Judging by how low the sun is, it’s already late afternoon. If we don’t find the scholars in the next few hours, we’ll have to find somewhere to camp out for the night.

I think of our family trip again and smile when I remember how stubborn Hattie was about putting up the tent by herself. It took her two hours, but she somehow managed to do it before sundown. Which was great, because my blood was half-drained by mosquitos by that point. Eomma and Appa let us roast s’mores on the campfire, and afterward Mong slept with Hattie and me, tucked in tight between our sleeping bags.

A vision of Eomma’s and Appa’s worried faces pops into my mind, and I wonder how they’re dealing with our disappearance. Have they told the police? Will anyone in the gifted community (besides Auntie Okja) help them when they’re in so much trouble with the council?

I sigh. I miss them so much. I miss Mong. I miss our house. I even miss the toilet-sin.

“Let’s start walking,” I suggest to Emmett, heading toward the pine trees. “The quicker we complete this job, the sooner we can go home. Maybe the scholars will be—”

“Riley, help!”

I turn around and stop dead in my tracks. A giant hand made of soil has reached out and started to engulf Emmett in its grasp. It’s like one of those claw machines at the arcade, but upside down; Emmett is the plushie, and I don’t know who’s controlling the game.

“Emmett!” I scream. I try to run to him, but my legs are bolted to the spot.

I look down to see the roots of a pine tree wrapping themselves around my feet.

I wriggle and writhe, trying to free myself. But the more I struggle, the tighter the tree’s hold becomes. Its limbs wind up my legs, and soon my entire body is trapped in its embrace. As black spots appear in my vision and my breath gets shallow, my blood turns cold.

We’re never going to get out of these mountains alive.

15: Potato Sacks and Truth Bombs

WHEN I COME TO, THERE’S A sack over my head. At least I think it’s a sack. It’s heavy and rough and smells like rotten potatoes. I try to rip it off, but my arms are tied behind me. And my hands feel…wet? When I move my feet, I realize they’re also bound and wet. Huh? I try to stand, but I find my butt is stuck firmly to a chair. I’m completely immobilized.

“Let me go!” I scream. But the sound gets absorbed by the stinky sack. Instead, I get a big mouthful of l’eau de potato.