“That is not true!” Penelope insists.

Domenica actually laughs. “Your country’s ‘war on drugs’ involves crop duster planes bombing Colombian coca and poppy farms with toxic chemicals that make people sick. They cause miscarriages. And they’re devastating to poor farmers, who don’t profit from the drug trade like cartels do.”

Penelope rolls her eyes and steps over a mud puddle. “There is no way—”

“And your CIA sponsors backdoor deals with one drug cartel to assassinate members of a rival cartel, to cripple the drug trade.”

“She’s right,” I say. My dad followed that story pretty closely when it broke, then he signed me up for another self-defense class. At the time, I thought he was being paranoid.

“Are you with us or them?” Holden demands through clenched teeth.

“There is no us or them,” I snap, annoyed when he takes up a position on Pen’s other side. “These terrorists don’t represent all of Colombia any more than we represent all of the US.”

“Well, the part they represent wants to blow up the part we represent,” Penelope insists, with a glance at Holden. “It should be pretty simple to decide which side you’re on.”

“None of it is simple.” Indiana steps up on my other side. “These guys don’t have the right to bomb the US just like the US doesn’t have the right to kill their crops and poison their people.”

“What they don’t have the right to do is make us pawns in their homicidal political statement,” Holden says, so softly I have to listen hard to hear him over the twigs crunching beneath my boots. “If Gen’s dad refuses to ship their bombs, they’ll start picking us off one by one to show him they’re serious. We have to get out of here before that happens.”

“And go where?” I whisper. “People who wander into the jungle unprepared usually don’t make it out.”

“We’ll take everything we can carry and head back to the base camp.” Holden’s pack gets caught as he climbs over a log on the trail, and Penelope reaches up to unhook him. “There’ll be another helicopter tomorrow, and we can report these psychos as soon as we’re out of here.”

“That’s the only way we’re going to get out alive, Gen,” my former best friend says.

Maybe so. But . . . I glance around to make sure none of our captors are close enough to hear. “Silvana gave my dad a twenty-four-hour deadline. If he gives in, she’ll get her plane, or ship, or whatever she’s asking for by tomorrow. A cargo plane is the worst-case scenario. Assuming we even make it to the base camp in time to catch the helicopter, if she asked for a plane, she could already have gotten her bombs into the US—or flown them into a building. It’s only a two-hour flight to Miami.”

“What are you saying?” my boyfriend demands.

“No one else knows about this, Holden.” I give them a moment to let that sink in. “There’s no one else to stop this terrorist attack. There’s only us.”

36.25 HOURS EARLIER

MADDIE

“Let’s round up everything we can carry.” I jog toward the abandoned tent city, fired up in spite of my exhaustion by the driving need to be on the move. “They have a six-hour head start.”

“Who?”

“Do you still have your cell phone?”

“Yeah.” Luke pulls it from his pocket. “The signal isn’t strong enough for a call, so I texted my mom but I can’t tell if it went through.”

My gaze falls on the small bunkhouse. “Surely there’s a radio.”

“They smashed it. This is all we have.” He pats the two-way radio now clipped to his belt.

“Tayrona’s a day’s hike to the east, right?”

“I don’t know.” Luke shrugs. “I lost track of our direction during the detour to the bunkhouse. If we start on the wrong heading, we could be lost in the jungle for days.”

“Okay.” I can’t afford to get lost. My insulin is almost gone. “And that helicopter that brings supplies for the soldiers comes every other day, right? So it won’t be back for at least twenty-three hours.”

“I think so.”

I brush dirt from my hands onto my pants, struggling to think now that the adrenaline boost is starting to wear off. “No one knows they’re missing, and there’s no one left to help them.”

“Who?” Luke shakes his head when my intention sinks in. “Maddie, we can’t go after them.”

I watch Moisés thrash on the ground like an angry caterpillar. Silvana and Sebastián and their men killed my brother and kidnapped my cousin. Sebastián used me in Cartagena. They have to pay for that. But I can’t drag Luke into any more danger. He wouldn’t even be out here, if not for me.

“You’re right. You should find somewhere to camp nearby until the next supply shipment comes. You can’t wait here. This is the first place they’ll look when Moisés doesn’t come back.” I duck into my brother’s tent in search of supplies. “Keep trying to get ahold of your parents. With any luck, I’ll be back before the helicopter gets here.”

“Maddie—”

I grab my brother’s spare clean shirt, and when Luke realizes I’m changing, his face flushes and he turns around.

Dressed, I say a silent apology to my brother, then I dump his pack on the floor of the tent to take inventory. My hand closes around a familiar shape in one of his backpack pockets, and I hold my breath as I pull out an insulin reservoir and clutch it like the life raft it is. Ryan saved the leftover insulin I usually throw out when I change my pump injection site. Just in case.

The cartridge is one-third full, and I still have a little left in my pump. That’s around thirty hours’ worth of insulin, at the rate my body typically uses it.

But my body doesn’t typically hike through the jungle three days in a row.

“You can’t take off into the jungle by yourself!” Luke plants himself in the tent opening, blocking my path. “And you can’t go up against armed kidnappers!”

So I slide the vial into my pocket before he can see it and borrow the partial-truth move from my cousin’s playbook. “Genesis has the rest of my insulin.”