The Unfortunates Read online

  As hands clasp onto me, pulling me from the bowels of the earth, I’m waiting for the monster to grab my ankle, to drag me back into the depths of hell. But all I feel is fresh air … sunlight on my skin. As grateful as I am, I wish Shy could feel this. I wish they were all with me now.

  “Grant Tavish … is that you?”

  “Yes,” I manage to reply through cracked lips, but it feels like I haven’t used my vocal cords in days. “The bats led me out.”

  They give me a strange look before waving around a flag.

  People are running toward me from all directions—police, rescue workers. There are tents set up all over the place, a sea of news cameras behind a barricade, helicopters whirring overhead.

  As soon as my eyes fully adjust, I look back at the narrow fissure in the rock from where I escaped, and it seems impossible.

  For a minute, I wonder if this is even real. What if I’m still stuck down there, alone, starving in the dark, freezing to death, and all of this is just some elaborate hallucination to help ease me into death?

  But when I see my mom, dad, and sister running up the hill, the anguished looks on their faces, I know this is real.

  And that, somehow, I’m alive.

  26

  “WE’RE here, son,” my father says, trying to hide the tears in his eyes.

  My mother hugs me, really hugs me. “Thank God you’re okay,” she whispers in my ear.

  My sister just stands there crying, like it hurts to even look at me.

  “I’m so sorry,” I manage to get out, before completely breaking down.

  We all hug at the same time, something we’ve never done before, and as much as I want to bask in this moment, I can’t stop thinking about Kit, Darryl, Maria, and Shy. Where’s their welcome party? Where’s their family reunion?

  “We’ve got him,” one of the officers says into his radio, unable to contain his excitement. “He’s alive. You can call off the search.”

  I hear cheering from the bottom of the hill, where the barricade is set up.

  “Wait,” I blurt. “You can’t call it off. They’re still down there.”

  “Who’s still down there?” the officer asks.

  “Kit, Maria, Darryl, and Shy,” I answer, my chin quivering. “I tried to save them. I tried to get them out, but there’s something down there. Something evil. The things he did to them … the way they died … it was a massacre.”

  “He must be delirious,” my mother says.

  “Can we get medical up here?” my dad calls out.

  The paramedics race up the hill with a stretcher and immediately start checking my body for any signs of injury, my vitals, reflexes.

  “Are you listening to me?” I say. “The rescue team has to know what they’re dealing with before they go dow—”

  “Mostly surface wounds, trauma to the left shoulder,” the paramedic talks over me. “But he’s definitely dehydrated and there’s signs of hypothermia,” he says as he drapes a blanket around me.

  “There’s nothing wrong with me.” I stand up.

  They start to pull me back down, but my father signals them to stay back. “Grant, talk to me. Are you saying there were other people down there with you?”

  “Yes, there were five of us. They were part of the school group. They were in the drop when the collapse happened. It’s my fault they got stuck down there in the first place.”

  “Has anyone else been reported missing?” my father asks the officer.

  “No.” He checks his notebook. “Not a soul.”

  “No one from the school group?” my father asks. “Are you sure?”

  “One hundred percent,” the officer replies. “Everyone’s accounted for.”

  “They must’ve made a mistake,” I say. “It was chaotic. There were kids running all over the place. They go to Richmond Central. Maybe they weren’t on the official list, but I know who I was down there with. Wait … I remember they drove. Shy borrowed her grandma’s car and—”

  “We might want to get him to the hospital,” the officer says sympathetically. “He could be in shock, or have a head injury.”

  “Dad, please…”

  He looks me in the eyes and gives a slight nod. “If my son says there are people down there, you need to take this seriously.”

  “Of course, Senator Tavish,” he says, immediately backing down.

  I almost feel sorry for the cop, but this is too important.

  He gets on his radio. “We’ve got a possible recovery situation. Four bodies. Can you send up the NCRC team?”

  As three rugged-looking guys come up the hill, decked out in full gear, I know they’re the real deal.

  The officer goes to speak with them before bringing them over, but I can tell these guys are aching for a reason to go down there. They’ll hear me out.

  “Can you give us names? Descriptions?” the officer asks as he pulls out his pen.

  “Yeah … yeah, of course I can.” I gather the wool blanket tighter around my neck. “Kit Jackson, but his real name is Jeremiah George Jackson. He’s thin, smart. He’s in foster care … he stays with a woman named June. There’s Darryl James Arnold, about six two, buzz cut. He lives in the trailer park off Meadow Lane. Maria Priscilla Perez, long, straight hair, bangs, around five foot four—she’s in EMT training. And then there’s Shy. Shyanne Rose Taylor.” Even saying her name out loud hurts. “Dark curly hair, tall. She’s an athlete. Discus. All-state. She lives with her grandma Ruth. She has Olympic trials on Monday.” I swallow hard. “She had Olympic trials on Monday.”

  I look up and the officer’s not even writing this down anymore. They’re all just standing there, a sea of confusion on their faces. I look to my family for support, but they’re huddled together. They can’t even look me in the eyes.

  “Why aren’t you writing this down? Why aren’t you doing anything? You need to send a team down there to get their bodies. They deserve a funeral. But I’m telling you, the rescue team needs protection, backup, because whatever’s down there … it’s not human. Not anymore.”

  “The rapture,” one of the rescuers whispers.

  “The what?” the cop asks.

  “It’s a caving term. It can happen in extreme conditions. It’s when you hallucinate from sensory deprivation.”

  “You don’t have to whisper. I can hear you,” I say. “I know all about that. And that’s not what’s going on here. They found me, they rescued me. We had to pass through a chamber full of guano and cockroaches, a squeeze so tight they had to dislocate my shoulder to get me through. I couldn’t have done all that by myself.”

  A deputy hands a newspaper to my dad; he looks at it and nods.

  “What?” I ask. “What is it?”

  As my dad places the paper in my hands, he puts his arm around me. I’m not sure if he’s trying to steady me or himself. “Are these the kids you’re talking about?”

  I look at the paper, and there they are, on the front page, all lined up. It’s their school photos. And next to it there’s a big photo of me, pre-incident, looking like I don’t have a care in the world.

  “Yes.” I run my finger over Shy’s face. “So you know about them?”

  “Read the headline,” my father says gently.

  “Senator’s son, Grant Tavish V, still missing.

  “You may remember him from the gruesome accident that killed four Richmond Central High School teens this past December.”

  It starts in my fingers, a chill so deep it travels through my entire body, turning my bones to brittle ice.

  I step away from the crowd, staring into the narrow crack in the limestone, and suddenly I’m back to that night, staring down at the gash in the pavement. As I walk toward the wreckage, all I want to do is close my eyes, but I force myself to look … to face the truth of what I’ve done.

  I see Kit, clutching his red flashlight, the DEER CROSSING sign impaled through his chest.

  I see Darryl, his skull crushed against the pavement, his f
ingertips flickering.

  I see Maria, decapitated on the side of the road, the snow melting around her.

  And then I see Shy, hanging halfway through the windshield, her arm resting at my feet. She’s staring right at me. Her mouth is moving, but I can’t hear what she’s saying.

  I step closer.

  There’s glass crunching beneath the soles of my shoes.

  Closer.

  I crouch next to her, pressing my ear against her lips.

  “You’re the monster,” she whispers.

  I stagger back, reality crashing back down on me like a giant boulder.

  Falling to my knees, I press my palms against the hard, unforgiving earth.

  That’s why all of our watches stopped at 11:57. The time of the accident. That’s why they were always colder than me, but they never needed to warm up. That’s why we were able to pass the food around so many times, because I was the only one eating it. That’s why Darryl was able to get through that squeeze so easily and I wasn’t. And that look Shy always had, that sad, hollow look like she knew how this was all going to end—that’s the same look she gave me from behind the steering wheel, when I crashed into her grandma’s car that night.

  They were the best friends I ever had, and I killed them.

  “Let’s get you home,” my father says as he steps behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “You’ve been through a terrible ordeal. You just need time. Rest. But soon this will be nothing but a faint memory.”

  A glimmer of light hits my face, an errant ray of sunshine, and I know I have to do everything in my power to hang on to it. No matter the cost. “What time is it?” I ask as I get to my feet. “What day is it?”

  “You’ve been trapped down there for six days,” my sister says, wiping away her tears. “It’s Monday morning, around seven.”

  “Then I still have time,” I say with a faint smile.

  “Time for what?” my mother asks.

  “To make my court date.”

  “That’s the last thing you need to be worried about,” my father says as he takes my arm. “It’s all been taken care of. Extenuating circumstances. Our lawyer got you out of it,” he adds quietly.

  I look up at him and shake my head rapidly. “But I don’t want to get out of it.”

  “He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” he says to the officer, before gripping on tighter. He whispers in my ear, “If you don’t stay quiet, you’re going to ruin your life.”

  “What about their lives?” I glance toward the jagged opening.

  He looks at me incredulously. “They weren’t real, son.”

  My jaw goes slack; I’m gulping down air, trying to find the words. “I killed them. Do you not understand that? I don’t know what you got away with … how you sleep at night, but my life will be meaningless if I don’t face this.”

  “You were the one who chose this,” he says through clenched teeth. “Or have you forgotten that as well?”

  “What … what are you saying?” My eyes well up.

  “That night, when you called me…”

  And, like a bomb going off inside me, it all comes back. Every last painful detail.

  With blood on my hands, I called my dad.

  As I stood there, watching Shy die, my dad gave me the choice.

  Call the police and face this, or call the lawyer to fix this.

  “I chose wrong,” I say as I back away, tears streaming down my face. “I chose wrong.”

  Even with the heavy burden of what I’ve done, it feels like a million pounds have been lifted from my shoulders.

  “It may have been the rapture…” I say, raising my head to face them, to face the world. “But they were real to me. And I keep my promises.

  “I remember everything.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I owe a huge amount of gratitude to my fearless and passionate editor, Melissa Frain; my publisher, Kathleen Doherty; assistant editors Zohra Ashpari and Amy Stapp; art director Seth Lerner; and everyone else at Tor Teen for giving me the freedom to create without limitations. I realise what a gift that is, and I thank you.

  My agent, Jaida Temperly, is a goddess. Thank you for your endless support and enthusiasm. I can’t imagine a better partner. Same goes for everyone at New Leaf Literary—you rock.

  To the amazing authors who offered their early support: Stephanie Kuehn, Kara Thomas, Jasmine Warga, Courtney Stevens, and Kelly Loy Gilbert, thank you! I’m such a fan of every single one of you. It means the world to me to have your names in my book.

  Thanks to Erin Morgenstern and Adam Scott for that pivotal road trip to Virgina—ghost hunting, caves, driving me all around Richmond searching for the perfect Tavish estate—you’re true partners in crime and art and food.

  Much love to Rebecca Behrens, Libba Bray, Danielle Paige, and Bess Cozby—I wrote much of this book in your presence.

  My pals: Gina Carey, Virginia Boecker, Melissa Gray, Heather Demitrios, Kate Scelsa, April Tuchholke, Alexis Bass, Veronica Rossi, Eric Smith, Jenn Marie Thorne, and Lee Kelly—love you guys.

  And to my family: Maddie, Rahm, John, Joyce, Cristie, Ed, Ragen, Evan, and Honeypie—may you never get trapped in a cave.

  ALSO BY KIM LIGGETT

  The Last Harvest

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  At sixteen, KIM LIGGETT left her rural Midwestern town for New York City, where she pursued a career in music. Along with lending her voice to hundreds of studio recordings, she was a backup singer for some of the biggest rock bands in the ’80s. Kim spends her free time studying tarot and scouring Manhattan for vials of rare perfume and the perfect egg-white cocktail. She is the author of Blood and Salt, Heart of Ash, and The Last Harvest (winner of the 2017 Bram Stoker Award).

  Visit her online at www.kimliggett.com, or sign up for email updates here.

  Twitter: @Kim_Liggett

  Thank you for buying this

  Tom Doherty Associates ebook.

  To receive special offers, bonus content,

  and info on new releases and other great reads,

  sign up for our newsletters.

  Or visit us online at

  us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup

  For email updates on the author, click here.

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Kim Liggett

  About the Author

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  THE UNFORTUNATES

  Copyright © 2018 by Kim Liggett

  All rights reserved.

  Cover art by Craig White

  A Tor Teen Book

  Published by Tom Doherty Associates

  175 Fifth Avenue

  New York, NY 10010

  www.tor-forge.com

  Tor® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC.

  The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

  ISBN 978-0-7653-8100-2 (hardcover)

  ISBN 978-1-4668-7631-6 (ebook)

  eISBN 9781466876316

  Our ebooks may be purchase
d in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at [email protected].

  First Edition: July 2018