“Are you kidding me?!” he says. “Pills? We need clean water. We need sustenance, bro. We need to find Silas. Or we’re dead!”
“That’s true,” says Troy calmly. “But for some of us, without our meds, we might not be able to do those things.”
“Yo!” says Fran. “My mom forgot to call in a refill once, and after forty-eight hours I was getting the brain zaps.”
You can remember something similar from the times you tried to wean yourself off your main script. Those little tingling jolts that went off like firecrackers with no discernible pattern. You haven’t gone through benzo withdrawal, but it’s not supposed to be fun.
“So then…,” says Diana. “About that stash.”
Of course.
That’s the answer.
Of course some people have a pill or two. If you’re the kind of person who needs sedatives to make it through the day, you’re also the kind of person to hide them places. In your pocket. In your bag. The cuff of a pant leg or a Pez dispenser or a hollowed-out Bible. You yourself used to keep one inside a mechanical pencil for emergencies at school.
Everyone has suddenly found something incredibly interesting to look at around the campsite. Eventually, you glance up and find Diana staring right at you. And you know the look. It’s the same pleading one she gave you that night in the hallway with the meteorite. And you don’t have the strength to ignore it again.
“Oh dammit,” you say.
Then, slowly, you untie your wet hiking boot and take off one of the merino wool hiking socks your mom got to regulate your foot temperature. Inside this expensive REI sock is a small sandwich bag with a single tiny pink pill inside. You hold up the bag for all to see, then toss it in front of you. Seeing it leave your hand makes your breath catch, but you don’t pick it up again. You let it go.
There is quiet after this. Then, gradually, you see a few hands digging in pockets, going up sleeves, inside socks. People open hip packs and zippered wallets. And, little by little, a rainbow of pills come out. Orange Klonopin. Blue one-milligram Xanax. The white five-sided .5 that reminds you of D&D dice. Fran even has a green three-milligram terminator, able to calm even the peskiest neurotransmitters. In the end, there’s five total and they all sit in a small pile on top of your plastic bag.
“We’re not that different from him,” says Diana.
You look up from the pills, along with the others.
“Seriously?!” says Fran.
“You guys are staring at these like they’re the last pills on earth. Tell me you don’t wish you had the whole stash to yourself.”
“Yeah, but he was in charge of us!” says Troy.
“He was human,” says Diana. “Humans are the worst.”
You can tell Fran is getting angry at this. You can see her pupils dilating. But before she can say anything, Troy breaks in.
“Where are yours, Will?”
Will sits cross-legged, looking blankly at the pills.
“Everybody put something in, Troy. Relax,” says Fran.
“Will didn’t,” says Troy. “I watched. And Will didn’t add a thing.”
Troy doesn’t get up this time, but he looks Will in the eye.
“You can’t pretend you’re not part of this anymore,” he says. “You can insult us. But it’s not going to save you. You’re not special. You’re here just like us. And you need to pony up!”
“Relax, Troy,” says Fran again. “We have an okay stash here.”
“I’m not going to relax!” says Troy. “We’re in deep shit right now. Why should he get a private supply when the rest of us are sharing?”
Will doesn’t look angry for once. And there’s no trace of that cocky smirk you’ve come to know.
“He’s right,” Will says after a few seconds. “I didn’t put anything in the pile.”
“See!” Troy says. “He admits it! I told you!”
