“I don’t know.”
It’s the same voice that you heard on the phone the night of your brother’s death. The same voice that wished you a happy birthday on the roof of the garage a million years ago. It’s the voice that has been, in recent months, the only one you wanted to hear, but also the one that you couldn’t bring yourself to ask for.
“Guys,” she says. “I think Silas is gone.”
The light sprinkles you heard against the tent are turning into a real, cold rain, and when you finally emerge, you can feel the icy sting of the drops on your neck and hear them hitting the canopy of leaves hanging above you. The drops sizzle when they hit the coals of last night’s fire. You look around, and among the hangdog faces of your fellow adventurers, you see no sign of your leader. His tent is gone and so is everything inside it. No pack. No gear. Not even his hat. You look toward the water, and sure enough, one of the canoes is gone too.
“Hold on a second. Where did he go?” Fran says, a manic current to her voice.
“Don’t freak out,” says Will. “It’s early, bro. He’s probably out catching a fish or something. Outdoorsy people are super weird like that. They’re always horny for the morning.”
“I’ve been up for two hours,” says Diana. “And I haven’t seen him. Also, why would he take his tent?”
Nobody asks why Diana was awake. Most of you have some kind of insomnia. The only thing that matters is the fact that he’s been gone so long. Everyone gets really quiet; the only audible sound is a series of deep breaths coming from Troy, who is tryingto get some oxygen in his lungs. He has his eyes closed, and he’s working so hard to keep calm and meditative that it looks like he’s hyperventilating. His wiener dog T-shirt is slowly getting soaked and showing his skin in sodden patches. You’re thinking about speaking, when Troy pipes up again.
“I knew it,” he says between gasps. “I knew it!”
“Knew what?” says Will.
Troy grabs his own head and shakes it back and forth.
“Don’t you get it? This is all part of it!”
“Part of what, Troy?” says Fran.
Her pink hair is wild from a night of bad sleep, and her eyes are so bloodshot they look completely red.
“The therapy!” he yells. “It’s more immersion stuff. Like the rapids! He’s throwing us in the pool again. Only I didn’t sign up to be thrown in the pool. I can barely swim.”
He starts walking around then, kicking things, sending pine cones skittering into the woods, until he finally seems to tire himself out and sits down. Will and Diana are staring at the place where Silas’s tent once was. Diana still looks shocked even though she was the first to know about this. Will is harder to read, his stance a little more rigid.
“He said something about the devil,” you say finally.
And everyone immediately turns toward you.
“WHAT?!” says Troy. “What about the devil?”
“I don’t know,” you say. “He was mumbling. It was windy.”
“Oh, c’mon. Don’t be paranoid,” says Will. “He can’t leave us in the woods with nothing. That has to be against the rules or something.”
“Not if he’s a devil worshipper!” says Fran. “What if this is allfor a big sacrifice and he’s going to, like, make us get naked and drink goat’s blood or something? Then eat us!”
“Fran,” says Will. “Enough.”
Troy stands up.
“How much research did you guys do on this whole experience?” he says. “I was reading about all kinds of kids on these wilderness-therapy trips. They starve, get hurt, even run away or die. You trust your parents to figure out if this is one of the good ones? I don’t! Mine were desperate to do something with me. They would have sent me to a cult if it was legal.”
“A devil-worshipping cult!” says Fran.
Will shakes his head.
“You guys need to chill the eff out,” he says. “He’s coming back. I was just in the canoe with him yesterday, and he was telling me how much he loves these trips. How they help him as much as they help us.”
“Help him with what?” says Fran.
There’s an edge to her voice, and for some reason, it’s this question that finally makes Will flinch a little. Fran seems to be asking it honestly, but it doesn’t sound great after it leaves her mouth. You feel your body shiver again, this time from the big, cold drops soaking your shirt. It’s impossible to ignore the rain now, and finally you see Diana move toward the girls’ tent. There’s water running down her face, and she doesn’t even brush it away. When she gets inside the little dome, she hugs herself deeper into an oversize sweater and lies down.
