I look over, expecting Emily to be gone since the flap is open, but she’s still in her bag, sawing logs. Figures. She probably ran out to pee and forgot to zip us back in, which means a parade of spiders could’ve crawled into our mouths while we slept. Tasty.
Or maybe Mr. Walker just opened it, trying to wake us up. We obviously overslept. It’s usually freezing in the morning, but the back of my neck is sticky with sweat. I crawl toward the entrance, looking for the telltale stripes on my backpack—where is it? Tell me I didn’t leave it out there in the rain! I fumble on my boots without socks and stand, but the world tilts dangerously. I clutch the side of the open door, my stomach rolling in warning.
Whoa. What the crap is going on with me?
My brain feels fuzzy in the sunlight outside. Even foggy-headed and eyes watering in the sudden brightness, I can tell it’s not morning. I think it’s late afternoon, and it looks like a gorgeous day. Blue sky, birds singing, the soft whisper of leaves shifting high in the trees above.
I squint up at the sun overhead. How did we sleep this late? My vision finally slides into focus, and I look around, seeing a trail of stuff between two of the tents. Is that clothes? Was there a bear?
My heart leaps into my throat, sits on the back of my dry, swollen tongue. Something’s not right. I spot Jude on the other side of his tent. His curly head is ducked. He’s hunched over, heaving. Oh. Oh.
I look away from where he’s being sick in the bushes and grab my own churning gut. OK, time to find Mr. Walker. A pile of stuff stops me short.
That wasn’t there last night.
We wouldn’t have missed this heap of… My eyes try to pick apart pieces that don’t make any sense. Straps and ripped cloth and papers and bits of plastic and glass. I spot a Broadway keychain dangling off a torn bit of striped canvas.
That’s my keychain. I take a breath, but it gets stuck halfway in.
Wait—wait—
I stagger over on wooden legs and look down at the keychain. That’s my bag. Or what’s left of it. It’s empty, cut into ribbons of canvas and broken straps. And those plastic and metal bits aren’t bits. They’re phones. Our phones. This is our stuff.
Someone swears, and I turn around, seeing Lucas sitting outside his tent. He’s pulling a shirt on and looking as sweaty and miserable as I feel. When his head emerges from the neck hole, he meets my eyes. I don’t know the expression he’s wearing, but it scares me. Everything I see scares me right now.
I scan the whole camp, torn up and empty and just…destroyed. This wasn’t a bear. Someone was here. We were sleeping, and they were in our camp. My backpack was in my tent.
Oh God.
Someone was in my tent.
My heart trips itself and then races. I can feel every beat in my head, my pulse counted out in beats of pain behind my eyes.
Mr. Walker. We need—
“Mr. Walker?” My voice cracks and crumbles like dead leaves. I swallow hard and try again. “Mr. Walker!”
This time, I’m louder because his tent flap is closed. I don’t know if he’ll hear. Jude stumbles back toward his tent, then sinks to his knees. He’s shaking all over, one earbud dangling halfway down his T-shirt, the other still in his ear. I can see the cord isn’t plugged into anything. His phone is gone.
Lucas is on his feet now, moving closer. Coming for me? Paranoid thought, but still, the fear needles into my spine. He turns toward Mr. Walker’s tent, and I can’t move as he unzips the door, throwing it open. Still can’t move when I hear him inside, calling Mr. Walker’s name. Softly first and then louder. Swearing, followed by an awful rustle and grunt.
He’s hurting him!
Fear turns to adrenaline, and I sprint for my teacher’s tent, my steps landing fast and sloppy. I don’t know what I’m thinking when I throw open that flap, but I freeze at the entrance, some ancient nameless instinct holding me back.
“There’s something wrong with him,” someone says. I can’t tell if it’s Mr. Walker or Lucas. It’s too dark in here. My eyes strain for focus, my brain still sloshing around, trying to find sense in something.
“Come help me!” It’s Lucas.
My eyes adjust, shadows forming into shapes. Lucas is bent over Mr. Walker. I crouch just inside the door. Our teacher looks awful. Pale and slack, half on his sleeping bag and half propped on Lucas’s knees. Is he breathing?
“Sera!” He looks urgent. “Help me!”
I jerk at the sound of my name, and our eyes lock. It’s as close as we’ve been since the party, but this is different. Seeing him like this—face blanched and breath shaky—sends goose bumps up on my arms.
“Wake him up,” I say, the words as hollow as my middle.
“I can’t.” Lucas shakes his head. “I can’t.”
Outside, someone screams.
My feet and legs wobble when I stand, and the world is topsy-turvy back in the sunlight beyond the tent door. I blink sweat out of my stinging eyes and take a step, searching for the source of the wailing. Trees. Trees. Emily.