It seems like forever until Sean returns, his dark shape emerging, his bigger body separating from the night. A breath rushes from my lips, my shoulders sagging with relief.

Sean waves an arm, saying in hushed tones, “I found it. This way.”

We follow him several yards to a narrow boat. I know nothing of boats. The only time I ever rode in one was the weekend Zac and his family took me to their lake house. They had one of those enormous pontoon boats that you hardly felt move as it purred down the lake. I remember I wore a bikini with green and pink polka dots. Every time his parents weren’t looking, Zac would touch some part of me and I would swat at his hand playfully. It really was a lifetime ago.

This is no pontoon. It’s barely long enough for the four of us. No engine, of course. The sound would attract too much attention. Two oars sit inside, and I wonder who besides Sean will row. I might be more adept at rowing than Gil. He could crack any code and broke through the Agency’s firewall to make contact with carrier sympathizers right beneath their noses, but I’ve proven myself more physically capable. I may have started out as the girl who could barely keep up with the other carriers during training, but that changed. Like everything else.

The four of us all grab a side of the boat and heft it along the riverbank, hugging the tree line. A fingernail cracks from the pressure and my shoulder starts to burn, but I keep trudging along. I sigh in relief when Sean stops. Together we lower the boat to the ground, angling the nose into the water.

Sean faces the river, studying the wide expanse like he can see something within the black waters. My gaze skims his broad back before following his gaze. In the near darkness, I can’t even see the other side.

“We cross here,” he announces.

I squint at the water. In the daylight it looked brown, churned up with silt. Sean is moving again, situating his pack in the boat, shoving as much of it as he can fit under the seat so there will be room for us. Sabine and Gil follow suit, stowing their packs. I’m the last to move. For some reason my limbs feel sluggish, slow to act and follow the commands of my brain.

Sean holds out a hand for me. I stare down at the stretch of his fingers.

“C’mon.” He beckons with an impatient wave.

Shaking off my hesitation, I place my hand in his warmer one and climb into the boat. I take up an oar, flexing my palms around the scratchy wood, letting the solidness of it fortify me as Gil and Sean push us into the water. Their feet slap on the bank, then splash when they meet with water. I wince at the sound. Even the noise of the cicadas can’t cover that.

The boat sways as they jump inside at the last moment, joining us. We drift out on the slight swell of their final shove. My gaze strays to the shore we’re leaving behind, my heart suddenly racing. I’m leaving for good. Leaving my country. Escaping to a new one. Will I ever see my parents again? My brother? Oh God. Mitchell. What will happen to him? How will he ever know what happened to me? I’m certain Mount Haven won’t tell him the truth—that I escaped. If he knew that, he would hold out hope. They’ll probably just tell my family I died in some training exercise.

My chest tightens as the shore grows farther and darker, impossible to distinguish from the sky. The oar falls limp in my hands.

“Davy!”

The sound of my name snaps me to attention, unlocking me from the frozen moment I’ve been stuck in. The one where I can’t wrap my head around the unknown I’m diving into and the familiar I’m leaving behind—even if that familiar is gone. A thing of the past. A life that doesn’t exist anymore.

“C’mon, row, Davy,” Sean’s deep voice encourages.

Nodding, I tighten my hands around the wood and work faster, struggling to match Sean’s even strokes. The oars cut through the water silently. It’s still too dark to see anything, but I guess we’re making progress, inching closer to the other side of the river. I visualize it in my head, letting the image motivate me.

Suddenly a low drone purrs over the river, distant but growing in volume. I still. My hands freeze. Sean turns his face in the direction of the sound. We all look that way, to the north.

Gil finally speaks, his voice the barest whisper but still somehow jarring out across the great expanse of water. “What is that?”

I shake my head, unable to say it. That something or someone is out on the river with us. It can’t be. It can’t.

“Move! Move!” Sean’s hoarse cry fires through me like a bullet. I tighten my grip and row, pushing my oar through the water savagely.

The boat lurches just as light flashes across the river. Water laps at the sides of our boat, splashing inside and soaking my pants.

“It’s a patrol,” Gil hisses.

“Keep going.” This from Sean. And I obey. Because what choice do we have? We’re sitting ducks out here. Once they see us—

The light spills over us, pulling away for an instant before jerking back and shining full on us. One giant spotlight. Bright and glaring and unremitting.

Indecipherable sounds choke loose from Sabine. Sean’s movements become wild, his arms churning fiercely as he rows.

His eyes lash me. “Come on, Davy, keep going!”

I shake my head and push harder, muscles screaming in protest.

The spotlight fixes on us as a disembodied voice blares over the water. “Halt! This is the United States Border Patrol. You there, in the boat, halt!” The command follows in Spanish, although they can likely guess what language we speak by the direction we’re fleeing. We’re trying to get into Mexico. Like so many carriers are doing these days. I look over my shoulder and see another boat. Several figures crowd its deck, easily outnumbering us.