my brother.” She stepped around me and started walking back the way we had come, head high and shoulders stiff.
I stared after her for a long moment and then broke into a jog.
“Serena! Wait! Please . . .” I followed her around a corner and almost steamrolled her when she came to a sudden stop.
“Why me?” she demanded, turning. Her eyes shone with tears that didn’t fall. “Lots of wolves were at the camp. Why did they have to come looking for me?” I reached for her arm and she jerked back. “I’m nothing. I’m nothing, and for all I know Trey is hurt or caught or worse all because the LSRB came looking for me.”
I swallowed. “You were part of Willowgrove.” Serena flinched at the name of the sanatorium the camp had been constructed on, the name Sinclair had chosen for her pet project. I rushed on. “What if the explosion at the transition house wasn’t an accident? What if someone targeted Sinclair to keep the truth about the camp from getting out?” I hesitated and then, as gently as I could, added, “If someone wanted to keep Willowgrove secret—wanted to keep it secret so badly that they’d destroy an entire transition house—then going after the wolves from the detention block might be next on their list.”
“But I don’t remember anything!” The tears spilled over as Serena shook her head.
“I know that,” I said softly, “but they don’t. And I don’t think those men were from the LSRB.”
Serena stared at me blankly. “Who else would they be?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, “but Sinclair was keeping the wolves from the detention block off the LSRB’s records.” I pulled out the business card the man had given me on the porch and handed it to Serena. “Just a phone number. No logo. Nothing official. I don’t think he was LSRB.”
I had no idea who those men were or how they had found Serena, but I had to talk to my father. Two of the wolves from the detention block were with his pack. Someone had to warn them.