Until yesterday, Devin didn’t think a worse combination than she and Sheridan existed. Between the fighting, collapsing, and general emotional turmoil, it’s a miracle they didn’t kill each other the first time they split off. In a way, Devin thought introducing Aidan to the group would relieve some of the tension.
She thought wrong.
They wait until morning to leave, though it doesn’t make Devin as fresh eyed and energized as she’d hoped. She convinces Aidan to leave the spears behind, takes a portion of the remaining food, and they head for the mountain. Gold sunlight washes out the horizon, even in the cool morning. Sheridan leads them upward, Aidan squarely behind her, Devin watching the trees at their backs.
They get halfway up the mountain and make camp as afternoon leans into evening. The sky, at first ripe with fiery red and streaks of marigold, finally begins to purple. Back home, this was the type of night Devin only knew by the way headlights shone brighter against the dying light. Out here, though, every hour is distinct. Every passing minute is its own world. Every type of light has its own weight, color, and heat against her eyes. She knows the velvet feeling of early evening better than she ever did back home.
They sit at a meek fire and, just like on the hike, they’re completely silent. When Devin cranes her neck just right, she can see the shadowed concave of the mountain’s peak—part shale and gravel, part deep green forest, like a blanket pulled over the cliff’s shoulders. Aidan sits in the dirt, shifting one wedge of firewood over another. The crack in his lenses gleams like stained glass in the light. Across from him, equally quiet, Sheridan sits with her knees to her chest, her back to the group, facing the setting sun.
“We’re running kind of low,” Aidan says finally. “Firewood-wise.”
“How?” Devin asks. “This is our first fire.”
Aidan chews the inside of his cheek. “I might not have grabbed very much? I was so out of it this morning, I guess I didn’t get everything I was supposed to.”
Devin and Aidan lock eyes, then slowly turn their gaze on Sheridan. She doesn’t even have the energy to be mad at Aidan. Sheridan’s silence eats at her in a way that’s almost embarrassing. She doesn’t move. She just watches the sun, the frizzy outline of her hair shrouded in light.
“Do you want to get firewood with me?” Devin asks her.
Sheridan says nothing.
“Sheridan—”
“I’m okay,” Sheridan says. “You can go.”
“No,” Aidan snaps. “The buddy system—”
“—is useless when there’s three of us,” Devin says. “There’s no buddy system unless all three of us go.”
Aidan looks from Devin to Sheridan, an unspoken question plain on his face.
Before he has a chance to suggest another impractical solution, Devin grabs the ax and sling from his side. She massages out a knot in her shoulder and sighs. “Well?”
Aidan hesitates. “We should all go.”
Sheridan doesn’t look at them when she speaks. “Scared to be alone with me, nerd?”
An argument is decidedly not how she wanted to break the silence. Devin can’t take another second of it. She shoulders her bag. “Both of you. Up.”
They trek into the trees, following the last dregs of daylight. Dark nests into the nettles and brush of the forest floor, webbed and thick. Even with their lantern, the terrain begins to turn on them, grabbing ankles and calves as they look for wood. Devin hacks away at the low branches she can find, Aidan and Sheridan at her back. She topples the last of her collected logs into her sling and sighs. It clouds in the air. It’s colder this high up, Devin realizes. Dangerously cold as they get closer to the summit. They can’t afford for this peak to be empty.
Aidan reaches out to her. “Give it to me. I can carry it.”
“I’m fine,” Devin says.
“You did all the work,” Aidan says. “I can carry it. So everything will be fair.”
His voice is pointed and, through his broken glasses, he eyes Sheridan. She arches a brow, but she doesn’t bite. In classic Sheridan fashion, she waits for Aidan to dig his grave a little further before lunging.
“You don’t think you should help at all?” Aidan asks.
“With what?”
“You just walked around and watched.”
“So did you.”
“I’m carrying the sling.”
“How kind of you.” Sheridan laughs. “Devin will remember that.”
Devin groans. She doesn’t want to mediate some stupid argument. She wants to hike back, stoke the fire, and go to sleep. “What now?”
“Even before, you were so selfish,” Aidan snaps. “Like with—”
“—the food?” Sheridan asks. “I knew it.”
Devin rolls her eyes. “Okay, we are not talking about this. We’re going back to camp.”
“If she wants to prove she wasn’t trying to literally kill us, she should explain why she took a bunch of our food.”
Sheridan dons a lopsided smile. “If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve taken all of it, wouldn’t I?”
“She was not trying to kill anyone,” Devin says. “She—”
“I can actually speak for myself,” Sheridan snaps, taking Devin aback. Her smile is gone now, eyes narrowed. “This ruins your theory, anyway. Doesn’t it prove I’m just as much of a bitch now as I was then?”
Aidan squints. “What?”
“You said you think I’m a mimic because I’m so different,” Sheridan says. “Now, you’re saying I’ve been like this the whole time. Which is it?”
“I…”
A breeze rocks through the trees and Devin’s had enough. She snatches the sling of firewood back from Aidan, plunging her ax into the earth. Aidan and Sheridan fall silent, eyes landing on the blade.
“I don’t care why Sheridan took extra food,” Devin says. “I don’t care what issues you have with each other. It’s cold and we need to get back to the fire, go to sleep, and get to this cabin tomorrow. That’s what matters.”
Aidan nods solemnly. “She’s not even gonna say sorry?”
Devin groans. “Okay, Sheridan is—”
“I’m not sorry.”
Sheridan takes a long step, stopping inches from Devin’s face. And suddenly, this isn’t about Aidan. It isn’t about the food. Since they started hiking, there’s been something wrong in the air between them, some conflict wedged into her skin like a splinter. Devin swallows, but she doesn’t back off. Sheridan’s breath fans over Devin’s cheeks and she tightens her jaw. If this is some kind of intimidation tactic, it won’t work.
“You wanna get out of my face?” Devin whispers.
“I’ve been wondering since we left camp,” Sheridan says, unflinching. She motions to the space between them. “What’s with you defending me all the time? When did that start?”
At that, Devin laughs. “Should I stop?”
Sheridan’s eyes narrow. Devin thinks back to their moment in camp. The Devin I met when we got here wouldn’t be helping me. She’d known Sheridan was confused, but angry? It doesn’t make sense. She should want to get out of here. She should want someone to stick up for her. She should want her name cleared.
“Guys—” Aidan starts.
Sheridan holds a hand up to silence him. “The river wasn’t that long ago. You know what she told me when we crossed? She wished I drowned.”
Devin tenses. The breeze slides sickeningly between them and, as even as she holds her expression, she wishes she could go back to that moment. Maybe even further back, to the moment she leapt from Ethan’s grip to hit her. She wishes she could do it all differently. Sheridan’s eyes search Devin’s, twinkling with a hint of sick amusement Devin can’t begin to decipher. She made the mistake of thinking a few good days down the mountain meant they were on the same page. Clearly, she was wrong.
“Are you actually mad at me for trying to help you?” Devin asks.
“I’m just saying, if we’re trying to figure out who’s changed the most, I think it’s—”
“Guys,” Aidan hisses.
Devin and Sheridan turn on him in unison. Aidan isn’t watching them, though; his eyes are trained on the trees. He reaches out, touching Devin’s wrist. She follows his gaze, but she only sees the shifting, darkening canopy above them.
“You saw something?” Devin whispers.
Aidan shakes his head. “Heard something.”
Something shifts again, this time where Devin can see it. The branches overhead rustle, a handful of leaves breaking away to flutter to the earth. Devin holds her hand out, feeling for a breeze, but the air is stagnant. Another patch of branches shake farther away in the canopy, where evening shadows mask the details of the trees. Slowly, the sounds intensify until they’re surrounded.
Instinctively, Devin eyes Sheridan. Whatever anger she might’ve been feeding into a moment ago is gone now, replaced by ice-cold fear. Aidan’s eyes are wide, a faint sliver of moonlight clear in his glasses. She has to get them out of here in one piece.
“Don’t look up,” Devin whispers.
“It’s—” Aidan starts.
Devin takes his wrist, leaning down to his eye level. “I know what it is. We have to go, okay?”
The rustling continues, but Devin tilts her gaze to the forest floor and holds her breath. Fear buzzes in her veins. The canopy moves in all directions.
Then, like hands cupped over her ears, the woods go quiet.
Her heartbeat feels so close she can taste it.
A voice slithers from the trees, just like the one that whispered bedtime into her ears days ago. This voice is slightly different. A boy’s voice, warm and inviting. Confident, but soft. It coos:
“Come back, Aidan.”
Devin’s grip on Aidan’s wrist tightens.
She casts a glance over her shoulder toward camp. The fire’s glow is just visible through the trees. They could make it. They could get out in time. Slowly, she takes a step back, and then another. Once Sheridan and Aidan follow, she keeps moving. She takes Sheridan’s wrist in her spare hand, looks her in the eyes, and breathes, “Run.”
They turn in unison, bolting away from whatever lingers in the trees behind them. Devin sprints over roots and rocks, breath whistling in her lungs. She focuses on the sound of Sheridan and Aidan behind her. As infuriating as they might be, she won’t leave them behind. She won’t. She keeps running until they break through the trees and tumble back to camp. The fire is reduced to embers and smoke, but it’s still alive. Their gear is safe.
When Devin turns to the trees behind them, she’s sure she sees the flash of moonlit eyes tucked between the leaves.
It’s too quiet without the others.
At first, Ollie is grateful for the chance to hear his own thoughts. He’s come to love Devin and Aidan like siblings. Hiking with the two of them has a funny way of making the quiet of the woods disappear. With just Hannah, the quiet is so thick he feels it press in. Sun streaks through thick bushels of leaves overhead, warming the soil in patches. In the quiet, Ollie takes stock. He notices a pulled muscle in his back for the first time, a blister running the length of his foot, a scratch that stretches from his elbow to his wrist.
Hannah doesn’t speak until they find a place to rest. A rippling brook runs along the incline, pebbled with round white rocks as smooth as pearls, moss turning the water green in the sunlight. Hannah settles on a nearby boulder while Ollie fills their water bladders. He fights the urge to cuff up his pants and walk into the stream just to relieve some pain in his feet.
“It’s really quiet.” Hannah laughs, unsheathing a granola bar. “Is it just me, or do you kind of miss Aidan talking?”
“Oh my god,” Ollie says. “I miss it so much.”
“I miss him.”
“Same.”
Looking at Hannah too long makes Ollie sweat. He looks away fast, focuses on the pinpricks of white glare dancing on the leaves of a nearby tree. He didn’t sleep much last night, and not just because they were losing half of the group in the morning. The thought of these next few days alone with Hannah makes his blood feel electric. He worries he won’t be able to keep them alive, won’t be able to find food, won’t be able to keep them on track. He worries he’ll run out of things to talk about and Hannah will get bored. He worries he won’t impress her. And he knows that last part shouldn’t matter, but it does. It matters more.
“How do you … feel okay?” Ollie asks.
Hannah grins. “How do I feel okay?”
“Sorry.” Ollie chuckles, cheeks burning. “I was failing English.”
“I feel okay really well,” Hannah says. “Thanks for asking.”
Ollie nods. It was easier with Aidan as a buffer—something fragile they were both determined to protect. They had common ground. Now it’s just the two of them and Ollie’s out of ground to stand on.
Hannah pulls her arm across her chest to stretch. “Tell me something about Ollie.”
Ollie raises a brow. “What? Why?”
“I don’t know,” Hannah muses. “Because we’re spending the next few days alone and I want something to talk about?”
Ollie shrugs.
“I think you already know most of it,” Ollie says. If his cheeks were burning before, they’re scorching now. “I … there’s not a lot I like to talk about from before. It wasn’t a good time. You have to be more specific.”
“I’m sorry,” Hannah says. Her dark brow furrows. “What about Future Ollie? When you get back and you’re eighteen and can do whatever you want. Tell me about him.”
Ollie scoffs at that. “What about him?”
“Where does he live?”
Finally, a question Ollie doesn’t hate. He’s almost embarrassed by how much he’s thought about it. “Still Portland. In an apartment that’s at least ten stories up so I can see the river. Maybe close to Powell’s.”
“Powell’s?”
“It’s a really big bookstore.”
“I see the vision,” Hannah says. “Okay … and what’s Future Ollie’s job?”
“Future Ollie is living on lawsuit money.” Ollie laughs. “He doesn’t need a job. But if he still wanted to work, he’d do something random. Like, part-time at a bike store. Something small and specific.”
Hannah shifts on her boulder, tucking her knees up to her chest. “This is good. Does Future Ollie live by himself?”
“Well, Current Ollie promised Devin he’d be her roommate when we got back,” Ollie says, and even if he only half meant it, he doesn’t want to face the consequences of backing out. “So, not at first.”
“Does he have a girlfriend?”
Ollie’s pulse stutters. He blinks, letting the question fully take shape before he fumbles his way to an answer. “I mean, Past Ollie didn’t have one. I don’t … know if Future Ollie does?”
“Depending on how much lawsuit money you’re looking at,” Hannah grins, “you might have a line.”
“That sounds like a nightmare.”
Hannah’s smile sobers slightly, her gaze falling from Ollie’s face to the ground between them. She parts her lips a full second before she speaks. “Do you think you’ll talk to your dad when you get back?”
Ollie’s laugh is weak. “Are we talking about Future Ollie?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t know. There’s so much I wanna say to him, but I don’t know how. I don’t know if he’ll feel responsible for this or if he’ll just blame REVIVE. I don’t know how to ask him anything, so part of me feels like it would be easier to just vanish. Start living a new life without him and see how it goes. Does that make sense?”
“It does,” Hannah says. “A lot.”
“But also, it’s like … I want to make him understand. I want him to know what we went through out here. And make him feel bad about it. But it’s not like he knew this would happen.”
“I hope not.”
“I’ll have to figure it out when I get back.” Ollie flicks a chunk of gravel from his elbow. “How about Future Hannah? What’s she doing?”
Hannah smiles. “I don’t know. Future Hannah has a lot of options. I haven’t decided yet.”
“Is Future Hannah going home?”
Hannah’s eyes find Ollie’s. She traces her finger along the smooth surface of her boulder and says, “No. I don’t think so.”
“Where’s she going?”
“I’d like her to go with you and Devin,” Hannah says. “If you two were okay with that.”
Despite himself, Ollie beams. There’s something about Hannah that feels almost impermanent. Like whatever Future Hannah does, Ollie might not get to see it. But she wants to leave with them, start a new life, find new footing …
“I think that might be doable.” Ollie swallows. “I kind of want to go in the water. Do you?”
“Now?”
“Yeah,” Ollie says. “It’s gonna suck later, but … I don’t know. It just feels right.”
Hannah helps herself up. Together, they slip off their shoes and socks. Hannah slides her hand against Ollie’s and it’s like every color in the clearing gets brighter. They carefully plod into the water and it’s even better than Ollie imagined. The cold numbs the blister on his foot, the soreness in his ankles, the swelling of his shins. He grips Hannah’s other hand to brace himself and he laughs.
“Okay,” Hannah says. “This is worth it.”
Ollie looks into Hannah’s face—the pink in her cheeks, her full lips, her eyes so dark her pupils and irises are indistinguishable. Before he can put thought behind the words, they spill out. “I’m really proud of you.”
“Oh?”
Hannah’s eyes widen. She drops Ollie’s hands. Around his ankles, the water feels colder.
“Sorry,” Ollie stammers. “I just meant I’m really happy for you. Planning a new life and stuff. Sorry. Is that weird?”
“No,” Hannah says quickly. “It just surprised me.”
“I’m sorry. I—”
Hannah stares, but it’s like her gaze stretches past him. Sunlight ripples off the water, sparkling on her cheeks. After a moment, her strange daze breaks and she smiles. She gathers up her pants and inches back out of the water.
“Hannah, are you—”
“That was really nice. But we should keep going,” she says. “I don’t wanna get there in the dark.”
She holds a hand to Ollie and, for the life of him, he can’t fathom what just went wrong. Maybe it was too much to say he was proud of her, but now it’s like they never had this conversation. Like things never eased up between them. The air is stiff like they’re back to square one. He wants to ask why, but Hannah’s face is expectant. Urgent.
Afraid.
Ollie takes her hand and steps out of the water, onto the soft soil. The stream keeps moving behind him and the magic of whatever they had moments ago washes away with it.