“What’s gone?” says Fran.
“My Clonazepam.”
And because you have a PhD in anxiety, you know this is the official name of Klonopin, his sedative of choice. Fran reaches out and takes the cap from him.
“What do you mean? You’re already out?” she says.
“No!” says Troy. “I shouldn’t be. I think…”
“What?” you say.
“I think he took it.”
Fran’s hood is down, but she tugs hard at the strings.
“Are you sure they’re not in the tent?” she asks.
“Take a look yourself,” says Troy.
Fran strides right by you back into your shelter.
“Can you check for mine?” you ask. “It’s in the very front pocket of my bag.”
You listen as she riffles through things, the duffel whistling across the tent’s nylon, and the clump of your clothes hitting the ground. She stops only to huff out angry breaths. Then, finally, it all goes quiet and she speaks.
“Your Paxil is still here, Case,” she says. “But no Xanax.”
“I don’t understand,” says Diana. “Did he just take the sedatives?”
You’re about to posit a theory, but your thoughts are scattered by one of the most horrible noises you have ever heard in your life. It starts as a kind of high-pitched keening, like a teakettle boiling over, or a siren going past, but gradually it morphs into a full-on primal scream.
“Jesus!” says Diana. “What the hell is that?”
All you can do is plug your ears, and eventually you look up and notice that it’s coming from Troy. It’s astoundingly loud, enough to make your ears ring, and it is not stopping. If anything, it is getting louder and more terrifying by the second.
“Troy!” comes a familiar voice. “TROY!”
Will is screaming in Troy’s ear, but it’s like Troy’s gone catatonic. He won’t make eye contact. You feel a hand on your shoulder, and you turn to see Diana.
“Case,” she says into your ear just loud enough to be heard. “Can you please make him stop doing that?”
You nod, but you’re not sure how you’re going to deliver.
“TROY!” you try. “PLEASE!”
It doesn’t seem like he would have much oxygen left, but still, on he goes. Birds scatter from the downed trees. Everyone is plugging their ears. You walk slowly over to Troy, one ear against your shoulder, one covered with a hand, lumbering like an ogre. You don’t get too close, but close enough to make direct eye contact.
“TROY!” you try again. “YOU CANNOT DO THAT ANYMORE! IT’S KILLING US!”
Miraculously, he stops, and the moment of silence is like the absence of life itself. A brief void you get lost in. Then he takes a breath and screams again.
“WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!”
Only he extends the last word so that it’s ten syllables long.
Something more like: “DIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
You put a finger to your lips, and you hold it there until thediefinally dies out and you’re left just staring at each other. You’re shocked that it worked, but maybe there was something in your gesture that made Troy feel like a baby again. Or maybe he just ran out of air.
