In the morning, Devin wakes to a rush of wind flicking over her nose. She jolts upright, breath tight in her chest. She was running. She saw something in the woods.
But the ground under her is hard and the morning is bright. She’s at the cabin again, light spilling across the charred, speckled floorboards. Sweat is caked to her brow. The trees behind them are silent. Sheridan sits against a curved tree at the shore, knees tucked to her chest. Her pale hair hangs over her shoulder. White sunlight outlines her sharp-angled face. There’s something in her hands Devin doesn’t recognize. When she stands to get a better look, the floorboards moan.
Sheridan startles. She looks at Devin and pushes the object out of sight.
“What’s that?” Devin asks.
“Why do you care?”
Devin rolls her eyes. Sheridan’s stare is ice and Devin knows she should apologize for losing it last night, but she can’t stomach it. Apologizing means Sheridan wins. It feels like Sheridan’s been beating her at an invisible game since the day they arrived. She can’t surrender ground now.
“Are you hiding something?” Devin asks.
Sheridan slouches. “No, I’m not hiding something. I found it last night. Speaking of, where’d you go?”
There’s a squeeze in Devin’s stomach. “What?”
“Last night,” Sheridan says. “I woke up and you weren’t there.”
Devin’s fingers twitch at her sides. It’s not proof of anything. She might’ve stumbled out of the cabin last night, half-dreaming, and found her way back on her own. It seems impossible, but not more impossible than a stretched, horrifying version of the worst person she’s ever known appearing between the trees to taunt her.
Devin ignores the question. “What’d you find?”
Sheridan watches her a long moment, unsure. Finally, she pulls the object from behind her back, reluctantly handing it over. It’s a notebook, leather cover tattered and caked with dust, pages frail and swollen from water damage. The writing on the front of the journal is mangled, but if Devin squints, she can just make out the name Josiah Templeton.
“What does it say?”
Sheridan snatches the journal back, holding it to her chest. “It’s just some guy’s journal from when he was hiking in the area. He got lost and ended up stuck out here for a few months. I’m mostly happy I have something to read. I left my books at home.”
“It doesn’t talk about where we can get supplies?” Devin asks.
“Not so far.”
Devin nods. She’s trying to be patient with Sheridan because, if she keeps exploding, they won’t make it out of this forest. But the journal is something they can use. It’s something they can use, and Sheridan was going to hide it from her.
“Why’d you hide it? Why didn’t you want to tell me?”
Sheridan rolls her eyes. “Because you’re not my favorite person to talk to right now?”
The morning is crisp and cool, earth still damp with rain. Devin won’t say sorry because she’s not sorry. Still, there’s an anxiety that buzzes in her when Sheridan says it so plainly. Her guidance counselor’s voice rings in her ears. Even if you aren’t sorry for what you did, you can be sorry for how it made someone feel. She thought it was stupid then, but looking at Sheridan’s tired eyes, the rigid way she sits when Devin speaks, the venom in her voice … Devin’s pride shrivels. She knows what she needs to do, even if it sucks.
“Okay,” she says. “How do we fix this?”
Sheridan’s eyes narrow. “Fix what?”
Devin motions to the space between them.
Sheridan’s laugh is sharp enough to slap. “You wanna be friends now?”
“Not what I said,” Devin snaps. “That’s not happening. But we both want to make it out of this forest, right?”
“Sure.”
“See?” Devin huffs. “It’s when you say weird stuff like that. I just … don’t get you.”
“I want a shower and a Red Bull,” Sheridan says. She sets the journal in the dirt and folds her arms. “I want clean clothes and a hairbrush. I don’t wanna go home.”
Finally, a sentiment Devin can relate to. Even if a piece of her wants to ask Sheridan about home, about what scares her so bad about it, Devin tamps that down. Sheridan isn’t normal. Things have to stay surface-level. She doesn’t need to know the inner workings of Sheridan’s mind; she just needs to know how to get her feet moving down the mountain.
“I will be nicer about your breaks,” Devin says. “And I won’t freak out anymore. But we need to start … I don’t know, communicating.”
Sheridan’s posture stays rigid for a long, cold moment. Finally, she exhales and pushes the hair from her face and Devin is sure she sees her hand quiver. “Yeah. Agreed.”
“Cool.”
Neither of them says a word. Sheridan looks out at the water, the weight of something she means to say heavy in the air. When she looks at Devin, her grip on the journal turns her knuckles white.
“Listen,” Sheridan says. “I don’t want you to comment on this. I just want to say it so you understand, okay?”
Devin narrows her eyes, but she nods.
Sheridan clears her throat. “I know I’ve been slow. I’ve been, uh … Ethan was helping me before. With the tiredness and the mood stuff. Not helping, but…”
Devin waits for Sheridan to sort the pieces of it.
“Before I got here, I was using pretty much all the time,” Sheridan says, like she’s shedding a weight. “Yeah. Right up to when I got dropped off. I didn’t have time to get stuff out of my system, so I’ve been doing it out here. Which has been … not ideal. Obviously.”
Using? Devin blinks. “Oh.”
“Anyway, I’m dealing with it. It’s fine. But sometimes the withdrawals are a problem. If you’re wondering why the hiking is hard for me, that’s why.”
Devin’s mouth feels dry.
“Sheridan, I—”
“I said no comments.”
Piece by piece, the last few weeks come into focus. The constant breaks, the water, the food, the exhaustion. It all becomes clear and Devin’s stomach sinks. Sheridan said no comments, but Devin can’t hold it back. Meekly, she says, “I didn’t know.”
“I assumed,” Sheridan says. “I hoped you weren’t that much of an asshole.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t’ve…” Devin starts, but finishing the sentence means admitting just how bad it’s been. She looks at the tips of her boots. “Do you mind if I ask what it was?”
“Oxy,” Sheridan says. “Mostly.”
“Okay.” Devin swallows. “And now you feel … are you okay?”
“I’m not amazing.” Sheridan laughs. “Some symptoms are getting better. Others are getting worse. I don’t know what the timeline is … I’ve never quit quit before.”
“What symptoms are getting worse?”
“I wasn’t seeing things when we got here.”
In only a few words, it’s like Devin’s back in the trees at night, looking into a too-wide face and too-long legs and at a too-familiar man. It was a dream, she’s sure, but there’s a bruise blossoming on her wrist from a fall she “dreamt.” I wasn’t seeing things.
Devin swallows, dry. “When did you start seeing things?”
“A few days ago.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Not that it means much,” Devin says, “but I’m sorry I pushed you so hard. I really didn’t know.”
“The last thing I want is you forcing yourself to be nice,” Sheridan says. “That would be weird for both of us. I just … I thought it’d be easier if you knew. That’s the only reason I’m telling you.”
When Devin finally settles on the shore next to Sheridan, she grapples for the right words. Even if she’s never used, she’s known dozens of people who have and a piece of her is humiliated that she didn’t recognize it. She recalibrates her idea of Sheridan’s life outside these woods. As much as she hates to admit it, she was wrong. It doesn’t justify the things Sheridan’s said and done, but it certainly changes the shape of them.
“I’m not just saying this because of your situation,” Devin starts. “But … I think we should head back.”
Sheridan’s eyes widen. “Really?”
“The cabin was a bust. I’m getting tired and you are, too. I think Ollie and Aidan were right—the most for-sure way out of here is the end of that milestone trail.”
Sheridan’s wicked half smile returns. “Did you just admit someone else was right?”
“If you tell them, I’ll push you off a cliff.”
“My lips are sealed.”
Despite herself, Devin smiles. This is the easiest conversation she’s had with Sheridan, a prospect that’s both terrifying and comforting. Maybe they can make it down this mountain without killing each other. Her chest aches at the idea of seeing Ollie and the others again, of breathing the thicker, fuller air at the valley floor, of being back on a for-sure path. Admitting defeat isn’t in Devin’s DNA, but neither is dying.
“So…” she says cautiously. “You still feel pretty good with that map?”
“Admitting you were wrong and asking me for help?” Sheridan teases. “Who replaced Devin in the middle of the night?”
“You’re so annoying.”
Devin pushes herself to her feet, patting the dirt from her pant legs. She holds out a hand to help Sheridan up, too, and to her surprise, Sheridan takes it. Her hands are cold and clammy, the skin of her palm smooth and callous free. Devin releases her maybe too quickly, taking a step back to grab her backpack. She clears her throat and motions to Sheridan’s pack.
“Get that map out. We’ve got work to do.”
Even after four days, Aidan is quiet about the night he disappeared. Ollie had thought, at first, that Aidan simply wandered into the woods before anyone woke up, crushed by guilt, and stumbled his way to the trail. But when he sleeps, the night terrors come. Ollie’s begun to count the times Aidan shoots awake in the middle of the night, gasping for air, brow damp with sweat. He counts the hours he and Hannah crawl under Aidan’s tarp and sit with him until he can rest again.
Despite the night terrors and Hannah’s illness, though, there’s something uncomplicated about the three of them. There’s an easy rhythm, like those optical illusions made of circles that look like chaos until, finally, each layer aligns. Aidan may not be able to read a map, but he’s good with the compass and actually paid attention when the coaches showed them how to purify water and start a fire. Hannah keeps them moving, sometimes with gentle encouragement, sometimes with a story from home, sometimes with talk of something fun they’ll do on the other side of the woods.
Ollie isn’t sure of his role, but somehow, he’s surviving, too. He spends his nights fashioning his spear, though there still hasn’t been a sign of an animal in days. In a way, he’s even leading. Keeping them on track, rationing their food so it lasts. Six days without coaches and they’re getting along better than ever. If this is part of the program, Ollie is almost inclined to think it’s working.
Though that might just be thanks to Devin and Sheridan’s absence.
Tonight is Hannah’s watch. Aidan snores, bundled in his sleeping bag. Ollie should sleep, too, but he lingers across the fire from Hannah. Hannah doesn’t look at him, though. She eyes Aidan’s tarp and shakes her head, the soft ends of her hair shifting over her shoulders.
“Do you think he’ll stay asleep tonight?” Hannah asks. “He seems pretty out of it.”
“I hope so.” Ollie sighs.
Fire dances in the deep black of Hannah’s eyes. She looks at Aidan with a softness Ollie isn’t used to. It gnaws at him that she’s out here with the rest of them. She’s so different from kids like him and Devin, all rough edges and soot. She’s different from Aidan, who’d gladly self-destruct for a little affirmation. And she couldn’t be more different from Sheridan, who seemingly crawled directly from the pits of hell.
Hannah fixes Ollie with a curious look. “You aren’t gonna get some sleep?”
“I will,” Ollie says. “In a bit.”
“You don’t have to stay up with me.”
“I want to,” Ollie says. “You feel better tonight?”
Hannah nods, but Ollie doesn’t need her to say she’s feeling better. It’s clear from the color in her cheeks. Her wide eyes gleam in the firelight where, last night, they were dull and half-lidded, only semi-awake. Whatever bug got her is fading now, and the Hannah from before is coming back.
“Much better. You’ll be proud of me. I kept all my, um…” She clears her throat. “Patty meat down.”
“Oh?” Ollie laughs. “Lucky you.”
“Lucky, lucky me.”
Hannah stands suddenly and makes her way to Ollie. For a second, he thinks she’s going to sit beside him and his stomach drops. She stops just short of him, though, crouching to a seat. The fire is behind her now, the soft glow giving her a hazy gold outline.
“Sorry,” she says. “I don’t want to wake him up. Thought I’d come a little closer.”
“Totally,” Ollie says. “Wouldn’t want the navigator to be groggy tomorrow. What if he got us lost?”
Hannah scoffs. “Be nice. He felt bad about that.”
“I know, I know…” Ollie trails. “I’m glad we have him. I’m glad the three of us are together. I think we make a good group.”
“Are you worried?” Hannah asks. “About Devin?”
Ollie pictures Devin and Sheridan tonight, if they’re still together out there. At least he’s sure they have plenty of food. He wonders if Devin worries about him, too. From this vantage point, he can just make out the rigid peaks of the mountains and he wonders if Devin is lying down to sleep on one of them now. Maybe she’s already found rescue.
Sometimes, before Ollie fades to sleep, he imagines it’ll somehow be his last night out here. That he’ll wake to the buzzing of a helicopter landing in the woods, ready to lift them to safety. He’s never been much of an optimist, but the idea of it is like a warm embrace.
And then, when reality sets in, he wonders if the forest is really driving him mad.
“Yeah,” Ollie finally says. “I’m worried about all of us. I can’t turn it off.”
“You’re turning into group dad.” Hannah smiles.
Ollie smiles, too, but the thought feels empty. She says it and Ollie can only think of his own father. He imagines what it’ll be like when they get out of this forest. He imagines arriving home, bags slung over his sore shoulder. His father will react in all the ways people expect, of course. He’ll be quick to sue REVIVE for physical damage. He might even throw in mental damage, if he starts believing in that. But after, they’ll sit across from each other in the living room, an empty hospice bed between them, and there will be nothing. He can’t imagine his father asking about what happened to him out here. About the toll the woods took.
“You know,” Ollie mutters, “he sent me here because he thought I was taking my grandma’s pain meds?”
Ollie says it before he can even register that he’s speaking. Hannah blinks, apparently struggling to connect her comment and his.
“My dad,” he clarifies.
“Oh.”
“I wasn’t taking them for me.” Ollie looks down at his hands, because when he says it out loud, there really isn’t much of a difference. He can’t bear the thought of actually looking Hannah in the eye. “I was selling them, but I wasn’t taking them. I don’t know if that’s better. But … I don’t know. I just want someone to know.”
Hannah is quiet. Eventually, she reaches out, just touching the curve of Ollie’s knee. “Did you … tell your dad that?”
Ollie shakes his head.
“Why not?”
“Because I didn’t want to tell him what I needed the money for.”
The fire behind them crackles. Hannah’s hand remains on Ollie’s knee and Ollie doesn’t shrink away. He presses his fingertips into the dirt and he doesn’t look up. His heart races too fast.
“What were you saving for?”
“Moving.” Ollie sucks in a sharp breath. It doesn’t sound so bad out loud. Some of the guilt wadded up in his chest eases. “I wasn’t gonna tell him. I wasn’t gonna bring anything with me. I decided once my grandma died, I was done.”
“Done?”
“I was gonna start over.”
Hannah doesn’t say anything. Instead, she shifts, sitting next to Ollie against the tree, and she wraps her arm around his shoulders.
Ollie waits for it to feel wrong, but it doesn’t. He tries to remember the last time he hugged someone and comes up blank. The tightness in his chest slackens again, and when he exhales, it’s like he’s melting. He closes his eyes and leans into Hannah, hugging her tighter. He inhales the scent of woodsmoke and lavender.
“I just wanna start over,” Ollie whispers into Hannah’s shoulder. “I already fucked it up so bad. I just wanna try again.”
Hannah’s palm circles Ollie’s spine. Somehow, all the worst of it goes away when he talks to her. The fear of coming home to an empty hospice bed, a father that doesn’t care, an empty bank account … he doesn’t know what will come for him when he makes it out of these woods—if he makes it out of these woods—but when he eases into Hannah’s embrace and breathes slow, it doesn’t matter.
Across the campsite, something moves.
Ollie springs out of Hannah’s arms.
She grabs him, backing up tight to their tree. When Ollie squints, he’s sure he sees the tangle of leaves crashing into each other, more than they should in a breeze. Ollie’s eyes dart to his makeshift spear leaning against his tarp tent and he holds his breath.
He bounds away from the tree—away from Hannah—and grabs it.
The rustling continues, pulsing like someone is grabbing and tearing branches away. Without thinking, Ollie reaches for Hannah’s arm and shuffles her behind him. Fire dances against the waxy leaves of the nearby brambles and, finally, there’s a blur of movement just beyond the firelight. Ollie takes a step back and Hannah steps with him.
With a final crash, something stumbles into the firelight.
Not something; someone.
A green T-shirt hangs limp from her scraped, reddened arms. A splay of silver-blond hair is matted across her back. Her pants are shredded, exposing patches of bloodied wounds and bruised skin. The figure claws at the ground, pulling herself into the firelight. There’s a smack of familiarity to her face. It takes a moment too long for Ollie to register what he’s looking at.
“C-Coach Liv?” Ollie stammers.
Liv looks up. A smear of blood and dirt covers her face, but in the firelight, she’s unmistakable. Her blue eyes are red and irritated, her hair tangled and torn. She chokes into the dirt before managing three hoarse words:
“I found you.”