By all accounts, it doesn’t make sense.
Ollie wakes on the morning of their twentieth day in the woods and tries to do the math. When they found Coach Liv, she was on the brink of death. They were already at least a day behind on the milestone path. If they were meant to reach a milestone every ten days, they should’ve wound up at the second milestone on their twenty-first day at the very earliest. With the severity of Liv’s injuries, they should’ve fallen even further behind. And yet, as dark set in last night, Liv stopped, motioned to a large oak, and declared, That’s milestone number two.
Even after they set up camp and make dinner, Ollie can’t stop thinking about it. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense.
The days since they found Liv have been odd in more ways than that. True to her word, Liv knows these woods like the back of her hand. She navigates with ease, sometimes cutting across patches of the forest without a trail, slinking between rocks and through moss-bedded ravines. She recovers from her injuries fast and, within a day of crash-landing in their campsite, hikes like there’s nothing wrong.
Ollie tries to convince himself it’s a good thing.
It’s a good thing she’s better. It’s a good thing she’s back. It’s a good thing they’ve made it to the second milestone a full forty-eight hours early.
When Ollie finally crawls out of his tent, he’s the last one awake. Hannah and Aidan sit at the fire, Hannah gnawing at a thin piece of jerky while Aidan pokes the logs with a stick. A few feet from the campfire, Liv stands at the base of the impressively large oak with her hands on her hips. The gouges that ran the length of her arms a few days ago are nearly gone.
“Morning,” Hannah says softly. “You slept okay?”
“Like a baby,” Ollie says, voice warping into a yawn. “How long have you guys been up?”
“Only like thirty minutes,” Aidan says.
Hannah says nothing. She casts a glance at Liv, then looks down.
Ollie expected Hannah’s hang-ups about Liv to get better over time, but it’s been the opposite. The faster Liv recovers, the more she leads them through these woods at a blistering pace, the deeper Hannah’s doubt grows. As much as Ollie wants to convince her she’s wrong, he can’t shake the feeling that something is off.
But if Liv is lying, he can’t figure out what the truth is.
“So,” Liv says, turning to face the fire. “Originally, we thought this would be a good exercise in communication. We’ve got, uh…”
She gestures up the length of the tree.
“… there’s a sack of food up there. We’ve got a pulley system, but I think it’s busted.”
“So even if nothing had happened to you guys, we wouldn’t have been able to get up?” Ollie asks.
“Oh, I’m sure we would’ve figured something out.” Liv brushes a loose strand of hair from her brow with an unrealistically bright smile. “We’re still getting that food. Now that you’re all awake, let’s get moving.”
Liv directs Ollie to one side of the tree and directs Hannah to the other. Then she hesitates, scowls, and ushers Hannah away, moving Aidan into her place. Ropes hang from branches too high up to see. Liv slides into a harness, fastens it, and hooks the hanging ropes to her hips. She stretches her arms and gives Ollie a quick nod.
“I should be okay without much help, but just make sure you’re holding the ropes in case I slip. Hannah, watch the fire and make sure no one is coming our way.”
“No one?” Hannah asks, nudging a log farther into the flames. “If there are people out here, wouldn’t we want them to find us?”
Liv ignores her, turning back to Ollie. Wisps of hair stick to her brow, sprung loose from her ponytail. Up close, Ollie can see that the scratches on her cheeks and neck are gone entirely. She tugs once on her ropes, then grips the trunk of the oak, hoisting herself up.
Ollie goes silent, watching in awe as Liv easily scales the tree. He grips the rope, but it doesn’t make a difference. He isn’t even vaguely helping, and glancing across the tree, it’s clear Aidan isn’t, either. Ollie feels the prickling of Hannah’s stare at the back of his neck, but he doesn’t look at her.
Because he knows. He knows it doesn’t make sense.
Aidan smiles. “This is good. More food, and I actually got the fire on the first try last night. Maybe I should teach you guys how to make them, too.”
“Maybe,” Ollie says, and if his arms were a little longer, he’d pat Aidan on the back. The fire did last through the night. Aidan may not remember much from his Boy Scout days, but what he does remember is saving their asses.
Once Liv has climbed high enough to vanish from sight, Hannah stands. She joins Ollie, watching Liv, hands clenched into fists. Without thinking, Ollie puts a hand on her shoulder.
“Aren’t you supposed to be holding the rope?” Hannah asks, but she doesn’t pull away. “Wouldn’t want to drop her.”
“What are you thinking?” Ollie asks.
Hannah glances at Aidan, then at Ollie again. Under her breath, she says, “I’m thinking something’s wrong.”
“I know.”
“You got me down there?” Liv calls, voice muffled by the rustling leaves. “I’m about halfway. Shouldn’t be much longer.”
“Halfway…” Hannah trails off.
“She got better really fast,” Aidan says earnestly. “We could’ve been way more behind. I think that’s amazing.”
Hannah fixes Ollie with another look.
“Yeah,” Ollie says. “Amazing.”
Behind them, there’s a rustle in the leaves.
Ollie, Aidan, and Hannah all turn together. On the other side of the fire, just at the edge of their makeshift camp, a deer freezes midstep. A perfectly round spot of white is stamped over the deer’s left eye. Its sandy ears twitch, eyes deep and dark, and its wide nose scrunches at the sight of them. It doesn’t run.
“Quick,” Aidan hisses. “Get the spear.”
Ollie’s eyes find the spear leaning against his tarp, halfway between him and the deer. He doubts he has the grace to reach it before the deer runs. It lowers its head, nibbling at a tuft of grass.
“I don’t know…” Ollie trails.
“We need food,” Aidan says.
Ollie takes a step toward the spear, but Hannah grabs his wrist. She looks him hard in the eyes. “We shouldn’t kill it.”
“What?” Aidan whispers. “Why?”
“Because we’re thirty seconds from getting food,” Hannah says. “And because … I don’t know. Look at its eye. I feel like it’s good luck.”
Ollie swallows hard. The deer lifts its head again, blinking like it’s waiting for him to make the decision. Even if he kills the deer, he has no idea how to skin it, cook it, or actually use it. He’s willing to do a lot of things out here to survive, but wasting the only animal they’ve seen in weeks is not one of them. The leaves around the deer shift and rustle and the deer doesn’t move. Ollie focuses on the place where Hannah’s hand closes around his wrist.
From above them, Liv calls, “Coming down!”
The noise is enough to startle the deer. Its head snaps up and it bolts away.
Ollie exhales.
They carefully ease Liv to the ground with the ropes. Once she hits the ground, though, her expression is different. She shoves the burlap sack of food against Ollie’s chest, barrels past Hannah, and scoops up her water bladder. In one motion, she uncaps the water bladder and dumps it over what’s left of Aidan’s fire.
“My fire…” Aidan gasps.
“I saw smoke.” Liv breathes. “From the top of the tree, I saw smoke from another campfire. We need to keep moving.”
“What?” Ollie asks. “There’s another campfire? What if it’s Devin and Sheridan?”
“I doubt it,” Liv says. “If they went the route you said, there’s no way it’s them.”
Hannah looks at Ollie, sunlight turning her eyes to agate. Evenly, she asks, “Why wouldn’t we want to run into other people out here?”
“Because it’s dangerous,” Liv says. “We don’t know what they want.”
“They could have a phone,” Ollie says.
“Or supplies,” Hannah adds.
Liv looks at Hannah, then at Ollie. Her smile melts into a scowl. Out of options, she spins to Aidan. “Are you gonna fight me on this, too?”
Aidan’s sunburnt cheeks drain of color. His eyes are wide through the crack in his lenses. Ollie wants to tell him he doesn’t need to answer. It’s not fair to force him to decide.
The battle between his need for guidance and his loyalty rages in his expression. Finally, he sighs. “What if the people at the campfire … have something to do with all this?” he says to Ollie and Hannah. “They could be dangerous.”
“Thank you.” Liv sighs. “Let’s pack up and get moving.”
“That’s only two votes,” Hannah insists. “We’re tied.”
“I don’t remember saying this was a vote,” Liv says coolly. “If so, I’m an adult. My vote counts as two.”
“But—”
Liv steps forward, stopping only inches from Hannah’s face. She’s a full head taller than Hannah, the sharp angles of her face are cruel in the direct light. “I don’t know why you feel the need to fight me on every single thing, but try to remember I’m the adult here. I’m in charge of your safety. I’m making an executive decision. Are you with us, or are you staying behind?”
“Staying behind?” Ollie asks. “You wouldn’t … leave someone, right?”
“Not if I can help it, Ollie,” Liv says. “Hannah, you’re not gonna make me leave someone, are you?”
Hannah holds Liv’s gaze for a long, silent moment. Her jaw clenches, fists tightening at her sides. For a second, Ollie thinks Hannah might hit her. Then, she relaxes, gaze falling to her feet. “No. I’ll go.”
Liv puts a hand on Hannah’s shoulder and pulls her into an uncomfortable hug. “Okay. You guys pack up. I need to go refill my water, then we can get moving.”
She releases Hannah and walks into the trees, blond ponytail swinging at her back. The thick foliage parts around her, swallowing her whole. The moment she disappears, Aidan clears his throat.
“Can someone get one of the paper food packets from last night?” Aidan says softly. “And a marker?”
Ollie fishes through the ashes in the spent fire, plucking out an untouched chunk of paper. Hannah grabs her backpack and pulls out a black marker.
Quickly, with his eyes trained on the trees, Aidan writes, If you’re reading this, send help. He wedges the paper under a rock near the fire and briefly closes his eyes. Without a word, Hannah, Aidan, and Ollie nod to each other. Because whatever Coach Liv is afraid of, she won’t say. Whatever she thinks is coming, she doesn’t want anyone else to know about. Only a few days ago, Ollie thought Liv wandering into their campsite was a miracle.
Now, he knows Hannah was right. Whatever brought Liv back to them, they’re in more danger than before.
The way down the mountain is easier than the way up. Sheridan leads them along the scraggly mountainside and Devin follows in quiet compliance. She’s been good these last few days, just like she promised, following Sheridan and keeping her comments to herself.
Without all the arguments, the little details of Sheridan begin to bleed through. At first, Sheridan mentions that she loves playing horror video games. She tells Devin about her massive tabby cat named Totoro. Later, she tells Devin that she hasn’t spoken to her closest friends outside of school in months. That she has no idea if they’re still friends or if she’s been completely forgotten. She tells Devin that her house is a big, ugly mansion and that she only sees her parents once a week when they’re staging an intervention. She tells Devin that she’s been cycled through dozens of counseling programs, and each time, her parents are devastated to find that she’s unchanged. She’ll be a senior at a private school somewhere in Seattle, and to her teachers’ dismay, she has no college plans and no goals.
Bit by bit, Devin’s picture of Sheridan transforms, clarifies, unblurs. She isn’t the popular, merciless girl leading a pack of bullies that Devin imagined the first week of this program. She’s a lonely girl locked in her house, slowly wasting away. Sheridan isn’t a girl Devin imagines she’ll ever like, but now she’s at least a girl Devin can understand.
They follow a weathered hiking trail down the mountain, and today, they follow something real. A thin wisp of smoke just breaks the tree line at the base of the mountain, the first they’ve seen since the group split up over a week ago. Which means one very important thing: there are people at the bottom of this mountain. If Sheridan’s map skills are as accurate as she claims, it’s the rest of their group approaching their twentieth campsite.
And if she’s wrong, it’s strangers.
Strangers could mean rescue.
When they arrive at the campsite, though, they’re too late. A massive oak takes up a majority of the clearing, wide-trunked and imposing. The campfire still glows and a handful of logs are pushed to its edges, but any campers are long gone.
“Damn,” Devin says. “We missed them.”
Sheridan collapses onto one of the logs, leaning on her knees to catch her breath. Wisps of her hair stick to her face, brow glistening with sweat. Breathily, she says, “Look at you. That’s a very rational reaction.”
Devin turns. “What did you think I was gonna do?”
“I don’t know.” Sheridan shrugs. “Last time we got somewhere and it wasn’t what you expected, you flipped.”
“I’m working on that, okay?”
Sheridan plucks a stick from the dirt and pokes at a dead leaf half-buried in the soil. She chews on her words for a long time before she finally speaks. “He shouldn’t have said that where I could hear it. Just so you know.”
“Who?”
“Ethan.”
A cool breeze skirts over the exposed back of Devin’s neck and she sighs. “I mean, he wasn’t wrong. He’s just an asshole. Or was. I don’t know.”
“Legally, he literally was not supposed to say anything about your issues to me,” Sheridan says. “I’m not that surprised he did, though. I doubt there’s anything legal going on here.”
“Really?” Devin laughs. “You’re a lawyer now?”
“Not a lawyer, just very used to these things. Unfortunately.” Sheridan tenderly massages her ankle. Bruises pepper the insides of her shins from where her boots have knocked against skin. Through a wince, she says, “He and Liv both refused to show me their credentials. Within the first few days I counted, like, fifty HIPAA violations.”
“What’s HIPAA?”
Sheridan eyes her, and Devin could almost mistake her expression for sympathy. “It’s laws about things you share about people. Medically. But these guys don’t seem to care. I thought my parents would’ve been pickier. This group is mostly rich white kids, so I figured they’d be more by-the-book. Most of our parents have lawsuit money.”
“Except me.”
“I said most.”
Devin scoffs. “How do you know so much about all of this?”
“I spend a lot of time in ‘programs,’” Sheridan says with a dismissive hand wave. “If you’re bad enough, the whole system decides to fix you.”
“Huh.” Devin sits on a log opposite Sheridan and pops her neck. “I’ve been in trouble a thousand times and I didn’t know any of this. I don’t know if we’re talking about the same system.”
Devin uncaps her water bladder and pours the liquid down her throat. She doesn’t miss the way Sheridan watches her with wide eyes. It’s a strange look, not anger or amusement or any of the others Devin’s gotten used to. It’s almost … fascination.
“You wanna talk about it? I wouldn’t make any jokes,” Sheridan says, surprisingly soft.
“Why would I do that?” Devin muses, taking another swig of water.
“I don’t know,” Sheridan says. “Just trying to break up the quiet. It’s not like we have anything else to talk about.”
Devin shrugs. She massages a sore muscle in her shoulder. Talking about it means she’d have to understand what happened. And even though it’s been almost a month and even though she’s sat in a dozen counselor meetings about it and even though she read the letter from the school, she doesn’t fully understand it. But if Sheridan could muster up the will to share what she was going through, Devin can at least try returning the favor. She closes her eyes, focusing on the warm spots where the sun soaks into her dirt-stained shins, and she starts talking.
“If you’re specifically asking about the last fight, I don’t really know. It feels small now.”
“I don’t think it was that small if you ended up here.”
“Not small like that,” Devin says. “More like … okay, there was this girl, Danielle. I had her in a few classes. We talked two or three times, but I didn’t know her. She had a group of super pretty, super rich friends. For some reason, they were always whispering about me. From the first day I transferred in. Danielle would look at me and say stuff to her friends and they would laugh like it was the funniest shit they’d ever heard.”
Sheridan props her chin against her knees. If Devin were an idiot, she might believe she was actually listening, not just gaining ammo for later.
“I was just minding my business and I saw them doing it again. Whispering and pointing. Laughing.” Devin inhales. Even now, it feels hazy, the details that built up to it. They crumble at the slightest touch. “I went up to them and told them to stop talking about me. I might’ve said I’d come to their houses if they didn’t … which I think is what got this whole thing on the radar.”
“You’re sure she wasn’t just into you?” Sheridan asks.
Devin blinks. “What?”
“Never mind.”
Devin waits for Sheridan’s joke to make sense. When it doesn’t, she keeps talking. “Anyway, a few weeks later, these guys found me after school and said Danielle was reporting me to CPS. Or her parents were gonna talk to my case worker. I … don’t actually remember.”
Sheridan arches a brow. Devin’s cheeks burn because it should feel clearer than this. She should remember exactly what Danielle said, should remember hearing her say it. But all the buildup slips away and the only thing she can remember for sure is the moment it ended. She presses her fist into her palm.
“Everyone was saying it. Danielle is getting you kicked out of school. And, I don’t know, I’d gotten kicked out of so many schools. I’d barely started at this one. I already found out I wasn’t graduating. I was just so mad at her for making up her mind about me when she didn’t even know me.” Devin looks down. “After school, I went out to the parking lot and found her by her car. And I…”
Sheridan’s posture straightens. “I’m not trying to make you—”
“It’s not painful,” Devin hisses. “It’s just humiliating.”
“Oh.”
“I didn’t even say anything to her. I just hit her. And I kept hitting her.” Devin clenches her fists, the memory of her knuckles meeting skin still soft like a phantom touch. “She didn’t even fight back.”
“Jesus.”
“I didn’t even think it would stop her,” Devin says. “It’s like … sometimes I feel like no one actually cares if something bad happens to me. Or if they ruin my life. It’s so easy to get rid of me.”
Sheridan’s face does something strange at that. Her lips pinch into a small, crooked frown. Devin grasps for the right words, because it was never just the fights. It was never just the principal’s office or the detentions or the guidance counselors. People were hurting her long before that, smashing it down where no one would see, counting on the fact that it’s easy to sweep her away when she gets inconvenient. Maybe it’s foolish to fight back, but if she can make it just a little more inconvenient for them, that’s something.
“I don’t think that’s embarrassing,” Sheridan says.
“That wasn’t the embarrassing part,” Devin says, face burning. “The embarrassing part was looking up and realizing the entire school was filming.”
“… Oh.”
“They told me later there were all these posts saying to be in the parking lot after school. Everyone already knew I’d do it. They wanted me to. They, uh … they said all that stuff to me on purpose. Because they wanted me to freak out. God, it feels so stupid.”
“That’s pretty bad,” Sheridan says, sweeping her hair over her shoulder. “Those people don’t care about you, though. They’ll forget.”
Devin chews the inside of her cheek. The bluntness of Sheridan’s words would’ve set her off even a week ago. It’s the same way she spoke to Hannah about her father. But now it feels … honest. Genuine. Normally, Devin would tamp down what she wants to say next. But the sun is light and cool and Sheridan is strangely tolerable today. Devin closes her eyes and says, “When I first met you, you reminded me of them. The Danielles of the world.”
“What?” Sheridan laughs. “Innocent victims?”
“Don’t push it,” Devin says, and it’s friendlier than she expects. “You are an asshole. But I guess I jump to conclusions about people sometimes. And I … do things before I think about them. I shouldn’t have hit you.”
“Are you apologizing?”
Devin groans. “Yes. I am apologizing to you.”
“Apology accepted. It was a good punch, honestly. I’d never actually been hit before.” Sheridan smiles, and it isn’t her usual crooked, smug smile. This smile is easy and natural. It catches Devin off guard. “I’ve never really been like that. It was more Theda’s crowd than mine.”
“Theda?”
“My twin.”
Devin snorts. “There’s two of you?”
“There were.”
“Oh.” The temperature in the clearing plummets. Devin searches for words. The way Sheridan says it is too casual. Her expression doesn’t change at all. The words feel gummy in Devin’s mouth. “I, uh … I’m sorry?”
“Wow, I should not have said it like that,” Sheridan says, staring at her own kneecaps. “I’m just … I’m not used to talking about her with people who didn’t already know. Yes, I used to have a twin sister.”
“Can I … ask what happened?”
Devin doesn’t know why she’s asking. She doesn’t know why she’s sharing so much, and she doesn’t know why Sheridan is giving so much back. They sit across the campfire from each other and the distance is shrinking, sinking away in the quiet.
Sheridan’s expression darkens. “Yeah, well … she had a really hard time with things. With everything. She just felt everything so much all the time. When she was happy, she was really happy. And when she was sad, she was really, really sad.”
“Oh,” Devin says.
“She did it our sophomore year of high school,” Sheridan says, and there’s a haunting finality in her voice. “It’s been about two years?”
Devin swallows. “I’m sorry.”
“Obviously I miss her. After it happens, you walk around the world feeling like half a person for a while. Everything I used to go to her for, I was suddenly doing it alone. And I did not … handle that very well.”
Devin almost says I’m glad you’re here, but it’s stale. She isn’t glad Sheridan’s here—in fact, she’s certain she’d be a thousand times less stressed without her. And she doesn’t care what Sheridan thinks of her, but she wants to say this right. A few seconds pass and the tightness in the air fades. Devin looks down, suddenly very sure it’s too late to say anything at all.
Sheridan slaps her knee. “We should check the area. Make sure they didn’t leave anything behind.”
“Right.” Devin motions vaguely to the stretch of trees beyond the campfire. “I’ll check over there and you go the other way. And we’ll just, I don’t know, yell if we see anything?”
“Sure.”
Devin moves past the campfire, deeper into the trees. She tries to imagine Ollie here, tries to picture this campsite the way he would have. If Sheridan is as good with maps as she says, Ollie’s group shouldn’t have been here yet. Either they’re moving much faster than they should be, or someone else used this camp. Devin trudges through the brush along the forest floor, but nothing stands out. The woods stretch on for miles, uninterrupted and all-consuming.
A breeze snakes down the ridge behind her, faintly whistling from between the trees. Devin’s hair ripples at the side of her face. She’s sure she hears a familiar voice tucked into the wind, a whisper tight against her ear.
Bedtime.
Her blood runs cold.
“What did you say?” Devin asks.
But Sheridan isn’t behind her. No one is. The trees close in and the wind is cool and there’s no one in sight. Devin’s heart races so fast she thinks she might black out. It’s been years since she’s heard that word. It’s been years since she heard that voice. She closes her eyes to keep from feeling incredibly, pathetically small all over again.
“Who was that?” she calls.
Something shuffles in the trees above her. Devin looks up just in time to see a cluster of branches swinging, as though a squirrel just darted between them. She steps back, squinting to see more clearly, but there’s only green and brown and blue sky leaking between. The sweat at the nape of Devin’s neck is icy.
She opens her mouth to call out again, but a voice far to her left interrupts her.
“Devin?” Sheridan calls. “Can you come here?”
Devin casts another look up at the trees, but there’s nothing. She makes her way to Sheridan because she’s sure it was just the wind. It’s the stress of the situation and the exhaustion catching up to her, putting words in her head that she’s spent years trying to scrub out. It’s the same reason she dreamed about him. Fear and stress.
But no matter how much she tries to rationalize it, her heart races and her skin feels cold. She swallows, but she can’t get the moisture from her mouth.
Sheridan stands alone, shoulders slumped. When Devin makes it to her, she gasps. A deer carcass lies in the grass, its stomach a mess of blood and viscera, bowels spilled from a tear in its belly. Its glassy eyes are open, legs splayed like it meant to run. A circle of white fur rings one of its eyes.
“Jesus,” Devin manages.
“I know.” Sheridan puts a hand on her hip. “I just found it. Do you think it was a bear?”
“I hope not,” Devin says, though she’s not sure what the better option would be. “Maybe Ollie’s group … hunted it?”
“Then gutted it and left it behind?”
Devin grimaces. Sheridan is right, a sentiment she’s felt uncomfortably often these past few days. The other group wouldn’t have torn the deer apart, wouldn’t have left so much of its meat behind. Even after Sheridan’s meal-stealing, they wouldn’t be this desperate for food yet.
“The only problem with the bear thing,” Devin says, eyes scanning the trees, “is this is the first animal I’ve seen in days.”
They make their way back to the campfire, lacing their boots for the rest of the hike. The atmosphere feels different now, tense in a way that makes her stomach churn. Devin looks at the campfire to avoid looking at Sheridan and a discolored bit of dirt catches her eye. She narrows her eyes, leaning down to brush the dirt away.
Under a layer of soil, the corner of a paper packet pokes Devin’s finger.
“What’s that?” Sheridan asks.
Devin pulls the packet from the dirt. She meets Sheridan’s gaze and swallows. In thick black Sharpie, someone’s written a message.
If you’re reading this, send help.