Red Rover | gxg | Wattys 2023 Winner | ✔

(21) Inquest Before Breakfast

The Anport Rescues have somehow lost eleven members in the last three weeks. Twelve counting Vix herself, and thirteen if we also count Seven. Goosebumps prickle my skin. This is something Oreo never told us, and that just makes it worse. It also rouses a memory from my sleep-fogged mind of last night. Ember said something about this group being gone in a month if they don't find a solution to whatever's killing their members. The texts seem to zoom into sharper focus as the urgency of this investigation ratchets up several notches.

Patrick continues to scroll. Vix and Seven's texting frequency drops sharply after they join the Anport group. I don't realize we've reached the end of it until the scrolling stops abruptly at the bottom of the message thread. The last two texts were exchanged four days after the ones before them.

I'm going to the river, messages Seven. Don't tell Oreo. If anything happens, I love you.

Vix replies almost immediately. I'll cover you. Stay safe. Love you, too.

I open the journal again.

Everything is raining in the rivers, and nothing important lies in the rivers, you said while Cassie shoots apples like organizing makes any sense. Is nothing important nothing at all? What did Seven see?

Seven wanted the truth and you're running away. You can't and it doesn't make sense but it's not silent anymore and the sense is running away, lies down on the riverbed and drains all the life out of my little brother.

Oil and water is good for you, Oreo, you need to burn.

"He went to the river," says Patrick. He curls down into his sleeping bag, scrolling up and down through the other texts, then runs another search with keywords related to the river. A few pop up from Oreo, but we need to investigate that conversation next in its entirety.

"Went to the river looking for something," I say.

"For the truth. He probably found what you did."

He looks about to say more on that, but reconsiders and shuts his mouth again. He stares at the texts, unseeing.

"And it killed him," I say, touching the line in the journal. "But we're still fine, right? And why does she say Oreo needs to burn?" When Patrick doesn't reply, I contemplate it myself. "She says whoever she's speaking to is running away. Probably from the truth. And she's talking to Oreo right after, so I assume this is all directed at him? He's hiding from the truth somehow, and she's angry with however that's happening. Or that it's happening at all."

That seems to bring the paragraphs into a little more coherence. The first one talks about someone saying there's nothing important in the rivers; the second, running away from the truth. If I was to extrapolate wildly from this, I would guess that Seven knew something was in the rivers, and that it might hold the key to understanding the Redding. The Sleeping Sickness. He went looking for it behind Oreo's back, and it killed him.

But Vix blames Oreo.

I deflate as the gaps in what we know yawn too wide for further speculation. I still believe my theories. Kind of. I want them to make sense because I want this journal to make sense, because that means staying alive, making the right decision about staying here, and not admitting that what we're reading is gibberish, and that we're back to square one as a result. I want Patrick to chime in again, but even when I nudge him, he remains silent. It's probably the reminder of the river.

"Let's check the other texts," I say instead.

That's enough to stir Patrick from his non-responsiveness. We return to the messaging homepage and find that there are only two more text threads between Seven's and Oreo's, which sits at the top of the pile. One has one text. The other has two. Neither contact is named. I pause Patrick with a frown as I read the phone number that the solitary text was sent to. It's familiar, but only vaguely so, like I've seen it recently. I leap to my feet as the realization stings me.