Read Online Departure by A. G. Riddle - Free Book Online

but in my mind, I’m going through the questions I want to ask him. Namely, what he does for a living. Ah, who am I kidding? I want to ask some roundabout question that gets at the real money shot: Is there a woman in Nick Stone’s life? A little lady waiting at home. A Mrs. Nick Stone. A soulless, way-too-skinny, fashion-victim, fake-as-Santa girlfriend. That’s unfair. My leg hurts. Excuses . . .
    At the fire, we settle in and watch the sun set over the lake. As it slips below the horizon, I start my interrogation—nonchalant, of course.
    â€œWhere you from, Nick?”
    â€œAll over. You?”
    â€œI grew up in a small town in England, but I live in London now.”
    â€œThis feel like England to you?” He motions to the lake and forest around us.
    â€œYeah, a bit.”
    â€œYeah, to me, too.” He slumps over, pulling the blanket up to his chin. “I’m beat, Harper. See you in the morning.”
    He’s asleep in seconds. I can’t help remembering Grayson Shaw’s last words to me. Tell your boyfriend to sleep with one eye open, Harper.
    I settle in between him and the fire and stare up at the stars. Sleep won’t come tonight. I’ve slept too much today already, but that’s not really it. Truth be told, it’s been a long time since I’ve slept next to someone I fancied as much as Nick Stone.

CHAPTER TEN
Nick
    I EXPECTED TO WAKE UP TO HELICOPTERS, FLASHING lights, and waves of English first responders saying things like “Are you all right there?” and “Let’s have a look at you now.”
    No such luck. The muddy beach by the blue-green lake looks exactly as it did last night: rings of people around a dying fire, wrapped up in navy blankets. Only a few are stirring, mumbling groggily to each other.
    I get to my knees and lean over Harper, who’s curled toward the fire, sound asleep. I wouldn’t wake her for all the tea in China.
    As I survey the camp, watching the survivors of Flight 305 wake to another day, two simple facts strike me: It’s been over thirty-six hours since we crashed. And someone should have been here by now.
    AT THE NOSE SECTION, IT feels like déjà vu. Again there’s an angry mob, the second to mass here in as many days. Grayson Shaw is here, too, but at least he’s not center stage this time. He’s sitting at the back,looking hungover and haggard. He must have finally run out of alcohol. But that could actually make him more dangerous.
    The food in the nose section ran out last night, when I was too tired to notice. The crowd’s muttering about people hoarding food, calling for searches of the camp and redistribution. “I’d kill a man for a Diet Coke right now,” I hear a skinny man in a rumpled suit say. I’ll look up Coke stock if I live through this.
    Jillian’s taking the brunt of the crowd’s ire. They’re chewing her out like this is simply a disruption to normal in-flight service. The truth is, she’s just another survivor now, but the uniform she’s wearing pegs her as the person who hands out food. She looks relieved to see me.
    â€œHelp,” she says, lunging for me and clamping both hands around my arm, pulling me up to stand beside her at the bottom of the makeshift stairway as she faces the crowd.
    Bob Ward and Sabrina are here, too. Their faces are solemn, but they nod, encouraging me.
    The crowd quiets, people nudging each other and whispering.
    That’s him.
    Yeah, the guy from the lake.
    â€œAll right,” I say. “We’re going to get some food, but it’ll take some time.”
    â€œWe need something now!” a woman in a mud-stained sweater shouts.
    â€œThere isn’t anything right now, okay? Look, we have to work together here. If we work together, we’ll all eat—otherwise, we could all starve.”
    The word starve is a mistake. The crowd picks it up, and it echoes from person to