Camp Damascus(71)

Saul and Willow turn abruptly, equally startled as we maneuver away from what I can now see is a camper with a compound bow in one hand and an arrow in the other. He can’t be older than sixteen, sporting shaggy brown hair and a vacant, slack-jawed expression.

“Hey,” the boy mutters, his voice matching the despondence on his face. “Is archery starting?”

We’re backed against the hay bales now, not quite ready to run but feeling deeply uneasy about the spacey demeanor of this armed teen.

It’s the middle of the night, certainly not time for archery.

“Probably not” is all I can think to say.

The boy’s eyes dart to me and he raises the bow slightly, an expression of startled fright taking over. “Oh!” he blurts, pulled from a trance into some bizarre waking nightmare.

I immediately reach up and pull off my angel mask, hoping this might quell the camper’s apprehension. It seems to work, but his arrow remains notched.

“What’s your name?” I ask, keeping my tone as soft and even as possible.

He scrunches his face up, thinking hard. At first the lack of an immediate answer seems mildly amusing to him, but his good-natured expression quickly melts into worry and confusion.

“Did you bring me here?” he asks, his voice wavering as panic sets in. He grips the bow even tighter now, prompting me to raise my hand in a gesture of peace.

“No,” I say. “Not at all.”

Willow pulls off her mask and steps up next to me, offering her silent support.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” I ask the camper.

For a moment the haze of confusion breaks and he seems perfectly cogent. The simplicity of this question has struck something deep within him, momentarily flipping a switch.

His eyes well up with tears that glisten in the moonlight. The camper’s parade of emotions has finally settled on a horrible frown of agony and regret. He nods along in confirmation, apparently so consumed with these blooming feelings he can barely find the words.

“Yeah,” he finally sobs. “I wanna go home.”

Willow and I exchange glances, not sure how to react, while Saul hangs back in silence. The mask is still covering his face.

“We can help you,” I continue. “Do you—”

“Is archery starting?” the boy suddenly interjects.

“Uh, no,” Willow replies.

Panic creeps back into the camper’s tone, his emotional loop starting anew.

“It’s not time for archery yet,” I assure him.

I step back a bit, moving closer to my friends and lowering my voice. “How do we do this?” I whisper. “We’ve gotta help him.”

Now both my companions are silent.

“So we’re just gonna leave him out here?” I blurt, frustrated.

Willow hesitates.

“Rose,” she finally starts. “How many people are we saving tonight? One of them, or all of them?”

I glance back at the camper, whose grip on the bow is tightening. His emotions shift so rapidly it’s hard to keep up.

“What are you talking about over there?” the kid abruptly calls out, his voice jarringly loud in contrast to our pristine surroundings.

“Shh!” I hush him, swiftly breaking away from my friends and marching toward the boy.

My sudden movement is too much for the camper, who raises his bow and notches an arrow. “Hey!” he shouts.

I throw my hands in the air, immediately heeding his warning and backing away.

“I know you’re confused, but you’ve gotta be quiet,” I plead.

The boy narrows his eyes. “Did Pops send you?” His arrow is still pulled back and pointed directly at my chest.

As I back away, Willow steps in front of me, a maneuver that’s slightly frustrating until I realize how sweet it is.

Saul finally breaks his silence, ripping off his angel mask and stepping forward.

“Your dad didn’t send us,” Saul assures the panicking camper, his voice calm and collected. “I know this is all very confusing, but check this out—the moment’s gonna pass. I know you feel so fucking terrified right now—trust me, I get it—but the more time goes by, the more things are gonna fall back into place. It’s all gonna make sense.”

This isn’t true, and I know it. Saul, Willow, and I are incredibly lucky to have our memories back, but based on my interactions with other Camp Damascus alumni, this is rare and likely random.

This kid might be out here forever wondering if it’s time for archery.

Fortunately, I’m not the one doing the talking here, Saul is.

“Everything’s gonna be fine,” Saul continues with deep conviction. “You’re good.”

Even in this breathtakingly tense moment, my friend’s charm shines through with nothing more than a few simple words. I can see why they hired Saul, because connecting with these young campers is second nature to him.

The frightened boy slowly lowers his bow, but just as this occurs yet another kink in our plan arrives. Two flashlights are bouncing through the darkness toward us, yellow beams slicing through the space between trees.

“Oh shit,” Willow blurts, a universal consensus.

They must’ve heard our new friend’s panicked yelps, drawn to the commotion.

I spin abruptly, frantically searching for a place to hide. The edge of the forest is pretty far away, and crashing through branches and ferns would likely be a dead giveaway. Instead, I opt for the only other choice, swiftly ducking behind one of the square haybale targets. Saul and Willow follow suit, the three of us pressed tight as we make ourselves as small and quiet as possible.