“We could just take land,” you say. “Skip it entirely.”
“We could,” says Fran. “But it might be one in the morning by the time we get there. How long are these people going to wait at the site?”
“We don’t know that either way,” says Troy. “They might just drop the supplies and go. So why take the risk? It’s called the Devil’s Loop, people! The worddevilis in it!”
“It’s true. They might be gone,” says Fran. “But…”
“But what?” Troy says.
“But that’s probably your anxiety talking.”
Everyone is quiet at that. You think about your last comment, and how you’re still hoping everyone will side with you and decide to go by land. You’re hoping that you can take the long way, by trail, maybe crossing a couple of calm lakes, and find Silas’s colleagues waiting for you, making sure you’re okay. But even as you imagine it, you know it cuts your odds in half.
“Fran’s right,” you say. “At least about me. I’m… afraid.”
Will is still next to you, breathing heavily from his push-ups. He watches you.
“Me too,” says Troy.
Will puts his head down.
“But…,” you say, “the whole point of coming on this godforsaken trip in the first place was to try to quiet that voice that tells us we can’t do anything, right? I mean, I get panic attacks in movie theaters because of the dark and the noise. I don’t feel good in crowds, even small ones. And after my brother died, I couldn’t even ride a bike anymore without hyperventilating. I mean, how much more am I going to lose? What else am I going to give up if I don’t start to fight back a little?”
“I hear that,” says Troy. “I’ve had panic attacks watching kids’ shows with my baby cousin. Like, the situations this talking dog was in were too intense for me.”
“Crossing a crosswalk,” says Fran. “Full-on attack. Couldn’t make it to the other side.”
“I fainted in a grocery store,” says Diana, “because the lighting felt weird.”
Will takes a breath, still looking at the ground.
“I had to lie down in the middle of a tennis match at State. I felt so scared, I just had to curl up on the court while everyone waswatching. My dad was screaming at me to get up, but I couldn’t. They had to carry me off.”
He looks up at the sky and lets out a long breath.
“That shit was so embarrassing,” he says.
“Look,” you say. “Can we be honest for a minute? None of us are leaving here cured.”
Silence.
“Trees and fishing can’t cure anxiety disorder,” you say. “They just can’t.”
Now everyone is hanging their heads.
“It sucks,” you say. “I was pretty much willing to believe anything when I signed up for this. I thought I’d leave it all out here in the woods. But I think I knew all along I was stuck with this for life.”
“So what are you saying?” asks Diana.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ve been thinking about it wrong. Maybe we don’t need to be cured.”
“Did you not hear that list of pathetic situations?” asks Troy. “We’re broken toys. All of us.”
Everybody looks at you. You’re not sure how to refute that. But you take a moment to regroup.
“Okay, look,” you say. “Just think of it this way: The world outside these woods is totally screwed up. Can we agree on that? It’s burning, for one thing.”
Troy nods.
