Page 59 of Dead Girls Can't Tell Secrets

I push through the thick layers of leaves, feeling my way toward the sound of rushing water. Gnarled boughs snag my hair and scratch my face and hands. I reach the edge of the forest, where the leafy undergrowth borders a steep ravine. Grabbing hold of a branch, I steady myself and scope out the river. It’s not wide, but the current is fast, the water white and foamy. I can’t tell how deep it is. It would be ludicrous to try and wade through.

I spot a fallen tree not too far downstream and immediately start clambering my way over the slippery rocks toward it. But as I get closer, my heart sinks. The makeshift bridge sits high on the ravine. A series of falls roil and lap over sharp rocks some ten feet below the log. I keep moving, trying to work up the courage to cross it.

“Savannah!” Mr. Davis breaks through the trees lining the bank. I toss a look back at him; it’s a mistake. His royal-blue jacket pierces through the greenery, and my fear catches up with me. I can’t do this.

The log is secured between two boulders on one side. I mow through thorny shrubs to get up to it. Then I heft myself on top of the slick log, ignoring the long prickers piercing through my jeans. Blood begins to seep through the denim. My hands are shredded. I wince and wrap my legs around the wood. Mr. Davis is still calling me, getting closer as he weaves along the path I just cleared. The log is thick—a good two feet in diameter—but I don’t trust myself to walk on it. Instead, I shinny as fast as I can. He’s gaining on me, though. If I don’t adjust my position, he’ll be here in seconds.

I try, but my stubborn limbs refuse to move. I was so stupid to end up alone with him, even stupider to blab those accusations. Why can’t I ever keep my mouth shut?

“Grant!” I scream again. I take a deep breath, trying to envision the quickest way across—one that doesn’t involve toppling down into the washing machine below. The churning water echoes my clashing thoughts. I shut my eyes, wanting to give up. But I push myself up onto my hands and knees.

Focus.I take in an even breath, allowing the whooshing sound of the falls to drown out Mr. Davis’s cries behind me. Allowing it to deafen me completely. I stand up, but my body does one large, swooping wobble.

My arms spring out to my sides. I shuffle to regain my balance, heart firing in my chest. I should’ve agreed to take those gymnastics classes my parents offered in an attempt to keep me away from contact sports.

I lower the other foot, legs quivering, arms struggling to compensate. My gaze lights on my foot’s next target. The farther out I get, the more moss covers the bark. My already shaky feet slip.

Risking a peek back at my starting point, I feel a stab of disappointment; I’ve only made it halfway. My foot lifts and settles on the moss-covered death trap again, and a crack sends me flying. My arms fling over the side as my sneaker crashes through a rotten section of the log.

I shriek. My hip hits the log, and I bounce. My hand grasps for purchase as I drop down, fingernails digging into the mushy bark. Nothing else is preventing me from falling. I can’t hold on long.

A flash of royal blue passes above me. I’m a goner. Mr. Davis will simply flick the delicate, jagged fingernails that tether me to this log. In a few days, rangers will find my body downriver.

I shut my eyes and wait for him to reach me.

Chapter 24

The world is a dull hum, vibrating in my head. My arms burn. Pain shoots through my nail beds as my fingernails tear. Cold spray from the angry rapids hits my bare ankles where my jeans have inched up.

I don’t have enough strength left to pull my head back and check on Mr. Davis.

But he’s up there.

All I can do is listen to the water, feel my heart beating in my throat.

I picture myself falling like a sliver of bark, breaking off and dropping into the gushing current. The image plays in my head on a loop. One of these times, it’ll be for real.

“Savannah!” The voice bursts through the white noise.

Grant.He heard me. He came.

“Help!” I squeal, my weak voice drowned by the roaring river.

An ounce of resilience that wasn’t there a second ago courses into my muscles. I swing my head back to find Mr. Davis above me, teetering on the log.

“I’m coming!” Grant yells, gliding from rock to rock on the bank like a web-footed creature. He scrambles onto the log, but my vision blackens from the effort of craning my neck.

I let my head sink back down, gaze catching the sharp rocks covering the riverbed below. Still feeling spittle on my ankles. My eyes fall shut, but the panic has already taken over. I wait, hoping with every fiery wave of pain that Grant will get to me first.

Then a voice drifts down. “Just hold on. I’ve got you.” Not Grant.

Mr. Davis.

No.He’s not going to help. He’s going to—but a hand presses down on mine. Unsteady. Fingers slip over my skin. My body sways like a pendant beneath the log. Even the smallest gust of wind could knock me free.

I want to yell for Grant to hurry. But the effort could loosen my precarious grasp. Legs drop down, dangling on either side of the log. Grant’s shoes. A second later, another hand—this one firm—grabs my hand from the other side. My fingers are pried from the log. I don’t know whether to scream or try to help.

But Grant grabs my forearm. My body is lifted until I’m secure, sitting on the log. He helps me up, ushering me back along the fallen tree. My limbs shake, but I reach the ravine. Grant’s arms hold me up as he guides me down the slope. When we reach the bank, he lowers me onto a rock.

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