Free The Last Place on Earth by Carol Snow

can you be so sure it’s him?” Peter asked. “It could be anyone. Or even a wrong number.”
    â€œBecause he’s telling me to hurry. Just like he left me that note saying ‘Save me.’ It’s him. I know it.”
    â€œIf you really think he’s in trouble, we should call the police,” Peter said.
    â€œNo. Henry would have called them himself if he wanted their help.” I stared out the window as the brown, flat landscape whizzed by. “If only we knew where he was. I feel like these numbers are some kind of puzzle that only I can solve.”
    â€œLet me see the numbers,” Peter said.
    â€œI already told you what they were.”
    â€œYeah, but I need to see them.” He looked away from the road and over at me.
    â€œYou’re driving!”
    â€œWould you just—”
    â€œFine.” I held up the message and let him look at the text for a full second before taking the phone away. “Like you’re going to be able to figure out this math problem—or whatever it is—just like that.”
    â€œThey’re coordinates.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œLatitude and longitude. He’s telling you where he is.”
    â€œOh my gosh, you’re right! But … how did you know that?”
    His smile was small but smug. “Video games. It’s amazing how much you can learn from them.”
    Now that I knew what the numbers were, the message made sense, at least sort of. But I still didn’t understand why Henry had left in the first place. What kind of trouble were the Hawkings in?
    *   *   *
    At home, I raced to my computer. A quick search on the phone number only told me that it was an Orange County mobile: not very helpful. I dialed the number again and got automated voice mail.
    It was easy to find a website that matched latitude and longitude coordinates to a location. I typed in the numbers, not really sure what to expect, and hit return. In response, the website connected me to Google Maps and a spot deep in the Santa Ynez Mountains.
    Baffled, I stared at the dark green image, trying to figure out how we would possibly get there without a helicopter. Or a Sherpa. But zooming in, in, and more in revealed a narrow, twisty, possibly unpaved road. No problem for an Expedition, but Mom’s Civic wasn’t going to like this.
    â€œWhat time you want to leave in the morning?” Peter asked, looking over my shoulder.
    â€œWhy wait? Let’s go now.”
    â€œNo way,” Peter said. “This place is going to be hard enough to find in daylight.”
    He was right. It was already almost dinnertime (frozen burritos were in my future), and even the easy part of the drive—if you can call getting through LA, up the coast, and into the forest easy—was going to take us a good three hours. Maybe more.
    â€œSix a.m.?” I suggested.
    Peter scratched his stubble. “Let’s say nine.”
    â€œFine.” No point arguing. If we got out of here before eleven, it would be a miracle.
    *   *   *
    The next morning, I got up, showered, and dug through my closet for the kind of thing I’d wear if I ever went camping. In the end, I went with cutoff denim shorts, hot-pink sneakers that only clashed with my hair a little bit, and a My Little Pony T-shirt with the sleeves chopped off.
    We left at ten thirty and even remembered to lock the doors since it could be dark before we got back. At my request, Peter drove to Henry’s house. This time, we didn’t bother leaving the car at the pond but instead parked right in the driveway. While Peter waited in the car, I punched in the security codes and slipped into the house. If anyone asked, I’d say I was housesitting. But really, who was going to ask?
    I raced up the stairs to Henry’s room, where the SAVE ME note still lay on the desk. But I wasn’t there for the note. Instead, I got down on my