The forest woke up before any of them did. Long before the sun cracked the horizon, the trees began whispering with the slow sigh of wind crawling through branches. Leaves shifted in the dark. A few birds dared to test the silence with soft calls that sounded unsure, like they, too, wondered if it was safe to sing.
Rafi hadn't really slept. He'd closed his eyes beside the embers, head resting against a log, but every sound pried him half-awake again — the crackle of wet wood, the shifting bodies of kids curling tighter against the cold, the distant groan of trees adjusting themselves in the breeze.
When dawn finally peeled the darkness back, the sky was a dull metal gray. It felt too heavy for sunlight, but at least the shadows lifted enough to see faces again. The small kids huddled closer to what was left of the fire, teeth chattering in the morning chill.
Rafi got up before the others stirred properly. His knees ached from sleeping curled, his neck stiff from the log's rough bark. But none of that mattered now. He needed to move before doubts crawled in.
He knelt by the supply bins, sorting through what they had left. Four protein bars, one unopened peanut butter jar, half a sleeve of crackers gone stale from damp. Two working flashlights, though the batteries were suspect. A roll of old gauze in a cracked plastic bag.
It wasn't enough — it never was — but it had to be.
Behind him, the older kids stirred awake, one by one. They didn't ask what he was doing. They just came closer, rubbing sleep from their eyes, looking at the meager pile of gear like it might decide everything for them.
He glanced at the girl with the braid — same one who'd kept order the night before. She gave a small nod and started dividing the rations without being told. The lanky boy from yesterday checked the flashlights, tapping them against his palm until one flickered to life, flickered out, and reluctantly stayed on.
Two more kids, older than him by a year or so, shuffled up and said they wanted to help this time. One had a plastic rain poncho tied around his shoulders like a cape, patched with duct tape. The other carried a walking stick snapped from a branch, bark half-peeled where restless fingers had stripped it overnight.
Rafi counted heads — five in the new search group. Enough to move fast, not enough to slow each other down. The rest he trusted to stay back, guard the fire, keep the little ones calm.
He gave each volunteer a quick job. Check the water bottles. Tie any spare clothing around your waist. If you see fresh tracks, don't shout — just signal. Quiet. Careful.
A hush settled as they gathered at the trail's mouth. Mist hovered between the trees like thin smoke. The forest still felt swollen with rain, wet earth clinging to shoes and sucking at every step.
Rafi paused one last time before they crossed the invisible line where the clearing ended and the real woods began again. He turned back, scanning the faces watching him from the fireside: sleepy, afraid, but stubbornly awake. Alive.
He mouthed a promise to them without saying it: Stay warm. Stay close. We'll come back.
Then he stepped into the trees.
---
They climbed quickly at first, retracing the previous day's muddy prints. The hollow came up faster than expected, its roots and ferns still clutching secrets they hadn't dug deep enough to find.
Rafi knelt by the old boot print again. He could see fresh indentations beside it — not many, but enough to tell him someone had come back this way after the storm. Maybe the counselor. Maybe someone else.
He pushed that second thought away. There couldn't be a someone else. There couldn't.
They pressed further east this time, skirting the hollow's edge, moving in a line through thicker brush where sunlight slashed in narrow stripes. Each branch they pushed aside dripped cold water down their sleeves. Birds scattered ahead of them — good sign, Rafi told himself. Noise meant nothing was lying dead up ahead.
A sudden snap behind him made his heart slam against his ribs. He spun fast, raising a hand for the group to freeze.
One of the boys had stumbled into a hidden bramble patch, cursing under his breath as thorns tugged at his pants. No other sound. No threat.
Rafi exhaled, signaling again. Quiet. Keep moving.
Time stretched thin as they pushed higher toward the old boundary fence — a ragged stretch of rusted wire and rotting wooden posts marking the edge of what was once a safe perimeter. It hadn't mattered for years. Nobody bothered patrolling this far out anymore.
At the fence line, they found the first sign that stopped them cold.
A scrap of cloth caught on a broken strand of wire — same blue as the jacket Rafi still kept by the fire. Only this piece was stained dark, stiff with something dry that flaked off when touched.
Rafi's stomach dropped. He scanned the woods beyond the fence. Denser here. Shadows layered so thick even dawn barely slipped through.
No footprints. Just silence, thick as fog.
He turned to the group, eyes flicking over their faces — questions rising in their throats but none of them brave enough to break the hush.
He touched the cloth, then the wire, then the ground on the far side.
The counselor had come this way. Hurt, maybe. Definitely desperate enough to cross into the stretch nobody ever mapped.
Rafi straightened, clenched his jaw to keep his voice steady.
They would go further. Past the fence. Past what camp rules ever allowed.
He motioned them forward.
One by one, they slipped through the broken wire and vanished into the trees, the morning mist swallowing their shapes like breath in cold air.