Holden only rolls his eyes. “It’s not like I’m asking everyone to do something I’m not willing to do. I’ll take Natalia. But there are only three of you girls and five men with guns, so . . .” He shrugs. “You do the math.”

“Yeah, my calculation looks a little different.” I step into Holden’s personal space and look up at him as if I were towering over him—a skill I learned from my father. “Penelope was strike one. This is strike two. One more, and you’re out.”

MADDIE

No matter how hard I push, I can’t get there fast enough.

Ryan is dying.

Vines slap my face. Mud sucks at my boots. Perspiration drips into my eyes. I wipe my forehead, but my sweaty arm and damp sleeve are no help.

My leg itches, and when I scratch it, blood streaks across my skin. The red smear seems to float in front of me, and when I squint, I see tiny bits of mosquito scattered through it.

My stomach heaves, but there’s nothing to vomit. I can’t remember the last time I ate.

I pull up my wet shirt and squint at the display on my pump. My glucose level is at sixty-four. Not good. I drop my shirt, and the world spins again. I catch myself against a tree and breathe deeply until the vertigo passes.

If I don’t eat soon, I will pass out. Then I will die on the jungle floor, and there will be no one to help Ryan.

I push forward again, but every few steps, I have to stop and rest against a tree.

Score one for the jungle.

GENESIS

Domenica glares at Holden as Sebastián give us a “get going” gesture. “I’m not taking anything off,” she says

“Nobody’s taking anything off, and we’re not going for their guns,” I whisper. We veer west along the muddy trail again, facing into the sun. “Our plan needs to be one hundred percent less smutty and suicidal.”

“Agreed.” Indiana ducks under a low-hanging vine. “What do you have in mind?”

But then Óscar and Natalia pull even with us on the path, and we have to march in silence until they move ahead, fifteen minutes later.

“Soft targets and psychological manipulation,” I say when they’re out of earshot.

“Well, you are uniquely qualified for that one.” Holden means it as an insult, but I value every weapon in my arsenal.

“Silvana may as well be carved out of stone,” I whisper, just loud enough for the three of them to hear. “But Sebastián tried to help Ryan. I don’t think he wants anyone to get hurt. We can use that.”

Holden looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “So you want to what? Get him on our side?”

I shrug. “Or at least off Silvana’s side. He’s different from the others. He doesn’t seem to like violence, and he’s Nico’s friend.”

Holden rolls his eyes. “Nico’s had his tongue in your mouth, so naturally you trust his friend with your life. That’s a solid decision-making strategy.”

My gaze narrows on him. “And pimping out your girlfriend to an armed kidnapper in exchange for a gun is a much better plan?”

“Yes. Nico’s in on this, Genesis,” he insists. “We can’t trust anything he’s said or done.”

I thought so too, at first. But the kidnappers left Nico behind. They probably shot him. I think they’ve been using him from the time we landed in Cartagena.

From the moment I walked into my grandmother’s house and saw him fixing a cabinet, they were using him to get to me.

MADDIE

Bananas. Bunches of them. But they’re all too green and hard to eat.

I stumble on, shoving blurry vines and branches out of my way until a familiar greenish-brown fruit catches my eye.

It’s some kind of jungle mirage—my brain showing me what I need to see, rather than what’s really there.

But then I pluck one of the avocados hanging a foot above my head. It’s real.

Its skin is soft enough to pierce with my thumbnail, so I kneel in the mud and pull back a section of the green peel. I eat the meat like a mushy apple until I get to the pit.

Then I pick three more and eat them as I walk.

Food brings the world back into focus, and I realize I have no idea where I am.

I look from tree to tree, from vine to vine, searching for a familiar landmark.

Ryan doesn’t have time for this.

Calm down, Maddie. Think.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Use the sun.

I look up. Since I’m in the Southern Hemisphere, facing the sun means I’m facing north. So I turn to my right and head as close to east by northeast as I can.

Within minutes, I come to a narrow path. In the middle of it is a moss-covered log I tripped over shortly after the kidnappers started to march us out of camp.

Relieved, I take off down the path at a jog. Fifty yards later, I find a cigarette butt with Silvana’s lipstick staining the tip. I start running, stumbling with every other step, and when I see the top of a bright yellow tent, I stop in the middle of the path, sobbing.

I’ve made it. All on my own.

Score one for the girl with diabetes.

Fighting the urge to race through the camp in search of my brother, I creep along the back side of the line of tents instead. I listen for the footsteps and voices of anyone who might have stayed behind, but I hear nothing louder than the roar of my own pulse.

Ryan was shot at the end of this row of tents. I’m just yards away. A single orange tent blocks my view.

My heart pounds so hard it threatens to throw me off balance. I push back the flap of the orange tent.

Ryan is gone.

The camp is empty.

But there is a pile of loose earth beneath a tree on the edge of the clearing.

A single grave.

37 HOURS EARLIER

GENESIS

The gunmen prod us with their rifles, forcing us to move faster and faster in the slick mud, until we’re virtually sliding downhill. Penelope’s eyes are unfocused, and every time we need to climb over or under something, I have to practically shake her back to reality.

The temptation to slap her awake is almost irresistible, but she’s in too much shock to understand that my motivation is at least as much retribution as friendship.

If I hit her, I want her to understand why.