Page 1 of Hidden Falls

1

DAY ONE

Malia

Sometimes, I actually liked going to school. For once, I didn’t have to drive my sister Kylie too; she had a cold or something and Mom was worried it was COVID. I backed my old silver Prius down the long driveway of our funky rental in Waihe’e on Maui and grinned as I did a neat three-point turn at the end and started down the mellow country road we lived on.

Being alone behind the wheel of my own car was still a rush; I’d bought my friend Camille’s repaired car when she relocated to California, and it was sweet to be able to drive myself rather than taking the bus.

A ray of light blinded me as the sun came over the shoulder of Haleakala, the big volcano on our island and did a smackdown on my windshield. “Just another day in paradise.”

I flipped down my visor and fumbled for my sunglasses, one hand on the wheel. I wove a bit as I got them on—but it didn’t matter, because no one was ever on our street this early.

Only, someone was.

“Holy crap!” A big white rental windsurfing van had swerved into my lane and stopped right in front of me.

I hit the brakes so hard the tires squealed, my backpack flew onto the floor, and my hands locked up on the wheel. “What the—”

The doors of the van flew open. Two men got out. Dressed in black, blank white masks over their faces and moving fast, they were on my car before I could find my phone to call for help. One of them tried the door on my side, then hit my window with some kind of jack.

The glass shattered and covered me in a shower of glittering cubes.

I screamed bloody murder, trying to get my seatbelt off so I could reach my phone on the floor beside the backpack.

A gloved hand reached in and popped the lock.

I pitched myself toward the passenger side, trying to get out and run, but I was still belted in. I finally got the belt undone and lunged for the passenger door.

The man in black opened the driver’s side and grabbed me by the waist, pulling me back.

“Let go of me!” I tried to kick him, but the second man dropped a black bag over my head.

I couldn’t see a thing. I screamed. “Mom! Mom! Help!” Mom was a cop, and I was only a few blocks from home. Maybe someone at the house would hear me. “Mom! Dad! Help!” I flailed and lashed out, trying to hit the horn on the steering wheel.

But no one came. No one heard me.

Growling and thrashing like an animal, I fought the two men who, still without saying a word, dragged me out of the car. I landed hard on my butt on the asphalt and that knocked the wind out of me. They used that moment to throw a zip tie around my feet.

I screamed as loud as I could as soon as I filled my lungs, but the bag was smothering me, keeping me from getting a full breath.

I was really scared now.

Mom had always said, “no matter what, never let an attacker get you into a car. Bad things happen once they can take you somewhere isolated.”

And now my legs were bound; I couldn’t run.

I started punching, swinging my fists, jabbing with my fingers. I felt something soft, heard an “oof!”

But it wasn’t enough. The men lifted me, thrashing and screaming, away from the Prius. One on each side, they stood me up and wrestled my arms behind my back. They zip-tied my wrists, then tossed me into the back of the van.

I hit the metal floor hard. Whirly stars lit the inside of the black bag on my head; it was hard to breathe. My wrists hurt; my shoulders were wrenched, and I lay on my bound arms, cutting off circulation.

The van’s doors slammed shut.

The men climbed in the front. The engine started. The van pulled away with enough force that I rolled along the floor to hit the back door.

The hood was totally stifling. I stopped struggling because I had to focus on getting air.

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