That was the moment when everything was supposed to be perfect.
After all, really cute boy? Check. Dramatic, romantic setting? Check. Close proximity without parental supervision? Double check.
But nothing about Zach is a regular boy, just like nothing about me is a regular girl, so instead, I looked at him and asked, "Why were you in Boston?"
Zach stepped back. He shook his head and looked down at the ground as he muttered, "There are things I can't tell you, Gallagher Girl."
"Can't?" I asked. "Or won't?"
But Zach didn't answer. He just looked at me as if to say, What's the difference.
"Tell me," I whispered, trying not to think about the fact that Zach wasn't chasing me anymore. Instead, he was staring down at me, and for the first time, I realized that he'd grown, that he was taller and stronger and not at all the boy who had kissed me last spring.
"There are some things you don't want to know."
I know it sounds crazy, but I believed him. After all, I've lived my whole life on a need-to-know basis, and right then I was willing to take Zach's word for it. I was willing to believe.
From the corner of my eye, I saw my roommates leave the hotel and step onto the street. I heard Macey call, "Cam!" But my gaze was locked with Zach's. Secrets and confetti lingered in the air around us until suddenly things grew dark and slow.
Until not knowing stopped being an option for me ever again.
Until I saw the van.
Chapter Twenty-seven
I know it only lasted a few minutes. They've told me that. I've seen the surveillance video, what little there is. Still, the only thing I'm sure of is that one second we were standing in the shadows of the streetlamps, and the next, we were shrouded in black. Three city blocks were knocked out, and through the haze, only the Washington Monument kept shining.
"Macey!" I yelled, knowing more in my heart than in my mind that something was seriously wrong.
I started running down the street, away from Zach and toward my friend, just as headlights pierced the darkness, just as the barriers were crushed against the van that careened so quickly down the empty street that I actually stopped. I actually stared.
Macey. Macey had wandered closer to me and farther from Bex and Liz. She was there, standing alone in the headlights' glare, twenty yards from help of any kind.
"Run!" I yelled, rushing toward her, but it was too late. The van was too close. Its side door was sliding open. Masked figures were leaning out. Everything was so slow that I wasn't sure my yell would even reach her as she stood dumbfounded in the glare.
And watched the van pass her by.
We do these tests in CoveOps sometimes where Mr. Solomon asks us four or five different questions at once— some that make you process, some that make you recall, some that test your instincts, some that test your skill. And that's what it felt like. I know it sounds crazy. I know you won't believe me. But it really did feel like one of those tests as I stood in the light of the Washington Monument and memorized everything about the van; as I noted the type of wristwatch the driver was wearing, and whether or not the man jumping out the side door was likely to hit me first with his right hand or his left. As I thought about Boston; as I heard the words "get her" one more time; as I realized that Macey hadn't been the only Gallagher Girl on the roof that day.
As I remembered that nothing is ever as it seems.
Tires screeched across the pavement as the van skidded past me, turning ninety degrees, blocking off the path from which I'd come.
"Cammie!" Zach's yell seemed far away, lost behind a mountain of rubber and steel.
To my right, I saw my roommates running closer, but the world was in slow motion. Help felt light-years away as a big man jumped from the back of the van. But he was too big— too slow. I dodged his blows and hooked my foot around the back of his knee as I pushed and he stumbled, pinning a second man against the van's door for a split second, and I started to run.
"Cammie!" Bex's voice rang through the night from the south.
"Macey!" I yelled in response. "Save Macey!"
But Macey didn't need saving. And I know now that that was the problem.
I didn't know what was happening. I didn't know where Zach had gone. All I knew was that I had to keep running— faster and faster until strong arms caught me around the waist. Before my feet even left the ground there was a rag over my mouth—a sick smell. I tried not to breathe as my arms flailed and the world began to spin.
And then falling.
I remember falling.
Through the eerie glow of the van's lights, I looked for Zach, but the figures were a blur as the pavement rushed up to meet me—too fast, too hard.
My head was on fire. My body was crushed beneath my attacker's weight. Someone or something must have knocked us both to the ground, because the rag was gone—the haze was parting just enough for me to see my roommates battling two men twice their size. Liz clung to the big man's back while Bex parried away his blows. Macey fought against the second man, and I wanted to yell for her to run, but my head throbbed as if there were simply too many facts—too many questions—for my mind to contain, and the words didn't come.
And then the crushing weight was gone. Clean air rushed into my lungs. But before I could push myself up, the rag was on my face again. The arms were gripping me tighter and the cloud over my eyes was growing thicker, so I summoned my last ounce of strength and crashed my head into my attacker's skull.
I heard a crack, felt the blood of a broken nose pouring over me as I stumbled to my feet. But the world was spinning too fast, my legs were too heavy. The arms found me again. I felt the van coming closer as my heels dragged against the pavement, and I searched the blurry darkness for help—for hope. And that's when I saw Macey.