“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.
Heck. Heck. Heck. Heck.
I know I should keep my head against the hay, but as usual my curiosity gets the best of me. I cautiously peek around the edge, watching the scene unfold.
A man and woman have emerged from the forest, Camp Damascus counselors dressed in their usual green-and-white uniforms. Their sweeping flashlights make it hard to see any faces, but their eerily cheery demeanor is more than apparent from the vocal tone.
“Hey, buddy,” the woman coos. “What’s going on out here? We’ve been looking all over for you.”
“I—I don’t know,” the camper stammers, deeply distraught.
I retract my head as the counselors lift their flashlights and sweep the area, not entirely satisfied with the camper’s answer. One of their lights pauses on the haybales we’re tucked behind, lingering for a moment.
All it would take is one slip of the tongue for our whole plan to fall apart, and in the short time we’ve known this anxious camper, I can’t imagine we’ve accumulated much goodwill.
“Sounded like you were arguing with someone out here,” the counselor notes.
There’s a long pause, long enough that my lungs start inexplicably hurting and I suddenly realize I’ve been holding my breath the whole time.
“Is archery starting?” the camper finally asks.
“I asked you a question,” the counselor presses.
“You did?”
There’s a long pause.
The light on our target finally moves along, a deep sense of relief washing over me as I slowly relax.
“No archery tonight,” the other counselor chimes in. “Bright and early tomorrow. Let’s get you back to your bunk, huh?”
“Okay, yeah,” the camper replies.
Soon enough, the group can be heard making their way back up the trail from which they came.
The last thing I hear is one of the counselors quietly speaking into a communication device. “We found him. Tell security we’re fine over here. Yeah.”
Eventually, the night is plunged back into its previous state of overwhelming stillness.
“Let’s go,” I announce.
We don’t have time to dwell on the strange encounter, quickly returning to our mission as we push onward to the forbidden side of camp.
It’s not long before we arrive at another clearing, this set of bungalows just as immaculately groomed as the first. I’ve been here before, and as my eyes bear witness to these familiar buildings in two distinct rows, a faint gasp escapes my lips.
We’ve made it to the north cabins.
* * *
For a place that’s supposedly never available to use, it’s shockingly well-kept, the lawn tight and the stark white cabins freshly painted without a blemish to be found. Of course, there’s plenty of metaphorical rot lurking just below the surface, but you’d never know it.
The second rot crosses my mind I receive a visual flash, a reminder directing me to a very specific cabin. I recall the flies billowing off it like rolling flames, their caustic buzz so concentrated and loud that it sounds like a power drill boring into the back of my head.
“That one,” I announce, pointing toward a small, inconspicuous building.
We hurry along the edge of the clearing, not daring to cut through the exposed middle ground. All the while, Willow is quietly snapping photos, her shutter falling into a steady rhythm like the tick of an old clock. Digital files tend to corrupt around these creatures, but analog film should fare better.
Soon enough, we’ve arrived at the cabin’s front steps. I gaze up at the humble white structure, my eyes transfixed on the door.
“You ready?” Saul asks from behind me.