The Williams' house was resounding with the frantic thumping of pre-camp anxiety. Grace stoodat the kitchen counter, folding with deliberate slowness a stack of shiny red t-shirts, each oneironed. Her fingers moved with painstaking slowness, as if folding would somehow still the knotof worry rising in her stomach. She looked out the window every so often, her eyes following theempty street. The weather was good, the sun brightly shining in the blue sky, but something wasamiss with the quietness—an unaccountable stillness that nagged at her.Frank's boots clicked on tile floor as he entered, his calloused fingers cradling Jonah'sscufed-out hiking boots. He knelt down with a groan, thumping the soles with his finger."These'll do. They always do." His voice was firm, but the flicking glance to the window beforehis eyes settled on Jonah told a great deal. There was worry behind that gruff façade, even if hedidn't admit it.Jonah slumped against him, a stranger in the turmoil. His hair was too dark, too crisp, and hisfingers drummed mindlessly on the counter. He glanced over at his mother, her face strained.He didn't have to ask. He knew it too. That tension, the coiled strength just waiting to beunleashed.Grace breathed slowly, folding the last of the shirts, and was standing at the suitcases again. "Ijust. I don't know," she said, to Frank rather than anyone, her hands over the insect spray andsunscreen, actions one did without thinking but now felt clumsy. "I keep thinking. I keep thinkingsomething's not right. With them. With everything."Frank stopped, his eyes trailing after her. His fists crossed behind him, and his expressionrelaxed slightly. "You concerned about the boys?" he murmured, like he was trying to reel her infrom wherever she'd been. He'd gotten to the place where he could read her like an open bookafter the marriage, and now she was closed up tight. She nodded without looking at him. Hereyes flashed back over at Jonah and Sam, in the corner, talking in hushed tones. There was anotherworldly quiet to them, as if they knew something the world did not yet know. "I just. I don'tknow. Maybe I'm overthinking.". They've been through so much already." She paused, biting herlip, but didn't say the words that were floating just beneath the surface. What if they're not safeanymore?Frank straightened up, giving Jonah a final glance before meeting his wife's eyes. "Well,whatever it is, we're not going to figure it out sitting here. We'll get them to camp, get them outof all this." He tried a smile, gruff around the edges but true. "You know they're going to have funout there. Will probably come back with tales we can't even follow." He leaned over and grippedher shoulder, small, down-to-earth.Jonah's eyes flicked up at the exchange, momentarily. He could hear the conversation withouthearing the words. His own thoughts, acuter than they should have been for a ten-year-old,picked up on the undertones of conversation between his parents. Something was amiss. Theywere upset. He sensed it in the unrevealed tension between them, the trembling when Gracepacked their belongings, and the tightening of Frank's jaw whenever no one seemed to notice.Sam, standing a little behind Jonah, gave a quiet sigh, his characteristic aloofness so close tobeing a perfect disguise. He sensed the tension as well, but he did a better job of keeping ithidden. He had already prepared ahead of time, already mentally preparing. Camp was simplyanother in a string, another aspect of their agenda. Posing this was going to be anything lessthan an opportunity—an opportunity to watch, to learn, to get ready for the future—there was nouse pretending. The world was shifting, and they were aware of this."Everything will be fine," Frank said, his voice breaking the quiet reverie. He wasn't saying it toGrace, though. He was saying it to himself. They had to believe that. They had to hold on tothat. They didn't have the luxury of letting their worries swallow them whole. "Let's just getthrough this. Get them to camp. Then we'll see."Grace simply nodded in reply, her lips pursed as if to quiet any further doubts from beingspoken. She returned to work, folding another batch of shirts, shoving aside her fears. But evenwhile doing so, she would always glance in the direction of the window, and the sky beyond.Something was arriving. And they all knew that.Jonah's fingers traced the seams on their backpacks, each motion intentional. He grasped astrap here, smoothed out creases in the material there, as if the mundane act of packing couldground him. His gaze raked over the materials—flashlights, little first aid kits, some cans of foodjammed into the very bottom. Things he and Sam had gathered over the months prior, theirsecretive preparations flew under the radar of their parents. Jonah ran his hands over the secretpockets Sam had sewn into the lining. Water purifiers, fire starters, and a few survivalitems—things for a world not yet fallen apart, but soon to be.Across from him, Sam sat quietly, unlike himself. His notebook was open on the table in front ofhim, but his eyes were not scanning the page. They wandered idly out the window, observingthe clouds as they floated across the late afternoon sky. Jonah couldn't recall the last time Samhad been so motionless, and it unsettled him. Typically, Sam's mind was racing with schemes,his words coming fast and sharp, always in overdrive. But today, he had nearly. withdrawn. As ifsome invisible burden was on him also, and he was determining how much time they had.Jonah let out a soft sigh, his hand hovering over the zipper of the large compartment. Heflashed a brief glance at Sam. "What is it with you?" he snarled, his voice raw, but notunpleasant. It was something that both of them knew he'd been steering clear of for days. Samdid not respond immediately, his gaze traveling sluggishly to Jonah's. For a moment, Jonahthought he wouldn't say a word to him.Sam answered, his tone firm, but there was a tone in his voice that Jonah was not accustomedto hearing. "Nothing's happening. Just. thinking." His lips folded together, as if he was notcertain whether he should continue. The tension between them remained, and Jonah did notpress him. He knew better than to ask Sam anything when he sounded like this. His brother hadthis weird talent for keeping his mind in a wall, releasing it only when he pleased.Jonah kept on working, wrapping his fingers around what was in the bag. A little notebook full ofmaps, a bunch of keys—worth nothing to anyone else, but worth something to them. He hadlearned to trust Sam's instincts, even when they took them into odd, uncomfortable spaces.Jonah's thoughts flashed back to the day that Sam had begun shoplifting. The first time Jonahhad seen the strange collection of equipment that was cluttering up their closets, Sam had toldhim: "Just in case."The words reverberated in Jonah's head now as he opened a pocket knife, the metal cold justbelow a fold or two of clothes. Just in case. The notion had been a mantra, a rhythm that theyhummed to themselves as they readied, as they trained, as they lived this bizarre facsimile ofnormalcy. But here, in the tranquil house, with the quiet hum of suburbia beyond, it all seemedunreal. It seemed unnatural.Jonah's gaze flicked towards the front door, towards the lawn out there, and he saw it for thefirst time—the safety was a guise. The hum of distant neighbors cutting grass, children giggling,the incessant shufle of things going on. None of it was in place. It was cover. He fought to getthe saliva down, the pressure of their concealed world strangling him. Sam hadn't told him, butJonah knew he felt it too. The world beyond was changing. And although it hadn't struck yet,they both felt the clock running out."So, we ready for this?" Jonah asked after a moment, the question plain, but heavy. He glancedover at Sam once more, for some sign of his brother's customary sharpness, his customarycutting edge. Instead, Sam's gaze was still glued to the window for another second before heanswered, his tone factually but with an implied conviction. "It's already begun," he said, close tomuttering.Jonah didn't press him to explain what he meant because he knew it wasn't something thatcould be readily explained. Lilia leaned against the doorframe, her shoulders stif, her handsclenching the strap of her bag like rope to keep her hold. Her eyes dart between Sam andJonah, but as Sam slides by her, her eyes linger just a hint of a fraction of a second too long.Jonah catches sight of it out of the corner of his eye—a tilt of her head, the barely perceptibletwitch of her lips as though she is about to say something but can't quite reach. He did not reply,simply looked quickly over at her, but could not help feeling that there was something wrongwith the glance she gave Sam. It wasn't fear, not really.It was something darker, something that pricked at the peripheries of Jonah's mind.Lilia shifted once more, her toe against the earth drumming a gentle beat. Every click was asmall reminder of tension she could not dispel, of nervousness she wore like a second skin. Sheseemed to be psyching herself up for something, though Jonah had no idea what. Her eyes fellto her hands, wrestling with the strap as if action itself could strangle whatever was twistinginside of her. She had a fist of words in her mouth, as if she was about to speak, beforeslamming it closed just as quickly, swallowing them before she could voice them. Jonah saw theflash of anger in her eyes.He looked at her, giving a nod of acknowledgement before his focus was already beginning tostray off again to his work. It wasn't that he wasn't hearing, but the crushing of his own head andthe sense that something would soon shatter in the world they were living in was more than anyuncomfortable silence between him and Lilia. His hands flew quickly as he continued to loadtheir equipment. Sam was already gone for a second, and Jonah was left to complete the finaltouches.Lilia's voice had finally pierced the silence, soft, almost apologetic. "Jonah…," she began, butthe rest of the word had remained frozen in her throat. She stood observing as Sam walked pastagain, this time with longer steps. Jonah picked up the unasked question in her quiet, the tug ofher interest, the way she regarded Sam with a sort of fascination. It made his skin go tight,though he couldn't quite define why. Lilia was diferent from the others—she wasn't like the oneswho fought and the ones who whispered behind each other's backs. Her stillness weighed andJonah wasn't certain whether he was relieved for it or if it only made him more uncomfortable.He growled briefly at her. "It's nothing," he whispered, not snappishly, but there was a stop to hissound that he hoped would silence her. Too many things already needed worrying about, andLilia's troubles, whatever they were, were something he could not aford to handle. She lookedat him, and for an instant there was a flicker of spark in her eyes—something she was strugglingnot to notice. But she simply turned her thoughts again to her bag, her agitated fidgetingabandoning her as if she was struggling to grasp her emotions.Jonah's eyes shifted to where Sam had stood. He was outside now, just beyond the back door,traversing the yard with a slow deliberateness. Jonah knew Sam well enough to catch thatlow-intensity determination, the sort of intent which signaled to him his brother was focused,thinking, watching. Sam did not stand still often, and when he did, some massive notion wascooking in his head. Jonah had seen this before—when amazing things were just going tooccur, Sam's entire demeanor would shift to this odd calmness, as if he watched the world go byhim in slow motion.Lilia traced the curve of Jonah's back to Sam, but her expression wasn't surprise, curiosity atseeing him bristle. Instead, her face went slack, and for an instant, Jonah almost thought shewas. waiting for something. Waiting for Sam to turn around and glance over his shoulder at her,to see her? It bothered Jonah somehow he couldn't even quite articulate, as though the dynamicof everything about them was somehow being thrown off without him even noticing it was doingso.Sam's eyes snapped back to the house, and for a moment, their eyes met. Jonah couldn't tell ifit was deliberate or not, but Sam's expression never broke. He didn't smile, didn't ofer any sortof acknowledgement. But Jonah felt the flicker of doubt in Sam's movement—the way he'dstood up a bit taller, more commanding, before his eyes were arrested by something else. Amoment's doubt. But for Lilia? Or was it just a fleeting glimpse of something entirely diferent?The bus careened down the dirt road, the tires casting clouds of dust drifting listlessly along infront of the trees along the road. Jonah sat by the window, the landscape whooshing by in stripsof brown and green. The Lone Creek Camp had been a memory, a far cry—ramshackle cabinslost in the woods, worn wood sides worn smooth by weather and time. The camp had a stillnesslike the rest of the world had been left behind. Jonah's stomach rumbled. He had suspected allalong that silence could be as deafening as noise, and at this moment it seemed like the wholecamp wasn't even breathing.As the bus slammed on its brakes, the door screeched open with a jarring shriek that seemed toring out louder than necessary in the stillness of the forest. Ms. Emma's voice cut through thesilence, bright and insistent and even a little too bright. "We're here, everyone!" she announced,slapping her hands together in an obvious attempt to drive away the tension. Her eyes,however, betrayed her. There was a tight line to her smile, a flash of something—humbly, ordoubtfully—that she could not hide. The children spilled out, their backpacks dragging behindthem. Jonah hung back, his boots crunching on dry ground as he took in the camp. The greattrees towered above him, the faraway thrum of cicadas the only sound.Jonah had caught a glimpse of Sam, already a few paces ahead, walking resolutely. His owneyes darted cabin to cabin with that sharp, assessing glint Jonah had become so used to overthe years. Sam's eyes darted cabin to cabin, taking in the woods opposite, the trodden paths,and the way the other children were gazing nervously over their shoulders. Sam's hands wereburied deep in his pockets, but Jonah recognized he wasn't nearly as at peace as he appeared.His brother's back was stif, shoulders braced against the world. There was something about thelocation that didn't sit right with him, although he'd never said a word. Jonah recognized betterthan to inquire. Sam would let him know in good time.Jonah's own head was confused. The camp itself was beautiful, yes, but too remote—like it hadbeen constructed with the goal of shutting the world out. And that was a bad thing. He gazed outover the cabins, their gray weathered wood and slanted roofs. The camp itself was quaint, yes,but there was abandonment here, like nobody had ever truly lived in these houses at all for awhile now. The newly painted cabins stood defiantly in quietness from the inside out, waiting foreyes to alight upon them.He saw Lilia to his left side, walking with him, eyes wide with wonder, not a sound from her, butJonah saw the doubt in the moment's hesitation that her foot stayed behind before it settledupon the earthy path, as if she'd dearly love to stay there an extra moment before theycontinued on with the rest of them. Jonah caught it in the hunch of her shoulders—tense andquestioning. He thought it wasn't the camp by itself. No, Lilia's tension was much deeper thanthat, and the anxious way her eyes swept over the nape of her shoulder suggested she wasalready looking for something. Someone.Sam was already at the cabin, along with Troy and some of the other children, and Jonah hadthe sense that he would take it over for seven days. He couldn't shake the feeling that thisplace, this secluded spot in the woods, was anything other than a summer vacation. It waskeeping a secret, Sam sensed it. The manner in which Jonah circumnavigated, inspecting everysquare inch of airspace was nearly like reminding him of the sheer weight of everything, thescrutinizing gaze of everything. Jonah did not approve. They had gotten used to hiding, to livingon the plane of the everyday, and now they found themselves in the doorway of something sodiferent.Jonah pushed past the uneasy knot in his stomach, forcing himself to focus on the present. Hegrabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder, taking a long step toward the cabins. Ms. Emmahad already begun to herd the kids toward their assigned rooms, her voice still cheery but losingsome of its earlier enthusiasm. She caught sight of Jonah and smiled. "Come on, Jonah. You'regonna love it here."Jonah did not smile at her. He nodded but did not raise his eyes from Sam. His brother stood onthe porch, talking to Troy, whose face was pale, transferring his weight from one foot to another.The temptation of the camp was something that Jonah sensed—the sense that something justbeneath the surface, something in wait for them to tumble into it. He had no idea what Samalready knew, but Jonah relied on his brother's gut instincts. And currently, his gut wasscreaming the same general sense of unease that had been plaguing him since they'd arrived:something was off about this place. Something was going to change.As the squad fell into cabin space, all the children stood stifly to their seat. The camp wasbeautiful in a coarse, untainted way, but they did not see it. They were annoyed at the heavinessof the bags, the stifness of the time, and the foreboding sense of possibility that spread beforethem.Troy and Malik were the first of their group to drop their gear, their packs clanking as if to soundout the rest of the hushed camp in response to a welcome. Their bitter reactions hung thereshortly, passed along from one to another with no dificulty. "Guess the great outdoors isn't sodarn cute after all," Troy snarled, propping his eyes out over the edge of the camp as if lookingfor a short cut. Malik snorted, cinching his bag strap, his voice in exaggerated excitement."Yeah, totally wilderness vibe here." Can't wait to fake being a bear for the next week. Theyweren't quite so keen on Sam, Jonah noticed, but they were keeping it cool for the moment,keeping out of striking distance and making the required slurs.Jonah looked over at the rest of them, noticing the slight deviation in their stance. Chloe in therear of the group seemed totally misplaced. Her eyes wildly darted around the space, as ifsomething was going to jump out and get her at any moment. She wasn't the only one who feltnervous; it was clear that none of them felt comfortable there.Leo was, too. Jonah noticed the frantic quiver in his hand as he cinched his backpack, fingerson the straps nervously rubbing against it. He was not trying to hide it, but the fact that his eyescouldn't locate anyone's stare showed that he wanted to. Jonah couldn't help but wonder if Leohad ever spent one day in the woods or if this was something he just had to miss for a week.Mila marched behind, already carrying her notebook and complaining how one simply had to dothings a certain way. Her friends streamed into a cuff behind her, their low voices rising andfalling in a gentle rumble of soft protest. Jonah picked up on such tiny bits of things to say, like,"We have to keep to the schedule," and "How would we ever know when it's time for dinner?"Mila had already clung to the rules and organization of camp, having them as a lifeline.The constant requirement of order was not shunned by Jonah, but he also noticed the shakingof her hands when she wasn't observed. Peter, however, was most misplaced. Jonah hadcaught him looking at his phone once more, as if waiting for some sort of miracle message tojust magically appear out of thin air. Half-frustrated, close to See-through, a sheen of gloss fellover Peter's face as he swiped his phone before letting out a frustrated sigh and stufing it intohis pocket. He remained in the city, still connected to the one they'd departed from, still holdinghis breath for that signal that would tell him everything was fine.Jonah had a feeling Peter would never fully be at ease again until he had his Wi-Fi.Though in countryside, Jonah already noticed the cracks forming in the crowds. Not that campwas a complaint. It was just the human thing—how all and each of them handled clumsiness asthe norm. The niceness and pseudo-pal-pal ritual diluted and eventually eroded by the snideremarks and the pursed-lip silences between them. Blue and treeless, no one could penetratethe walls each child had built around themselves. Jonah noticed that this was going to betougher than it looked.He looked over at Sam, on the periphery of their group looking out over the campsites withtough wariness. He wasn't talking, but Jonah could tell the internal battle that had accompaniedhim. Sam had fought his mind, and Jonah didn't even disturb his brother. Something was ofabout this camp. This was not a summer camp. This was an experiment, and they were all justwaiting for it to blow.Jonah clenched hard, dufel in his fists. He didn't know what was going to happen, but he couldsense the mounting excitement, and when the rolling ball of expectation came to a head, heknew it wouldn't take long.The camp was in full stride by mid-afternoon. The class was simple, designed to introduce thechildren to wilderness survival, but Jonah was already far out in front of that. As the rest of theclass watched and mimicked as their teacher instructed them in how to start a fire, Jonah'sfingers flew with ease, mirroring the teacher's movements with a smoothness that came muchtoo easily to him. He chose the right kindling with purpose, his eye scanning the ground, suckingin the ground like it was a map he had spent years poring over. The wind had risen, just a bit,enough to cause the flames to leap about in mad forms. He was already planning how toincorporate that when the time came to make camp.Sam hardly seemed to be listening. His arms were crossed over his chest, shoulders slumpedforward, eyes scanning the tree line as if he waited for some vision or person. He turnedoccasionally to Jonah, but his face had been mostly empty most of the time. The excitementthat had lit up when they arrived had already gone. Something else was occupying his mind.Jonah caught the way his brother's eyes darted to the edge of things, the edge of the camp, likehe was making mental escape plans of fiction. Other children crouched, intent on setting theirown kindling ablaze, as Sam mapped his route out.The teacher had ofered some hints on how to burn damp wood, but Jonah did not require it. Hehad been an expert at lighting fires for so long, even when the weather was against you. Theother kids were struggling, but Jonah's fire burst into life, the flames crackling towards the air.His fingers moved smoothly, mercilessly, and constantly. He looked across at Sam, whoseenthusiasm had dropped. He was playing with a tiny twig between his fingers, his mind clearlyelsewhere.With the fire-building done, the team proceeded to that of shelter-building. Jonah's eyes sweptthe ground, watching the terrain to learn where the best material might be found. He hadalready spotted a location in shade, away from the others who were sweating, where he knewthe ground was firmer and would hold better. His fingers moved swiftly, picking up sticks, testingthem for durability, and braiding the structure together with ease. This was not the first shelterhe'd ever constructed—he could do it blindfolded. Each step was greasy, practiced, andassured. He wasn't constructing a shelter; he was constructing an asylum, a refuge where theycould withdraw when things fell apart.Sam too was out of action, leaning his back on a tree, arms crossed. His eyes were screwedtight, gazing into every nook and corner of the camp, his head racing with possibilities. In caseanything went wrong, he was already thinking two, three steps ahead of things. He cast aglance at Jonah's hut, then turned away, looking around again. Jonah felt his brother's tension,a kind of embarrassment that wrapped around him like a cloud, but he said nothing. Sam wasnot a talker. If there was trouble, Sam would handle it as he pleased.Before the shelter lesson was finished, the sky became dark, and the night campfire wasalready being prepared for evening camp. Jonah paused for a while to tighten a few loose endson his shelter, still adjusting with a purposeful movement of his fingers, when he caught aglimpse of Lilia. She had sat down much too near to Sam, her back to him, her eyes on him likea magnet. Jonah attempted to tune in, but could not help but see how she was regarding Sam.There was something about it which caused him to shiver.Lilia, her fingers clinking a little, brought out a small bag of trail mix. She held it out to Sam witha shaking hand, her fingers shaking so much that Jonah caught the movement. "Here," shewhispered, pushing it toward him. "You might as well eat." Sam said nothing, but his handreached to accept the food, their skin brushing briefly. His eyes darted to Lilia for a moment, andthen away. His expression was unchanging, but Jonah could detect the hasty retreat of his jaw,the microscopic shift in position.Jonah glanced hastily away, observing the fire instead. It was simpler to observe the fire than todeal with the unpleasant sensation that had come to reside in his stomach. He had no idea why,but something about how Lilia looked at Sam did not sit well. It wasn't this quiet reverence of afriend. Something darker. Something else. Jonah didn't know how to speak of it, how to bring itup, so he sat, motionless, and stared into the leaping orange of the flames. His fists clenchedonto the ridges of his pack, his thoughts coils of anxiety and confusion. And this was only thestart. Already things felt. of.The campfire glowed off in the distance, and the shadows stretched out long and black acrossthe encampment. Jonah's gaze returned to Sam, still chewing slowly, eyes staring out. Thecamp had hardly gotten started, and already Jonah could feel the cracks widening. Somethingwas brewing, something they weren't ready for, and it wasn't going to wait for them to catch up.The morning began as usual, birdsong chirp and constant hum of the campfire crackling fillingthe air as dawn broke. The children all congregated in the middle of the room for breakfast,metal clinks of camping equipment and rustle of food package making up the air. Lilia wasalready seated aside, knees tightly drawn up under her as she poked at her granola. Her gaze,however, never wandered far from Sam, who sat engrossed fixing the radio outside the campleader's hut.No one had paid much attention to it until Ms. Emma shouted the group to order. Her voice wasa little louder than usual, with a strained cheerful timbre that rang. wrong. She stood holding theradio in her hands, fiddling with the dials. "Alright, kids, time for a brief newsbreak from outsidethe valley.". Just to keep us informed," she added, smiling a bit too broadly. The others stoodclose behind her, waiting for the momentary link to the outside world.Then it arrived—a voice of static and then an unknown voice. Static-ridden words. Bandaids ofchaos. "Dallas. Austin. widespread. emergency.," the words barely penetrating as thetransmission just evaporated into nothing. For an instant, silence. The radio crackled oncemore, letting loose for an instant a hiss of sound before it was dead. Jonah's stomachconstricted. There was something unsettling about the ferocity of the noise, the abrupt loss ofsignal.The quiet hung, oppressive quiet where the sound of the fire was too sharp. The campersfidgeted uneasily on their knees, not knowing what to do. Jonah looked over at Sam, hisbrother's face impassive. Sam was only a little too rigid, his hand gripping tight over the strap ofhis pack. Jonah had a talent for interpreting those tiny, barely noticeable cues—Sam alreadycrunching, working out figures no one else would make sense of. There was no tension in him,no hurry to say anything. Just. contemplative silence.Ms. Emma's voice broke the silence, but it wasn't as steady as before. "Alright, well… that's alot to take in. But we'll be fine, okay? It's probably nothing." She smiled at the group, but it didn'treach her eyes. Jonah saw her glance at the radio, her hand trembling slightly as she turned itof, the click of the switch more forceful than necessary. The children glanced at each other,their eyes flashing with terror, a chill of apprehension settling over the camp like an unwelcomevisitor."Everything's all right," Ms. Emma repeated, seemingly trying to reassure them more thanherself. "Just a small technical malfunction. Now, let's get on with the hike today, okay?" Shesnapped her hands together once, a tad too forcefully, but the result was instantaneous. Thechildren began to amble off again, resuming their activities. But no one was quite as enthusiasticas previously. Jonah noticed Lilia's jittery finagling out of the corner of his eye, her lips pursedinto a tight line as she gazed at the ground.Jonah was silent as he packed his equipment for the hike. He simply allowed his eyes to trackSam. Sam had stepped ahead of the group and was leaning over the edge of the camp, gazingout into the trees that seemed to slope down into the horizon. Jonah felt the near-microscopicshift in the world around them. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something was not right.Sam was working it through, and Jonah knew, with that ghastly sureness, that his brother's mindwas already going, running the arithmetic on the odds of what the message actually meant.What had Sam already worked out?As the team headed out to retrieve their equipment, Jonah lingered a half-second longer thannecessary. His hand rested on his pack, didn't touch it. His mind was too disjointed. A partiallyconstructed picture of the radio message, the crazy fragments of information, flickered in hishead. The world beyond this remote camp was infiltrating, never within reach. Too tangible.The trek began the same way, with the children tripping over moss rocks and the elderly forcingtheir way forward. Ms. Emma's voice was even, attempting to fill the air with enthusiasm as she spoke of the magic of the forest. Her voice, though, sounded too cheerful, like someone wasattempting too hard to suppress something beyond view. Jonah wasn't paying attention. Hiseyes continued to travel back, his thoughts knotted with ideas he couldn't quiet.Sam, always on the lookout, had fallen behind the pack, his pace slow, his eyes roving down thehighway. Jonah caught the expression on his brother's face—the expression that meant Samwas not walking. He was observing. Plotting, as always, but with something sinister in the flashof his eyes between the shadows of the trees. The customary sardonic curl of Sam's lip wasabsent, rather substituted by something harder, more intense."Jonah," a voice interrupted his daydreaming. It was Chloe, soft, a little uncertain. She had beenstanding beside him all morning, one of the quiet little group. Her eyes jumped about in alldirections, and her fingers drummed nervously at the edge of her sleeve. "Do you. do you thinkwe're safe here?"Jonah stared down at her, noticing the tension in which she stifened herself as if readyingherself for some impact. He had no idea how to respond. She was not asking for reassurance,not so much. She was asking because he was asking himself the same thing. Rather thanresponding, he could do no more than nod curtly and turn away from her again to the path, eyesscanning out Sam once again. His brother still fell back, but Jonah saw now that the hands ofSam were lying lightly on his pockets, his body stif, as if expecting something.The group went on, but it was not the same. The woods, where they should have felt respite,were oppressive. Jonah saw Lilia in front of him. She wasn't glancing at him, but Jonah felt thecloseness of her as a weight. She was next to Sam, next to him always, even when she was notstanding next to him. Her step was rapid, and Jonah saw her look back over her shoulder at himand Sam and not the reverse. Sneaky, but he did see. The way she studied them. The way shewatched each move Sam took with a blinding ferocity.Jonah paced behind, and his mind reeled with questions that coalesced and dissolved quickerthan he could catch them. What had been going on? Why had everything seemed so of? Theearly morning radio broadcast stuck with him. Rioting in Dallas and Austin. And then the abruptquiet between them—nobody talked about it, not out loud. They all acted like it was okay. ButJonah could see it in the way they stood. Their pinched, compact faces, the way their strideshad been slightly lengthened when the wind blew up, as if it was danger instead of just leavesblowing."Right, stop staring out into the woods, Jonah," Sam snarled behind him, breaking the tensionthat had fallen between them. Jonah's heart made a startled, reflexive leap, and he stood up,attempting to appear nonchalant. But Sam's eyes—cold, icy—did not let him go."I wasn't staring," Jonah answered, holding up his hands in a gesture of innocence, but theexpression in Sam's eyes was enough to make him knot his stomach. Sam knew. Jonah couldsense it.The day continued on, with even an attempt to suppress it, Jonah couldn't really shake thesense that something was building just below the surface of their interaction. They settled forlunch at a nearby meadow. Ms. Emma persisted in attempting to joke about it, but even hervoice had fallen slightly. Luke was quieter now, his eyes scanning the tree line. The children, stillnot knowing the world outside their camp, sat on their provisions, their discussion subdued andtense.Jonah reclined against the fallen log, allowing the gravity of the moment to seep into his frame.His eyes were shut for a single fleeting moment, and in the silence of that moment, helistened—heard it: the distant crunch of a twig through the forest cover, followed by the lowrustle of leaves on the horizon. Not the wind. Something. intentional."Heard what?" he panted, the words barely audible. Sam, gazing unwaveringly at the fire, didn'tanswer immediately. He just inclined his head to one side, listening, tensing hard enough forJonah's own heart to give a slight extra beat.Just the woods," Sam answered, his voice dry. But Jonah wasn't so certain. Neither of themstirred for a moment, with the sound of the forest closing in on them. Not until Ms. Emmashouted and told them to break apart did they come out of the stillness, but Jonah felt certainsomething was amiss. Something was approaching.The sunlight came through the trees, muted and patchy, but not enough to dispel the stiflingsilence that shrouded the camp. Jonah sat next to the smoldering remnants of the campfire, hishands automatically clawing at the dirt. His pack remained unmoving next to him, as if theworld's burden rested within it, and not merely the rations. The rest of the children wanderedaround listlessly in a half-hearted efort to occupy themselves, but no more than a few feetseparated them with their eyes. They all stood and waited, gazing, as if waiting for something toshatter, though none of them had any idea what that would be."Ms. Emma's been at that radio for hours," Leo grumbled, his voice low and thick with anger. Hewas the one who had attempted his phone first, the first to bellow about the signal being down.Now he sat bundled up with his knees under his chin, arms wrapped around them as if trying toprotect himself from the unseen.Jonah looked over at Sam, who was standing at the edge of the crowd, eyes scanning aroundthe edge of the camp. From where Jonah stood, he could see his brother wasn't even payingattention to what anyone was saying. His face was expressionless, but there was a stifness inhis stance that was a give-away to the tension. Sam wasn't standing around while waiting; hewas mentally scouting out all the routes of escape, eying every line of trees and outcropping ofboulder like a hunter mapping his ground."Do you think the camp is safe?" Peter had the courage to ask, disturbing the silence. His voiceshook, more through lack of knowledge than fear, but it still caused a ripple in the group. Therest gazed up, some of them pausing as if the question had not yet occurred to them. Peter wasthe exception to this, a man who did not quite fit with the trees and the earth. He had attemptedto find a signal for the Wi-Fi, despite the fact that they'd gone without it for days. But with eachdisappointment, his face drew on longer, his eyes grew deeper into haunted places.Jonah stroked his thumb over the rim of his pocket, the chill of Sam's pilfered credit cardsagainst his skin. He knew it was going to be like that. There was no cataclysm; no such warningsign. It was something smaller, a cumulative feeling of inevitability that clawed its way upwardon the days. They were already stuck in this gradual plummet, and the others did not yet have aclue.Lilia, who was normally so shy, hung around the peripheries of the group. She'd barely spokenmore than a few words since they'd arrived, and now she hovered at the back, her eyes dartingbetween Sam and the others. Something about her eyes though made Jonah uneasy. She waslooking at Sam as if she needed something from him but didn't know how to get it. She sat toorigidly, her hands clasped in her lap and fingers tapping lightly on her jeans. He caught herlooking, and she turned away, but there was an edgy quality to it, the absence of words."Lilia," Jonah said softly, taking a step or two toward her. He wasn't sure what he was supposedto say. Was he supposed to stop her from whatever she was going to do? Or did he just need tobreak the silence? "You good?"She looked up at him. Her eyes were big. Maybe a little too pure. She nodded. She didn't meanit. "Just… thinking."Jonah couldn't understand what to make of her answer. It wasn't the truth. The words of Lilianever quite synchronized with the movements of her own body. Something was wrong withher—the way she'd been lingering around Sam, the way she always seemed to be lurking in thebackground, watching for him to see that she was there. Jonah had watched her dashing intothe trees, the way she glances back at Sam when she's thinking that nobody is present. Therewas a urgency to her movements that irritated him, but he did not know how to go about it,much less with all the other stuff going on in his head."Ms. Emma's still trying to call her husband," Chloe shouted across the clearing, her voice tinybut big enough to hear. "But it's just… static.".Jonah looked at her, seeing her dry her hands on the hem of her shorts. She wasn't crying—notears, but a contained tension that had wrapped itself around her like a shroud. Jonahrecognized the fear in her eyes, but it was diferent. They feared what they did not understand;she feared what she did."She's only trying to tell us everything is all right," Jonah said, his tone gentle, although even hewasn't certain that he was convinced himself. He'd learned too well to put promises in his head.Already things were falling apart, and playing happy family wasn't going to save anyone.The sun was lower in the sky, and Jonah felt like something was just behind the trees,something waiting for its turn to come out. It wasn't the woods that were menacing—it was thepeople, the way their eyes were darting back and forth between them, the unspoken knowledgethat nobody was saying the thing that everyone was thinking."Maybe we just leave," Peter repeated, his voice more panicked. "We need to go right now,before it gets bad."Ms. Emma's head shook, her smile twisted too wide. "No, we wait. The camp is secure. Thecamp always was."Her eyes gave her away, though. Jonah watched the way she trembled as she wound the radioagain. It wasn't safe anymore.The fire's light cast afar, long, uncertain shadows on the darkening woods. Jonah sat at camp'sedge, his clenched hands wrapping in the coarse material of his jacket, his eyes scanning theland. He didn't know why, but something was wrong. The familiar buzz of campfire conversationhad died away, replaced by a mufled thrum of insects and soft cracking of leaves. He looked inthe direction of the cabin where Sam had vanished just seconds before, then toward the fire, thedancing flames casting ephemeral images of his brother's vanishing. It was not like Sam toleave without a purpose.Sam had always been in charge, the one who planned every move, even if no one else seemedto even listen. And tonight he seemed to be more focused on something Jonah couldn't evenquite specify. Without hesitation, Jonah leapt to his feet, his muscles coiled, and began walkingin the direction Sam had. His footsteps were silent, trained. Sam always walked as if the worldwere a problem to be solved. Tonight, though, something in Jonah's chest filled up with anawkward rhythm. He wasn't going after Sam because of any other motivation than curiosity.There was a compulsion beneath, a desire to know, to ensure.Night air had the lightest whiff of pine and wet earth. Jonah's breathing was steady, but his headpounded. Sam could get into the woods, disappearing into the trees and no one was the richer.Jonah knew his brother was never one to relish being among people in times like these. He justpreferred dealing with the world on his own terms. The steps of Jonah grew quieter as hewalked towards the line of trees, homing in on the sound of movement before him.Through the bushes, Jonah could make out Sam beyond the reach of the trees, his shapeindistinguishable from the darkness. He did not move for an instant, then went down to hisknees, his fingers tracing the ground. Jonah was still, didn't even breathe. He merely watched,remembering more than to step in. Sam was the kind who didn't need to be rescued—he wasalways thinking, always jumping ahead. But Jonah couldn't quite get the feeling that thisevening, all was well. His eyes furrowed, following the lines of Sam's recumbent form.Sam's fingers were inches above the earth before he slowly withdrew them. He cocked his headto the side, hearing something Jonah did not. Jonah's heart beat faster, his gut knotting. Whatwas Sam listening for that he wasn't? What had brought him here? For a moment, the worldwas unimaginably still—no wind, no creatures, only Sam and Jonah, standing in an enormousnothing that somehow stretched between them.Sam's eyes darted up, meeting Jonah's for a fleeting moment. The habitual ferocity thatinhabited them had given way to something hard, calculating. Sam's lips parted just enough forthe minimal intake of air, and Jonah saw a nod, not larger than a sigh. It was hardly any efort atall to comprehend: there was something out there. Something was going on out there in thedarkness, but Sam was not yet willing to articulate it.Jonah's breath was frozen in his throat. His body acted before his brain had a chance to catchup. He wasn't scared—yet—but the insidious fear gnawing in his belly was resistant to change.He couldn't shake Sam's unspoken warning, no matter how much he wanted to. Somethinglurked in the woods, something concealed, something that didn't belong. It wasn't the quietnessthat was creepy—it was the manner in which the night was holding its breath, poised to seewhat would happen next.Sam stood upright, his face still inscrutable, but his eyes never once glancing away from thetrees. Jonah's fists clenched at his hips. He longed to insist that he tell him what it was, butcouldn't manage to get the words past his lips. He already knew. Instead, he nodded—quickly,almost imperceptibly enough to tell Sam that he knew. The woods lay out before them, dark andfull of secrets neither of them yet understood.Standing there, in the cold of the forest, Jonah felt the world weighing on him. Not the worldoutside the camp, not the broken cities and the not-tomorrow, but today's world. The world ofwhat was going on, of what would be going on. It wasn't a sense anymore. It was fact.Something was going to arrive. And Jonah was certain that whatever it was, they would not beprepared.The sun was pale in the morning and fought to shine through the heavy canopy of trees. Jonahblinked and fought his way down to the largest clearing, the heel of his boots being sucked intothe wet ground with every step. The usual hum of camp was dampened, as though the wholecamp had been consumed by the forest's darkness. Most of the campers remained where theywere, whispering and shy. The night had taken from them all their vitality, and they possessedonly a sense of unease.The radio crackled, and then Oliver's voice, proclaiming that he was leaving. Jonah hesitated, asense of instinct in the direction of the clearing where the counselors clustered. The older manremained standing, back to the campers, but an odd serenity on his countenance, his backpackover his shoulder like an unspoken promise. His words, commanding though they were, carrieda sense of doubt that was unmistakable."I'm going to find my brother," Oliver said, his voice steady but lacking its usual confidence. "I'mnot going to let him be out there alone. Ms. Emma, I'll be back before dark. Just. just keepeveryone here safe." His eyes flicked nervously over the group, as if trying to convince himselfas much as anyone else.Ms. Emma's hand stopped over her radio, but she smiled gamely. "I'll keep the camp safe foryou until you get back, Oliver. Just. be careful, okay?" Her voice was a bit unsteady, even asshe tried to sound firm. Jonah saw the tension that undercut her eyes, the fear she was fightingso hard to hide. He'd seen that expression on faces before from people who did not know howto ready themselves for what was going to happen.Jonah did not answer. He never did when such slips into doubt occurred. But deep inside,something seeds itself. Oliver was departing. That implied something was amiss. But it was notso easy to put into words why. Jonah had always been aware that danger lurked on the otherside of their peaceful existences, but having it confirmed by Oliver, usually the most placid ofthem all, was something diferent. The lack of surety unnerved him more than the risk of thingsgoing wrong.Sam lagged a few paces back and gazed at Jonah with his characteristic impenetrable mask.Jonah sensed from the furrowing of Sam's brow that already his brother was ahead of him.There was a marked contrast between the two brothers—Jonah fretting, while Sam plannedahead. His brother was already within him a step ahead, already thinking about how to deal withwhat lay ahead."Ought we remain?" Jonah asked uncertainly, gazing at Sam. Otherwise, it was a rhetoricalquestion, but it still hung there. He did not require an answer. The silence of answer from Samwas suficient. Sam was not worried about safety, unlike other people. Jonah could not help butbear the responsibility upon his own shoulders.He had to stay awake, even though the cost was subtle assurance of the others that everythingwould be all right.The other campers were reclined around the fire pit, their heads lowered, whispering to oneanother. There were a couple who were not sure if they should flop and remain—whether or notthat was something they should be doing in staying behind Oliver. Jonah overheard themurmurs but was not a part of it. Fear was infectious, and he had seen it propagate so easily insuch situations. Soon enough, the people grew scared, and the fear engulfed them.It had happened before, and he did not want it to happen again. During daytime, Oliver'sabsence was becoming more noticeable. No one said it aloud, but Jonah could sense thetension ride its way through camp. Ms. Emma worked to keep things as usual, leading thecourse of the day through a forced smile, but her movements were stif, her gaze continuallybeing pulled back down the road Oliver had disappeared. Even the rest of them were quieter,their paces slower, more calculated.Jonah sensed it as well—a gentle hum of uncertainty, the weight of knowing that all was not so,but noone to question it.By evening, the camp had been as silent as if it were a normal day. Sam was gone again, justlike last night, and Jonah had no idea if he was going into the woods or simply leaving everyonebehind. He never knew what Sam was up to, but he knew his brother was already looking for anescape, longing for whatever lay ahead.The sun had already set behind the trees at the edge of the forest by the time Jonah reachedthe edge to meet Sam, on the edge of light. His brother's silhouette was dark against the fadinglight, the chirping of crickets in the distance suspended between them. Jonah stood there,tightening himself up as if his being was nothing but a shadow waiting to stretch itself out acrossthe camp."Sam," Jonah breathed, his voice all but silent over the cacophony of the campfire. Sam's backdidn't turn, but Jonah felt the subtle stifness at the shoulders, the way fingers closed about himat his side. Jonah moved closer still, his steps slow, as if silence might break something fine."You're not really going to stay here, are you?" Jonah asked, keeping his voice calm, though hecould feel the uncertainty rising in his chest. His gaze flicked to the campfire behind him, wherethe other campers were huddled, their faces drawn with concern. Some were talking in hushedvoices, others were simply staring into the flames, but it was clear that everyone was waiting forsomething.Sam remained quiet for a minute, his body stirring only with the slow expansion and contractionof the chest. Jonah noticed the efort it took his brother to keep himself in check with thepressure building up from all sides. So when Sam did speak up, it was in near-cold, low tones:"They all can hardly wait for someone to put things right. But it's too late already, Jonah."Jonah's stomach twisted. Sam was so bad about speaking as if he knew something the rest ofthem did not. And Jonah stood a good chance of believing him. This time. With camp saturatedwith this tense quiet. "You don't know that. We don't know that." His argument was a weaksanctuary from the burden of Sam's knowledge.Sam rolled his head, finally getting a glimpse at Jonah. No spite, no fury on his face—just acalm comprehension. "You think we'll be safe here? You think sitting here will be okay?" Histone was biting, but it didn't really count for anything. Sam wasn't angry; he was just tired.Jonah swallowed hard, his dry throat. He wanted to warn Sam something—to spook him awayfrom this dive, but he had no idea how. So he shifted his head instead, his eyes drifting into thewoods, the shadows behind. He didn't want to think it, but what Sam was saying echoed in hishead. What if Sam was right? What if they really should have left when they could?A rustling behind him cut him of. Lilia emerged from the darkness, eyes wide, face free. "Sam,Jonah," she breathed, voice trembling. "Can we go? I. I think perhaps Oliver was right. Perhapswe should get out before it gets worse." She tightened her bag strap, knuckles white.Jonah stood there, his brain buzzing. "Lilia, it's not—" He broke of. He didn't know what to sayto her. The strained air that had existed for days now felt more extreme, more pressing. Liliaglanced over at Sam, her eyes lingering for a second too long, as if seeking something fromhim."I don't think that we are safe here," she said again, more firmly this time, though there was stilla quiver to her voice. "We have to go. We have to do something."Jonah didn't react immediately. He simply sat and observed Sam, who had refocused on thewoods. His expression was inscrutable, his posture tense, as if every muscle in his body hadbeen tensed for something to occur. But nothing occurred. The silence stood, becameoppressive.There had been a gentle cough that broke the moment. Jonah caught a glimpse over hisshoulder, where Ms. Emma was standing next to the campfire, her face pinched and white. Shehad been at the periphery of the light, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest. She hadn'tslept in days, she appeared.I. I think it's time to discuss," Ms. Emma said softly. She was addressing the group, but her eyeswere on Sam, searching for the unspoken in him. "We have to make a decision about whatwe're going to do. Oliver's gone, and I. I just can't pretend anymore that everything's okay.".There was a silence of a moment. Jonah had the burden of her words in his heart, the sameheavy sensation of wrongness that had burdened him since they arrived here. He looked atSam, then at Lilia, then at Ms. Emma. The choice had already been made for them. They couldnot remain here. Whatever was coming their way, it was already approaching.Jonah's throat constricted as he gazed at the faces of the other campers, their fear andbewilderment looking back at him from each set of eyes. No one knew what to do. No one knewwhat was happening. But they all did. Something was amiss, something had happened out inthe world beyond, and their comforting fictions were already falling into fragments.He had no idea what to tell her. He only knew one thing—Sam was right about everything. Andnow Jonah could no longer turn a blind eye. Whatever came next, they had to prepare.
