“Neda, what can you tell us about the others who were kidnapped in the north Colombian jungle along with your friends?” another voice asks over the static, and I recognize the practiced cadence of Bill “The Thunder” Lewis, one of our local Miami DJs.

Neda is being interviewed. Either Óscar’s radio is picking up a signal from Florida—is that possible?—or the show has been syndicated.

Either way, our disappearance has obviously become big news.

“I don’t have the names of all the others who went missing,” she says. “But I’m working closely with the US authorities to answer their questions to the best of my ability. And I appreciate this opportunity to tell my story to the world. It was such a close call, Bill. If I hadn’t been airlifted out of the jungle last night, I’d be out there right now, fighting for my survival. Only with my injury, I’d have a distinct disadvantage.”

Yeah. Because Maddie’s diabetes made things so easy for her.

“I can only imagine.” Bill clucks his tongue in sympathy with the girl who wasn’t kidnapped at gunpoint. “We need to take a quick break, then we’ll be back with Neda Rahbar, to hear more about the six Miami teens who went missing in the Colombian jungle this very morning.”

“They know we’re missing!” Penelope clutches Holden’s arm as the radio goes to a commercial break, and my teeth grind so hard I can hear my jaw creak.

Indiana gives me a sympathetic smile and aims his small flashlight at the ground in front of our feet, lighting the way.

“It sounds like they only know about the people your friend felt like talking about on the radio,” Natalia says, and the pointed smile she shoots at Indiana, Rog, and Domenica looks extra smug in the indirect glow from Óscar’s flashlight.

“Well, then they mostly know about Neda.” I try to summon a smile, as if I think my absent friend’s narcissism is in any way amusing while the rest of us are being held at gunpoint.

“At least they know something,” Domenica points out as we trudge through a puddle of mud that Indiana’s flashlight failed to illuminate.

Silvana’s soft laughter is cruel. “Yes, they know you’re out here somewhere, and they only have seventeen thousand square acres of dense jungle to search on foot in order to find you. You’ll be rescued in no time!”

MADDIE

“So . . . what’s the plan, Maddie?” Luke asks as he lies back on the floor of the tent with his hands folded beneath his head. “For real.” His tone is carefully neutral, as if he’s afraid of upsetting me with the question. “Why are we really out here, instead of waiting for the helicopter near the bunkhouse?”

“I told you.” I pick at a string hanging from the side of the sleeping bag and avoid eye contact because I don’t want to lie to his face, even if that lie is partly true. “I have to find Genesis and get my insulin.”

“You’ve hardly glanced at your pump all day. You don’t seem very worried about running low.”

I’ll be more worried about my insulin if we don’t find Genesis before tomorrow afternoon. But that’s not what he’s asking about.

“I’m . . .” Luke deserves the truth. But he’s not going to talk me out of it. “Look, you didn’t have to come. I told you to stay near the bunkhouse. You—”

“I wanted to come with you, and I’m not going to leave you out here,” he insists. “But I need to know the plan. The real plan.”

“They have to pay for what they did to my brother,” I say as I finally look at him.

“Okay, but even if that were a plausible goal—and most critical thinkers would agree that it’s not—what are you going to do?” He sits up, and now we’re eye to eye. “There are two of us against who knows how many gunmen. Not to mention the jungle itself. Do you have any idea how many things could kill us out here, even if we never find the kidnappers? Jaguars. Piranha. Poison dart frogs. Caimans. Snakes. Spiders. We’ll be lucky if we don’t catch malaria from the mosquito that just bit me. Or we could drown in the river or fall off a cliff.”

“I’ve already survived a cliff, a river, and more than one gunman. And this mosquito . . .” I reach up and smash it into the top of the tent, leaving a small smear of blood against the overhead view. “As for the rest, we’ll just have to keep our eyes open.”

“Maddie, Ryan’s gone, but your cousin’s still alive, and she needs help,” Luke says. “We owe it to her and her friends to report them missing.”

“Report to whom?” I demand. “Even if we find police or more soldiers, we can’t be sure they aren’t in on this like the soldiers at the bunkhouse.”

Luke looks shocked, and I realize he didn’t know that, since he missed the actual kidnapping.

“What did you overhear while you were hiding?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I’m in second year Latin, not Spanish.”

My brows rise. How can anyone live in Miami and speak no Spanish?

Fear lines his forehead, and I try not to let him see how scared I am too. “Look. There’s no one to report this to. There’s no one else to help Genesis.” And like her or not, I’m not losing another family member.

“Do you have any idea where they’re taking the hostages?”

I shake my head. “All I know is that they were heading northwest. If you’re not up for it, I understand. But I have to—”

“I’m with you, Maddie.” He says it softly, but the words hold no doubt.

I exhale in the dark, grateful to know that I won’t be out here in the jungle alone.

32.5 HOURS EARLIER

GENESIS

Everyone stops talking when Bill Lewis comes back on the air.

“Thanks for tuning in to Power 85 FM for this exclusive interview with local high school junior Neda Rahbar, whose friends disappeared in the Colombian jungle this morning. For those of you just tuning in, the US embassy received a report around ten hours ago from the mother of Luke Hazelwood, one of the missing Miami teens, after she got a text from her son, saying that armed gunmen had taken over a supply base in Parque Tayrona, on the northernmost coast of Colombia.”

“Luke?” Holden turns to walk backward, and even in the dark, I can tell he’s scowling at me. “Your dad didn’t report us missing?”