“People are getting shot by the police. There are wars. And pandemics. And so many people in charge of things are super racist and homophobic and awful. We work really hard in schooljust so we can have a boring life someday where we work even more just to get stuff we don’t really want. At my school, we have to do active-shooter drills once a month. I don’t understand how all these so-called normal people can go through all of this every day, feeling okay. Like: What’s wrong with them?! Maybe we’re the ones having a normal reaction to messed-up shit! Have you guys ever thought of that?”
Your head is starting to pound again, the pain flaring up. But you take a breath.
“Say we have this forever, and there’s nothing we can do about that; can we just push ourselves a little more? We were stuck out here with nothing, and we figured out shelter, water, and food. We scared away a bear and dealt with a dead body.”
“I pooped in the woods,” says Fran
“We all pooped in the woods!” Diana shouts.
“And we did all that while fighting our own brains,” you say. “I think maybe that makes us strong. So maybe we can do one last strong thing.”
Troy holds his hand up, and you take a step forward to high-five him. And that’s when it hits you again. Another wave of pain, this time with a hint of nausea thrown in. Before you know it, you’re down on one knee. Will immediately crouches and tries to steady you, but you’re a little on the wobbly side.
“Bro,” he says. “Are you okay?”
You feel clammy, and as you stand again, a deep chill runs through your body. Your breaths come quickly. You’re sure, at first, that you’re just having a panic attack, which is a little funny given your big speech, but then you notice the throb comingfrom the back of your head, a pain that’s been slowly growing for days.
“Hey,” you say, sucking in a breath. “Can somebody check my head? I think maybe…”
When you put your fingers to it, the pain is so sharp that your words vanish before you can speak them. You close your eyes, and when you open them again, someone has hands to your head and is pushing your hair out of the way.
“Oh my god, Case,” says Diana.
“What?” you say.
“This cut does not look good.”
You ask her to describe it, and for a moment, she’s at a complete loss for words. Then she’s not, and the words that follow are not ones that you want to hear about a wound. They include “red,” “swollen,” “all messed up,” “ooze,” and “spreading,” not necessarily in that order.
“It’s probably infected,” says Fran. “That happened to my aunt once. She cut her leg on a rusty fence gate, and a week later she was babbling about chemtrails. We had to take her to the hospital.”
“Not sure that’s helpful, Fran,” says Diana.
“I feel like I’ve been stabbed with an ice pick,” you say.
“Look,” says Will. “Just sit for a minute. I’ll pack your stuff. We’re in the water first, so we’ll throw you in a boat.”
Everyone watches while you take a couple of deep breaths.
“It’s okay,” you say. “It’s okay. I think we’re just at a decision point.”
Concerned stares all around.
“A what?” says Troy.
“You know. From Choose Your Own Adventure books!” you say. “Didn’t you guys ever read those?”
“See!” says Fran. “He’s already hallucinating.”
“Case,” comes Diana’s voice. “Relax, okay? Just close your eyes and we’ll take care of the rest.”
“No,” you say. “I’m not closing my eyes. I’ll be fine!”
And then, of course, you close your eyes.
THIRTY-SEVEN
You’re not asleep.
