12

Night falls early at Ollie’s campsite.

They arrive before the sky darkens, but only by a hair. Liv spends most of their hike alternating between being wilderness guide and substitute therapist, a role she seemed to loathe before her disappearance. She asks Aidan about his school friends and his difficulty fitting in. She asks Hannah about her siblings. She pries hard into Ollie’s relationship with his grandma, her life expectancy, how bad her death will hurt. It isn’t just Hannah that’s cagey with Liv, now, delicately dodging her most invasive questions. All three of them answer in as few words as possible. And the less they give her, the pushier Liv gets.

“We could probably keep hiking a bit,” Liv says when they finally settle at their next campsite. She scans the stretch of trees ahead, hands on her hips. “It’s not dark yet. Might be nice to get ahead.”

“We’re already a full day ahead,” Aidan says, sinking to a log. “I don’t think I can go much more.”

“Are you kidding?” Liv teases. She makes her way to Aidan, ruffling the sweaty mess of his hair. “I was on the brink of death a few days ago and I could keep going for hours. I bet you’d be fine.”

“I want a break, too,” Hannah says.

Ollie nods. “Same.”

Liv looks between the three of them and shakes her head. Resigned, she throws her backpack down and unzips it, digging through her things in a way that borders on violent. She unfolds her tarp, tosses out a few food packs, and throws a block of kindling to Hannah.

“Think you can handle the fire?” Liv asks.

Hannah eyes the kindling and nods.

With the extra food from Milestone 2, Ollie’s spoiled for dinner choices. He watches the trees behind them and, maybe pathetically, picks a packet of chicken stew. Devin’s favorite, and even though it does nothing to assure him she’s safe, it feels like something.

Hannah and Aidan slip into their tents early, and Ollie waits for Liv to join them. It’s his night on watch and he was supposed to finally have a few hours of peace and quiet. But as dark sets in, Liv sits on the log across from him, apparently uninterested in sleep. She’s quiet, eyes trained on Hannah’s and Aidan’s tents like she’s waiting until she’s sure they’re asleep to speak. After what feels like hours, she rests her elbow on her knee, head cocked slightly to the left. “You’re quiet, aren’t you?”

“Am I?” Ollie asks without looking up from the fire.

“Quiet,” Liv says again. “But not shy.”

“I thought Ethan was the therapy one,” Ollie muses, desperate to weasel out of whatever psych session Liv’s attempting to open. “You’re very into our personal lives these days.”

“Pfft.” Liv leans back, blond ponytail swishing. “I was interested in your lives, too. The whole time. I just tried to give Ethan space to do his thing.”

“Thanks.” Ollie laughs. “We really enjoyed that.”

“God, you’re funny, too. I’m trying to be serious here.” Despite her words, she doesn’t laugh, hardly even sounds amused. Her expression sobers. “I’m really impressed with you, Ollie. You’ve stepped up more than I ever expected. The other two really trust you. I just … this is the kind of stuff Ethan was so excited to see.”

Ollie looks down. He doesn’t actually want to think about Ethan. In fact, he hardly wants to think about what happened to Liv. He just wants to be alone, a feat that seems impossible now.

“You seem sad, Ollie,” Liv continues. “Sorry. Ethan knew how to ask without it being awkward.”

“No, he didn’t.” Ollie breathes.

Liv smiles at that. “We’re doing okay, aren’t we? We’re on the right path, we’ve got food and water and a map. If we don’t run into Devin and Sheridan before we get back, I’m sure a rescue team will find them.”

Ollie considers. Liv is right; objectively, things have gotten much better since she came back. The wrongness of it isn’t something he knows how to begin explaining. It’s bone-deep, nauseating, intangible.

He shrugs.

“Holding things inside is how you explode, Ollie,” Liv says. “Talk to me about what’s going on with you. Are you scared to go home?”

“What?” Ollie asks. “No.”

“I know things weren’t … great. You think it’ll be better when you get back? Hopefully your dad will be excited to see you.”

Ollie laughs, earning him a concerned face from Liv. He doesn’t want to get into it again. That’s what these weeks have been from the very start, the same story of him and his father on repeat. Don’t you love him? Doesn’t he love you? As if Ollie hasn’t asked himself the same questions a thousand times. He’s a wound opening again and again, not even given a chance to scar.

“Can you talk to me about it, Ollie?” Liv says. “I’m really worried.”

“About what?”

“About your dad.” Liv shifts. “Ethan and I wondered if there was anything … if you felt safe at home.”

“You think my dad hits me?”

“Does he?”

Normally, Ollie wouldn’t answer. He’d tell Liv to stay out of his business, or maybe he’d tell a joke, deflect the question back to her, slink away undetected. But there’s something about Liv’s voice now, the way her head tilts and her eyes darken. It’s like he’s sinking, like he’s just taken a long hit and the world is getting heavier. It’s like she pulled him in for a hug, even though she hasn’t moved.

“It’s not like that. I guess I’m just … everything here reminds me of him,” Ollie says finally, and the words feel barbed on their way up his throat. “Everything everyone says. Every time I get scared. I just think about stupid stuff I did at home and everything we said to each other. Every second I’ve been here, I just keep thinking about my dad.”

“What are you scared of?”

“I’m not scared.”

“Look at you,” Liv says, voice warm as the fire. “You’re shaking.”

When Ollie looks down, he realizes Liv is right. His hands quiver at his knees. He doesn’t remember feeling afraid like this, but suddenly, it’s all he feels. The not knowing what he’s scared of only deepens the fear.

“Wh-what if I can’t fix it?” Ollie asks. “What if I go home and I didn’t do good enough. And even though I’m back safe, I’m not … fixed?”

“Oh, Ollie.” Liv sighs. Her head tilts again, just slightly, and the fire turns her blue eyes gold. Her voice is heavier when she speaks again. “You won’t be fixed. If anything, all this stress will only make it worse.”

Ollie blinks. “What?”

Liv leans forward and a silvery chunk of hair slides over her shoulder. The warmth is still there, the empathy in her light eyes. Nothing has changed, but everything feels different. The sinking quickens and Ollie finds himself struggling to breathe. He should look at Hannah’s and Aidan’s tents to see if they’re awake, but he can’t bring himself to turn his head.

“I want to be honest with you,” Liv says. “So many adults think kids want to be babied. But you want someone to be honest with you, right?”

“What do you mean?”

His jaw is clenched too tight, voice syrupy and stuck in his throat. Liv smiles sweetly, a sharp contrast to her words. Ollie runs his knuckles over the dirt. It feels real, even if the rest of this doesn’t.

Something rustles in the bushes behind him.

“Tell me what kind of person your father wants you to be, Ollie,” Liv says. “When he sent you here, he wanted a specific version of you to come back. Tell me about that version.”

For a brief, glittering moment, Ollie thinks of the vague plans he had for his life after high school. Of the Ollie in his dreams and all the things he would get up to. The version of Ollie that would make his father proud is about as opposite of that dream as possible.

“He wants someone like him,” Ollie says. “Someone who has opinions, but only if they match his. He wants me to want to work hard and get good grades and make a lot of money. He just wants me to … want more. He doesn’t get the way I think.”

“Do you want to be the person your father is hoping for?” Liv asks. “I don’t see that for you. Obedient, driven, ambitious … That’s not you, is it?”

Ollie shakes his head.

“I didn’t think so,” Liv says. “Do you think your father deserves a son he actually wants?”

Ollie sucks in a breath. “What?”

“Do you think your father is a bad person?” Liv asks. “Do you think he deserves a son who will never amount to anything?”

The shrubs behind Ollie shift again. Something is happening to Liv’s voice, to the bushes, to Ollie’s head. His stomach churns. He grips the log under him for stability.

“I could amount to … something,” Ollie manages. Speaking is a strain. “Eventually.”

There’s something behind Ollie.

It’s lumbering. Slow. It isn’t a rustle in the bushes anymore. Its footsteps are heavy in the dirt, a wet breath hissing from an open mouth. It must be big, the way he feels its shadow blanket him. Firelight dances over Liv’s smile. She briefly looks up, gaze locking on the thing behind him, but she isn’t scared. She looks back at Ollie and her smile widens.

Ollie needs to look behind him, but he can’t. He can only look at Liv. He’s sinking so fast he can’t move. He can only hold on.

“Calm down,” Liv says. “Everything will be fine. Okay?”

Ollie nods.

“I want to help. Life has been really unfair to you. All this stuff got put on you and it changed you. It made you like this—lazy, uninspired, ambitionless. It’s so hard to come back from that. For some people, it’s impossible.”

Ollie’s mouth is dry and his throat is tight. Behind him, the thing takes another step. Twigs and leaves crack in its wake. It must only be a few feet from him now. If it’s the same bear that attacked Liv before, she isn’t scared of it now. She looks at it like she’s welcoming it. Like she’s been waiting for it.

“What’s happening to me?” Ollie stammers.

“You held it together this long because you wanted to be there for your grandma. You wanted life to be better when you turned eighteen…” Liv says slowly. She leans in. “Right? That’s been the plan?”

More branches crack behind him.

“The truth is, your grandma’s probably already dead,” Liv says calmly. “You probably won’t have the money to get a clean break from your dad. You’ll spend the rest of your life working as a shelf stocker at some chain store, no high school diploma to help you get ahead, asking your dad for money every few months until you accept you can’t afford to live on your own. And then you’ll be right back where you started.”

It’s like the ground caves under Ollie’s feet, and this time it’s so fast he loses his breath. Sounds turn inside out, silence pressing in. He can’t swallow the lump in his throat anymore. The only thing he can do is look at Liv’s eyes, blue and dim like a river on a stormy day. All he can do is soak up her every word. All he can imagine is himself thirty days from now, arriving home, boots streaking mud on the front step. He imagines prying open the door to an empty living room, dust and decay from his grandma’s final moments vacuumed away, the shag carpet clean for the first time in months. He imagines his life stretching before him, bleak and pointless. The version of himself he dreamed up was never real.

This is real.

A hand touches his shoulder, but Liv hasn’t moved.

“You already knew all this. These dreams you have, Ollie … they’re impossible. When they don’t happen, what will you do?”

“I…” Ollie starts, but his voice comes out sticky. “I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ll—”

“We all tried, Ollie.”

This voice isn’t Liv.

It comes from behind him, and whatever composure Ollie managed until now melts. It’s his father’s voice, hoarse and monotone. Ollie closes his eyes. He just needs to turn and look, but he can’t peel his eyes from Liv. His brain isn’t working right, his body isn’t working right.

“He can’t be here,” Ollie whispers.

“He’s here to take you home.” Liv beams. “Are you ready to leave?”

“I don’t understand.”

“There’s a way for everyone to win,” Liv explains. “A way for your father to get the son he wants without you having to do the work. Doesn’t that sound nice, Ollie?”

The hand on Ollie’s shoulder tightens.

“Would you like to become something new, Ollie?” his father’s voice mumbles behind him.

Ollie sucks in a breath and, mustering all the will he has, he tries to stand.

“It’s so hard out there, Ollie,” Coach Liv says. She takes Ollie by his shoulders, forcing him back down. “It’s so, so hard, and it’s not getting any better. If you become something new, it won’t be like that anymore. And if you say yes, you won’t need your body anymore.”

“Wh-what?” Ollie stammers. “My—”

“Don’t fight, Ollie.” Liv breathes. “Just listen.”

And then, two things happen at once.

Two figures crash into the campsite, faces blurry in the dark. Ollie inhales fast, like he’s spent the last several minutes with a fist around his throat. When the figures begin racing toward him, he sees them clearly. Devin and Sheridan, somehow, faces painted in fear. Before Ollie can fully register what’s happening, Devin yells, “Ollie, move!”

Liv’s face twists. She reaches for him.

Ollie turns to look at the thing behind him.

Creature is the only word he can conjure up for it. Most of its body looks human—looks like Ollie’s father, in fact—his company zip-up tight across his broad chest, weathered jeans too loose at his waist. But the space where his father’s head should be is empty. Sparks from the fire flicker in the dark above the thing’s neck and Ollie’s brain shuts down.

Then, he screams.

“Get up, Ollie!” Devin screams. “It’s gonna—”

The creature’s hand closes over Ollie’s shoulder again, jolting him to life. He wrests himself from the thing’s grip, tumbling to his hands and knees. Behind him, tarps crinkle as Aidan and Hannah wake. Chaos erupts and Ollie knows he needs to get up and fight. He needs to get his bearings straight. He needs to breathe.

He crawls along the camp’s edge and details of the scene start to register. The thing that grabbed him isn’t actually headless. Its neck is rubbery, head hanging from the fleshy end like elastic attached to a marble. Its face is almost identical to Ollie’s father’s, swinging as it moves. Its eyes are too big, bloodshot and dark from hanging upside down. It swings sideways to get another look at Ollie and its voice is too familiar. So achingly familiar Ollie wants to be sick.

“Don’t run,” it says in his father’s voice.

“Get away from me,” Ollie cries.

At the campfire, Liv turns to face Devin and Sheridan, face entirely blank. In an instant, she warps into terror, pointing at the twisted illusion of Ollie’s father. “Oh my god,” she cries. “What is that?”

Devin freezes, eyes flitting from Liv to Ollie. Sheridan stands behind her and her fear is different. She grips Devin’s sleeve like she might float away if she lets go. Her eyes are glued to the creature, knuckles white.

“Don’t listen to her,” Ollie finally manages, words stumbling back to him. “She was … trying to do something to me. She knows what this thing is.”

Hands touch Ollie’s back. Hannah and Aidan crouch beside him and, like a veil being lifted, the night begins to clear. The firelight on the trees sharpens. He leans into Hannah and Aidan, gasping for breath as the panic runs him through. Everything stills.

Then Devin lunges for Liv.

Ollie loses most of the details. Devin and Liv grapple on the forest floor, Devin’s fist coming down on Liv in a blur. The creature’s shape warps, the outline of Ollie’s father disappearing, melting into something else. It’s dizzying to watch, the creature’s movement so disorienting Ollie has to close his eyes. Its limbs rise like it’s shrugging on a jacket, and then it’s someone else. Another man, this time in a dress shirt and jeans, black hair buzzed close to its skull, its face gaunt and nearly skeletal.

“Devin,” the creature says. “Stop.”

Devin freezes, and in the moment she hesitates, Liv kicks her to the ground, wrapping her hands around her neck.

Ollie dives for the creature in the same moment Sheridan grabs Liv’s shoulders. Liv reaches for a knife at her belt, but Sheridan’s grip miraculously slows her. Liv spins Sheridan over her back, slamming her head to the earth. They become a mess of fists and elbows and knees, punctuated somewhere by a blade. The dark makes it impossible to see.

Something collides with Ollie’s cheek, pinging off his face to slice his shoulder. He catches a glimpse of Liv’s knife meeting Devin’s brow. The fire is dangerously hot at Ollie’s side, but rolling away from the flame means losing sight of Liv and the creature completely. Ollie is sure he hears Aidan’s voice in the fray.

He looks for Hannah.

She stands at the edge of camp. When her eyes meet Ollie’s, it’s like she comes to life. She grabs a fistful of something and dashes to the campfire. In a moment that stretches for hours, Hannah dips a bundle of sticks into the fire. She waits for it to catch, sucks in a breath, and tosses it into the fray.

And then the impossible happens.

Immediately, the fire swallows Coach Liv and the creature whole. Ollie rolls away, wincing at the lick of fire on his arms. Devin and Sheridan seem to do the same, Sheridan narrowly missing the fire completely.

Almost instantly, Liv and the creature are coated in flame before they’re both reduced to ash on the forest floor. Ollie topples to the dirt in a tangle of limbs and wounds, gasping for air. He rolls onto his back, pressing his hand to his chest, and he watches the treetops spin. He thinks he hears Devin ask what happened, thinks he hears Aidan retch, but it’s like his ears are filled with cotton.

A hand touches Ollie’s face and the night fades away.