Yet again, Sheridan proves herself to be a genius with the map. Before they leave Magruder Point, she tries explaining her process to Devin—how she times their departure so they’ll leave the mountainside and wind up at Hannah and Ollie’s camp by sundown the next day—but it makes Devin’s head hurt. They pack what they can, clipping a skillet, a small gas tank, and other cooking supplies to the underside of Devin’s backpack. Aidan pilfers the shelves for first-aid supplies and comes away with a roll of bandages, antiseptic wipes, and a sling. They leave a note with their names in the station and Sheridan adds the coordinates of their next campsite.
And, to Devin’s surprise, the descent is easy.
Aidan and Sheridan easily work the map. Apparently killing a massive mimic together is enough to convince them they can trust each other. When they take a break, Sheridan lays the map in the dirt and shows Aidan her methods. Aidan traces their path, smiling at Sheridan when it clicks.
Sheridan smiles, too.
In the moments between, she watches Devin.
Devin supposes she watches Sheridan, too. She watches her hike longer each day, watches the color fill her cheeks again, watches the easy way she laughs. She’s changing. She’s always changing.
They don’t talk about the shapes the mimic took at the cabin and they don’t talk about the kiss. Devin hardly talks at all as they descend. She lingers behind the group for once, eyes on the trees, drinking in silky blue afternoons and the vastness of the night. She doubts there will be much in the way of peace during their final push for escape. For now, she takes what she can get.
But the peace never lasts. In the stretches of quiet, the mimic’s face comes back to her over and over. She sees him tucked into the shadows between trees, staring down at her from nearby ridges, in the dark when she closes her eyes. Day and night, it’s Mr. Atwood’s gaunt face again and again.
She’s never told anyone, but the mimics didn’t need her to. They don’t care that this is the one thing she’s kept out of every case file and every behavior meeting. The mimics tore him from her head, dancing him around for everyone else to see. Devin tries not to feel naked, knowing the others have seen the face that’s polluted Devin’s nightmares for years. They’ve heard the voice Devin can’t scrape from her head. She doesn’t need to explain Mr. Atwood to anyone—half of her would rather die than have to say it out loud—but she wants to say it to someone. If the monsters in these woods get to broadcast all the worst of it, if they can use it against her, she deserves to tell someone herself.
“Hey,” Devin says, crouching next to Sheridan and Aidan’s map lesson. Her voice must be different from usual, because when Sheridan looks up, her eyes are wide with concern. Devin motions to a small alcove up the hill. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”
Surprisingly compliant, Sheridan follows her off the path between the trees until they reach the alcove. Devin doesn’t stop walking until they’re just out of Aidan’s line of sight. The wind is warmer halfway down the mountain, sweet and sharp with summer. The sun dapples the trees in orange light and a part of Devin worries that it’s too beautiful, too serene to taint with the ugliest secret she has.
“You okay?” Sheridan asks.
Devin leans against a nearby tree and slides to the forest floor. Sheridan follows her, sitting across from her in the dirt so that their knees almost touch. It’s funny, Devin thinks, how often they’ve been in this exact position, knees pressed to knees, trying to pull something out of the other. This time is different, though. Rotten and terrible, like bile in her throat. She wants to say something sarcastic, wants to tell a joke that’ll wipe the concern from Sheridan’s face. She wants to be seen and she wants to be invisible all at once.
“At the fire watchtower,” Devin starts. She scratches the back of her neck, feels it slick with sweat. “You asked where I went. That night we were at the cabin.”
“Oh,” Sheridan says. “I know you’re not—”
“I saw him then, too. I’ve seen him a lot, actually.”
Sheridan nods.
“His name is Atwood,” Devin says, and she prays Sheridan is following along, because saying more than a few words at a time feels like wading through wet cement. “He was one of my fosters a long time ago. When I was ten.”
“Oh.”
“He was … the worst one I ever had. I heard you get ones like him sometimes. Complete fucking creeps.”
Sheridan’s eyes widen. “Oh…”
She looks down and Devin is sure she’s uncomfortable. She must already know. Sometimes, Devin wonders if people can sense it on her. Normally, the discomfort would make Devin stop talking, but not today. The wind up the mountainside is bracing and a shiver runs through her. But she keeps talking. She has to.
“He, uh … he seemed really together at first. I’d never lived in a house that nice, so I was really excited. I had my own room. I was the only kid there. But he, uh…” She stumbles over it, searching for footing in her own memory. It makes her sick, coming back here. She can’t mold the memory into words without finding herself there all over, lying still, fists balled in the cotton sheets of her twin bed. She hears the creak of the door, sees his silhouette in the hallway. Her mouth is dry and the sun is too bright. She doesn’t say it because words won’t work, so she just says, “… I heard it happens to lots of us.”
She’s broken.
She’s sure she is. Big talk about being honest, but she can’t even say this out loud. If she says it, she’ll look small. If she says it, Sheridan will know all about the rotten seed he planted in her. The one that’s been growing for eight years, now. It’s starting to choke her.
Sheridan is quiet for a long time.
Finally, she leans forward and the wind pushes her hair over her shoulders. Devin can’t look at her face. Quietly, tenderly, Sheridan asks, “Did he touch you?”
Devin doesn’t speak.
She closes her eyes and nods.
She waits for the fall. The consequence of letting someone see it, but it doesn’t come. When she opens her eyes, Sheridan is staring into her face with an expression Devin hasn’t seen before. There’s a gentle lilt to her brow, a flattening of her lips. Devin wants to crawl in a hole and die.
“Did you tell anyone?” Sheridan asks.
Devin shakes her head.
“I asked my case manager to rehome me,” Devin says. “But she wouldn’t do it unless I gave her a good reason. And I couldn’t … I didn’t want to say it. It just felt so … disgusting. So I started acting up. Making problems for everyone at school. Whatever I could do to get a transfer.”
“And then?”
Devin shrugs. “And then they transferred me. I was with him for a few months. That’s it. It wasn’t, um … it wasn’t that bad.”
Sheridan watches her and she doesn’t speak. Devin waits for a joke to stop the churning in her gut. She waits for Sheridan to break up the quiet so she can pretend she didn’t say anything. She wishes she could gather it all up again and tuck it away where no one can see.
“I mean it,” Devin says. “It wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t—”
Sheridan reaches out cautiously, taking Devin’s face in her hands. It’s like Devin’s pulse stutters to a stop. Sheridan’s blue eyes are unrelenting, more delicate than Devin’s ever seen them. She expected Sheridan to deflect, to make a sharp comment so they can argue and it can all go away. She shouldn’t be kind like this, shouldn’t be patient and understanding and tender. There’s a piece of Devin, pathetic and small, that wants to bridge the space between them and kiss her again. She wants to shed the pain of it and pretend she can go back to normal.
Instead, she leans forward and presses her face to the crook of Sheridan’s neck, wrapping her arms around Sheridan’s shoulders. She lets the heat, the hurt, the unrelenting force of it all undam, and it barrels up her throat. Before she can stop it, she’s sobbing into the coarse cotton of Sheridan’s shirt.
Sheridan wraps her slender arms around Devin and pulls her close, tangling fingers into her curls. She holds her and holds her and she doesn’t let go. Under her breath, she whispers, “I’m so sorry.”
Normally, Devin would try to stop this. She’d make an attempt to save face. But she’s raw and bleeding and she can’t remember the last time she was held like this. She can’t remember if she’s ever been held like this. Sheridan rubs circles into her back until the tears quiet, until the shaking stops, until Devin can feel the sun on her skin again. When they pull apart, Sheridan swipes a tear from Devin’s cheek, offering a somber smile.
“These things are evil,” she says. “Pure evil.”
Devin nods, throat too tight to speak properly.
“Are you gonna be okay?” Sheridan whispers.
Devin scoffs at that, wiping away more tears with the heel of her hand. “Are any of us?”
Sheridan moves to stand, helping Devin to her feet. She casts a look down the clearing toward the trail. “Let’s go make sure none of these things kidnapped Aidan. And then let’s burn every last one of them.”
They descend the mountain faster than they’ve hiked before. Devin ignores the searing blisters on her feet that haven’t turned to calluses, determined to make it back to Hannah and Ollie by nightfall. They hike until the sun is directly overhead, drawing sweat from Devin’s brow only to immediately dry it to her skin. When the wind cools and the sound of trickling water pierces the quiet, they see it.
The faint glow of a fire at the base of the hill.
They abandon their cautious descent, scrambling down until they empty into a lush, green clearing. Two tarps are draped across the trees, the firepit already loosing fat plumes of smoke from the center of camp.
Sitting at the fire, idly picking through a pack of peanuts, is Ollie.
Devin drops her bag at her feet, running to the campfire. Ollie hardly has time to stand before she crashes into him. Ollie goes rigid, then he melts into her. A moment later, Aidan joins their hug. Devin casts a glance over her shoulder and eyes Sheridan standing a few feet away, a wistful smile soft as a ghost on her lips.
Ollie pulls away, running a hand through his hair. He’s gaunter than he was when they left, eyes darker and smile dimmer. Devin looks hard into his face for a moment, but he quickly looks away.
Something’s wrong.
“Okay, first,” Aidan says, apparently oblivious to Ollie’s discomfort. He turns to Sheridan. “She’s not a mimic. She saved us from one.”
“Oh?” Ollie says.
Sheridan gives him a wave like she’s embarrassed to take credit for saving them. But Sheridan is the least of their worries now. Hannah’s gone and Ollie looks like he’s seen a ghost.
“You okay?” Devin asks. “Where’s Hannah?”
Ollie looks over his shoulder. “Yeah. I’m good. Listen, I’m glad you’re back. I need to talk to you about—”
Hannah stumbles into the clearing. She holds a full water bladder in each hand, stopping short when she catches sight of them. For a moment, Devin is sure she sees a bolt of fear in Hannah’s face, but she quickly breaks into an easy smile, jogging to the campfire to join their embrace.
Devin doesn’t miss the way Ollie goes quiet.
She swallows her confusion, surveying Ollie and Hannah’s gear. “You guys are pretty hungry, right?”
Devin hauls her backpack to the campfire. Three cans roll to freedom, hitting the forest floor with a weighty thud. Hannah and Ollie go still. They look at each other, and the wild hunger in their eyes makes the long hike worth it.
They sling the pot over the fire, combining a can of tomato soup with black beans, a pouch of rice, and a handful of spices Devin can’t name. The smell of it, musky and sweet, soaks the air. When the soup is done, they take turns slurping it straight from the pot.
Devin listens to Aidan recount their mimic run-in, listens to Ollie and Hannah describe their own encounter with a mimic that dripped from the trees, and she eats until her stomach is warm and she can taste the salty film of soup coating her tongue. Hannah and Ollie stare into the fire, eyes half-lidded, and Devin has no doubt they could clean another several pots of soup given the chance. When quiet settles in, Devin clears her throat.
“Okay,” she says, clapping to tug Hannah and Ollie from their daze. “We need to make a new list of what we know. We’re still twenty days from pickup and we’re seeing mimics more often, so I think this is gonna get more frequent. We need to … we have to figure out a way to stay safe.”
For a fraction of a second, Ollie looks at Hannah. He nods, wiping a bit of soup from the corner of his mouth. “We don’t know what they want. But the one with Liv and the one we saw the other day didn’t attack us first. They wanted to … talk?”
“Yeah, that happened with mine, too,” Aidan says around a mouthful of soup. “It just said really mean stuff. Like it wanted me to give up on my own?”
Devin shakes her head. “I don’t get it.”
“Maybe they need permission,” Sheridan says.
“To do what?”
Sheridan shrugs.
“You can’t kill them the normal way,” Hannah says. “Fire killed them before, but stabbing doesn’t kill them. It just slows them down.”
Devin arches a brow, looking from Hannah to Ollie and back. With an amused smile, she asks, “Who stabbed one?”
Ollie’s eyes flash to Hannah, but it’s wrong again. Hannah’s cheeks flush and she raises her hand. Sunlight shifts over the gaunt lines of Ollie’s face, and Devin spots his fist clenched at his knee. He isn’t proud. Devin narrows her eyes.
“We killed ours with fire, too,” Sheridan says. “It was bigger, so it died slower. But it worked.”
“So what are we at now?” Devin asks. “They’re super strong, they heal fast, they know things about us they shouldn’t, they can only be killed with fire, they can hypnotize us … anything else?”
Aidan presses his face into his hands. “We’re gonna die.”
“No…” Devin trails. “No, because this whole thing about not just killing us is clearly some kind of boundary they can’t cross. I don’t know what they want, but I think Sheridan’s right. I think they need our permission to do it.”
“We should have two people stay awake each night,” Aidan says. “That way, if one finds us, it can’t hypnotize two people at once.”
“What if they can?” Hannah asks.
Aidan opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
“I think two people is all we can spare,” Ollie says. “The main thing is that we need to stay on track and meet that pickup.”
“We just keep outrunning them,” Devin says. It doesn’t feel like it’s enough, but it’s all they’ve got. For once in her life, the solution is to keep her head down and keep moving. “We don’t engage. Whatever faces they pull, we stay focused. If they need permission to hurt us, they won’t get it.”
“What happens when they decide to stop asking?” Sheridan says, inspecting her nails. She looks up at Devin, her half smile devoid of humor. Slowly, her eyes find the rest of the group one by one. “What happens when they decide they don’t need permission anymore?”
After dinner, the five of them spread to their own corners of camp. Hannah sidles up to the creek, washing her spare set of clothes while Aidan takes the backpacks and distributes their cans and jars more evenly. Ollie sits by the fire and looks idly into its flames. Devin needs to talk to him—needs to figure out what’s shaken him like this—but she can’t pry her eyes from Sheridan.
Like usual, Sheridan is back to sitting alone with her hiker’s journal. Her hair is wet, even an hour after washing it, hanging limp at her neck. Her eyes trail each page of the journal. There’s something softer about the Sheridan that exists when she thinks no one is watching, but Devin got to see it briefly on the mountainside. Now, like a clenched fist finally unfurled, Devin’s picture of who Sheridan was before the woods changes. Maybe that’s the problem. She’s looking the wrong way, trying to puzzle out a Sheridan long-dead. Maybe the Sheridan that existed before the woods is gone now, and the Sheridan who sits across camp is someone new. Not replaced, but new.
Devin is sure she’s someone new, too.
When Sheridan’s eyes slide up from the page and find her, Devin looks away. She clears her throat and makes her way to the fire, sitting so close to Ollie their legs touch. When she leans over to bump his shoulder with hers, he blinks out of his daze.
“Hey,” he says. “What’s up?”
“That’s what I came to ask,” Devin says. “You’re being quiet. What happened?”
“Nothing, I’m just…”
“The mimic attack?”
“It’s not that.” Ollie runs his hand through his hair. His eyes are glued to the fire, but Devin is sure his lips quiver. “I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t know if I should say anything.”
Devin narrows her eyes.
Ollie casts a quick glance over his shoulder at Hannah. She dips her pants in the stream, massaging a bit of dirt away with her thumbs. Devin places a hand gently on Ollie’s back and leans in so he can whisper. When he speaks, there’s a crack in his voice.
“I think there’s something wrong with Hannah.”
Devin leans back and looks him hard in the face. Whatever peace she felt a moment ago evaporates and she’s left cold. Everything was supposed to be okay once they were all together.
She swallows. “In what way?”
“You know.”
Devin grimaces. “You’re sure?”
“No.”
“Okay.” Devin expels a breath, careful to speak quietly. “I don’t want to freak out. We were wrong last time.”
“It’s not like last time,” Ollie says.
Aidan must have seen them whispering. He abandons the backpacks and sits in the dirt across from Devin and Ollie with an eager smile, wiping at his dirt-smudged nose. “What’s happening?”
Devin’s eyes don’t leave Ollie’s face. “Ollie was saying how happy he is to be together again.”
“Right,” Ollie says with a terse nod. “I had a good time with Hannah. She’s gotten so much more confident than she used to be. I’m really proud of how much she’s changed.”
Devin chances a look over Ollie’s shoulder. Hannah isn’t watching them, but she’s stopped washing her clothes. Her hands are frozen in the water, shoulders rigid. She isn’t looking, but she’s certainly listening. A bead of sweat tickles Devin’s hairline. She touches Ollie’s shoulder, and when she speaks, it’s hardly more than a whisper. “We need to have this conversation later. Outside camp.”
“What conversation?” Aidan whispers.
“Later,” Devin hisses.
She looks up and Sheridan is watching them, too. Her eyes narrow and Devin looks pointedly to the bank of the creek. But Hannah isn’t there anymore.
Devin’s heart stops.
Boots crunch behind her. She turns to find Hannah only an inch away, a rosy smile on her lips. She must’ve made it to them in a fraction of a second. In complete silence, too. Devin’s stomach turns.
“What are you guys talking about?” Hannah asks.
“I didn’t even hear you.” Devin laughs, trying to keep her breathing even. “We, uh … Ollie was just telling us you guys had a pretty peaceful hike over here. Other than the attack, obviously.”
“Yeah,” Hannah says with a weary sigh. “But we missed the rest of you, for sure. It sounds like it was less peaceful for you?”
“Yeah.” Devin nods, unsure of whether or not she’s in danger. She feels the heat of Aidan’s stare on her. There’s something dizzying about looking right into Hannah’s face. After a moment, she clears her throat. She needs to come up with something fast. “Actually, we did figure something out. The mimics … their skin burns. Like paper. We realized you can use that to literally test if someone is a mimic or not.”
“Really?” Hannah asks. “How?”
Devin swallows. “Aidan?”
Aidan stiffens.
“Can you be my practice person please?” she asks, eyes wide. “I just need the lighter. Remember?”
Aidan’s nod is rigid. He fishes the lighter from their supplies and settles in front of Devin. The fear is plain in his face, and Devin prays he’s following her line of thought. She can’t say it out loud; if Ollie is right about Hannah, one wrong move could blow this whole thing up.
Devin takes Aidan’s wrist gently, turning it palm-down. “We tested each other before we left the cabin. You just light it, and…”
She clicks the lighter and eases the tip of the flame to Aidan’s palm. Once it touches him, Devin pulls the lighter away. Aidan recoils, cradling his hand to his chest. Not a mimic.
“Oh, interesting,” Hannah says.
“We just did it to be safe,” Devin says. It’s like there’s a boulder wedged in her throat. “Should we do another test now that we’re all together?”
Hannah’s eyes narrow.
“That would make sense,” Ollie chimes in. “I can go first.”
“You think someone here is a mimic?” Hannah asks. “If you just tested each other, why do we need to do it again?”
Devin thanks the stars that Ollie thinks fast. He offers a bittersweet half smile and turns to Sheridan. “Sorry. I know you said you all tested each other, but with how things were before you guys left, I just…”
Sheridan looks to Devin. In a fraction of a second, she seems to understand, too. She gives Ollie an exaggerated eye roll, setting her journal in the dirt. “… but you want to see it yourself, right?”
“If that’s okay,” Ollie asks.
Sheridan hauls herself to her feet. She stands in front of Devin and holds her hand out, exasperated and petulant. She’s quite a performer, firing an incredulous glare at Ollie as the lighter clicks. Hannah’s expression is still inscrutable, eyes narrowed and trained on the flame.
Somehow, she doesn’t hear the thundering of Devin’s heart.
“I don’t feel like this is necessary,” Hannah says quickly, touching Devin’s wrist. “Aidan said you guys feel confident she’s safe. I trust you.”
“No, no…” Sheridan muses. “He feels like he needs proof. I’ll give him proof.”
Hannah scowls, but she moves her hand. Devin presses the flame quickly to Sheridan’s palm and it doesn’t catch.
“Okay,” Sheridan says sharply, pulling her hand from the fire. She points at Ollie. “Your turn. If I had to prove it, you do, too.”
Ollie nods.
Devin takes his hand and holds his gaze. Once they do this, Hannah is next. If she’s a mimic, she won’t let this happen. One way or another, they’ll know the truth in a few seconds. The heat of Hannah’s glare is hot on the side of Devin’s face. If she’s one of them, if they make her do this, everything is going to explode.
She swipes the flame across Ollie’s skin and nothing happens.
Without a word, all eyes find Hannah.
“Everyone feels safe now?” Hannah asks. The change in her expression is quick. She goes from solemn to cheery in a blink. “You guys are so paranoid.”
“C’mon,” Sheridan says. “Do it for team unity.”
Hannah arches a brow.
“Nobody thinks you’re a mimic,” Aidan says, and Devin is sure he’s genuine. “But just so we know we tested everyone?”
“I…” Hannah starts. When she looks around, there’s a primal fear in her eyes. She’s surrounded, and she begins to slip. “I don’t get why you guys are being so pushy. We shouldn’t be … thinking like this about each other anymore.”
“We won’t if we’ve seen proof that we’re all human,” Ollie says. “I know you are, but let’s just prove it so we all feel better.”
“She hasn’t done it yet,” Hannah hisses at Devin.
Devin rolls her eyes, quickly opening a flame under her own palm. It scorches a little, but Devin holds it a second longer than necessary just to make a point. Before Hannah can protest, Devin grabs her arm with her burnt hand. Hannah tugs it back with more force than Devin expects. She hands Ollie the lighter and grips Hannah’s arm with both hands. There’s no point in pretending anymore.
“Ollie.” Hannah breathes. “What is this? You know I’m not—”
“I know,” Ollie says.
Tenderly, he touches Hannah’s wrist and flicks the lighter on, but he hesitates before holding it to her skin. Devin watches Hannah’s face for fear, but that’s not what she gets. Hannah’s eyes darken, gaze finding the flame. She sucks in a breath and Devin realizes a moment too late that she’s not resigning herself to the test.
She’s gathering herself.
In a flash, Hannah knocks the lighter from Ollie’s grip, grabs two fistfuls of his shirt, and throws him to the ground. She raises her foot and brings it down hard on Aidan’s leg behind her, earning a yelp of pain. Aidan crumples and, before Devin can reach for him, Hannah’s elbow meets her nose.
Devin reels back, cupping her hand under her nose. The campsite spins, a blur of green and black. When she looks down, all she sees is red. Blood pools in her palm, dribbling down her upper lip into her mouth. She spits it in the dirt and touches her nose tenderly. It throbs.
Ollie was right, then.
Just like Liv’s uncanny strength, Hannah’s quick movements are inhuman. Devin focuses just in time to see Sheridan dive for the lighter. Hannah stomps down on Sheridan’s hand with a sickening crunch. Sheridan cries out, clutching her hand to her chest, and Hannah grabs the lighter. She casts one glance over her shoulder at the carnage, then bolts into the trees.
But Devin isn’t letting this one get away. She’s endured enough since they started this journey. They all have. She takes one look at the others and bursts into the trees after Hannah. They aren’t losing anyone else.