Ryan wouldn’t have been shot.

Maddie sobs as we pass Ryan’s tent. Then she lurches away from Indiana, headed for her brother.

I grab for her arm, but I’m too late. Sebastián catches her around the waist and hauls her back to me.

“Anda, Maddie,” he whispers in her ear.

To me, he says, “Ayúdala, o ella va a salir lastimada,” and the warning sends chills all over me.

“What did he say?” Indiana asks as Sebastián jogs toward the front of our group, pulling his map from his pocket.

“He said that if I don’t help her, she won’t leave the jungle alive.”

I take one of Maddie’s arms and Indiana takes the other. For the first few steps, we have to drag her along. She’s determined to stay with Ryan, even if that means being buried with him.

I can’t let that happen.

Maddie may feel responsible for what happened to Ryan, but all of this is my fault. I dragged us into the jungle. I have to get us out.

42.5 HOURS EARLIER

MADDIE

He’s not dead. He’s not dead. He’s not dead.

I walk without seeing the path. Without truly hearing the birds, and frogs, and monkeys. I can’t process anything through the funnel of grief narrowing my focus to that one moment. To the sight of my brother falling to the jungle floor.

“Maddie,” Genesis whispers as we crunch into twigs and push dense clumps of brush aside. “I need you to keep your head in the game. Don’t make me avenge Ryan all on my own.”

Avenge?

I force the world back into focus. She looks just like her dad.

Fine. Let her avenge Ryan. Genesis is great at revenge.

I have to get back to my brother. But if I run, I’ll just get shot. I need a distraction. Or an opportunity.

I pull free from my cousin’s grip, and when I don’t bolt this time, she leaves me alone.

Genesis thinks I’ve given up. But she’s about to find out just how much we have in common.

42 HOURS EARLIER

GENESIS

“Yo no quería esto.” Julian’s nose has finally stopped bleeding, but his whispered insistence that this isn’t what he signed up for sounds like a nasal whine. “No me gusta esa puta.”

Moisés nods.

Obviously there’s dissension in the ranks, and if that’s about more than the broken nose, I should be able to exploit their anger and drive a wedge between our captors.

But it would help if I knew why we were being kidnapped. Unfortunately, I know nothing about the Colombian political situation, except that Maddie says both the drug wars and the guerrilla revolution—the main sources of the violence my father remembers—are practically over. Either she’s wrong, or this is about something else.

Silvana knew who I was. The gunmen called my name as they searched the tents. My father will let me go anywhere in the world, except Colombia. This has to be about more than local politics.

This is about me. But why?

My dad and his mother moved to Miami when he was twelve. My uncle David was born six months later, and he was obsessed with his Colombian heritage, but my dad never talks about his childhood in Cartagena. As far as I know, he hasn’t been back since the day he left.

I squat on the trail to retie my boot lace, letting Rog and my friends pass me until I’m within eavesdropping distance of Óscar and Natalia, the other female kidnapper, who’re bringing up the rear. But the only thing I learn from their smutty whispering is that she’s definitely not his sister.

As I stand, a gunshot echoes through the jungle.

Maddie turns to me, her eyes wide and swimming in tears.

“No,” I whisper as I take her arm. “No, Maddie, it wasn’t Ryan.”

“How do you know?” she asks through halting sobs.

I know because they don’t need another bullet to kill Ryan. All they have to do is leave him alone.

“¡Vamos!” Silvana shouts, and Maddie jumps. Indiana takes her backpack and wraps one arm around her shoulders, urging her forward.

A second shot rings out from behind us, and Penelope starts crying. Then she stops walking.

“Get her moving, or she’s next,” Silvana orders, marching backward so she can look at me.

I swallow a groan and wrap my arm around Penelope. I can’t let her die, even if she did totally stab me in the back.

“Hey,” I whisper close to her ear. “You have to keep walking.”

“I can’t.” She grabs my arm, and her grip is so tight my fingers start to tingle. “They’re going to kill us. We’re next.”

“They’re not going to—” We both flinch as the third shot rings out.

Rog closes his eyes and bows his head for a second.

“March!” Silvana shouts.

I tug Penelope forward as the fourth shot echoes toward us. We march, her hand tight around mine, as bullet after bullet is fired, each separated by a short pause.

Pen flinches with each one, but I count them.

Seventeen shots. But we only left behind sixteen hostages tied up on the ground.

41 HOURS EARLIER

MADDIE

The forest goes gray and silent around me. I hear nothing but the echo of gunfire.

Seventeen shots, sixteen bound captives. Including Nico. It only makes sense if I count Ryan.

Unless they found Luke.

Guilt brings fresh tears to my eyes.

My legs stop moving, but Indiana tugs me forward. “We don’t know what this means,” he insists. “They could have fired into the ground, to make us think they’re willing to kill. To keep us in line.”

I cling to his logic, because it’s what I need to hear. If they’re willing to kill us, why would they try to save Ryan? Why not shoot the other hostages in front of us?

Nothing has changed. My brother could still be alive.

I cling to that thought as our path steepens, and I have to grab on to bamboo and handfuls of vines to pull myself over obstacles in the trail. I am sweating too much and drinking too little water. But then the narrow path turns downhill, and hiking gets easier. I watch for a chance to run.

“Five-minute break!” Silvana shouts when we reach a clearing, and I exhale slowly.

Holden, Penelope, Indiana, and Domenica gather around Genesis on fallen logs while they snack on food from their packs.