Twisted (Editing)

Chapter 9 (Edited)

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I was different when I woke up. Or, I felt different⁠⁠—there was a slight pain in my head. My stomach was squeezing too, but if I wanted something to eat, I would have to catch it myself. Beside me, Liz still slept. I couldn't wait for her⁠; I need something now. I slid out of my sleeping back into the chilly morning. My feet brushed the dewy grass. I shoved a sweatshirt over my head and my legs into a pair of sweatpants before venturing into the woods. There were leaves, branches, bark, and berries, but I didn't know what was good to eat and what wasn't. So I headed toward the water, which frothed with speed, and pulled off my sneakers. One by one, I dipped my toes into the water until I stood completely still. And I stayed, scanning the ripples for the movement of a fish.

I set my fingers in the water, hoping something would swim between them. My toes cooled until they ached, and then they had no feeling at all. My fingers were the same way. I held myself against the shivers until I saw the water splash and the delicate gray scales dance in the early morning light. I grabbed at the water and wrapped my hand around a fish's smooth body. I threw it out of the water and onto the rocks, before scrambling out of the water to see what I'd found. It flopped back and forth, struggling, eyes blurring until finally, it only twitched. I picked it back up. It wasn't a bad catch, maybe 2 pounds.

I carried my fish back to camp. By this point, my head was pounding. I struck a fire with my lighter-one of the few modern conventions the teachers let us have⁠⁠—and speared the fish with a whittled-down stick. I needed more water from the stream, which I would have to get myself, though that was supposed to be someone else's job. But there was no one left in the camp. The sleep bags were strewn around, and the tarp over our heads was pitched, but I couldn't see anyone at the edge of the site or in the trees; I couldn't even hear the sound of their feet. My head pulsed again. Let me just get up.

I went to the stream, slower than I had the first time, and filled a bottle full of water. I poured it into tin cans and hung it above the fire. Once it cooled, I'd have water to drink too. Then I sat back down in my sleep bag and felt all my muscles harden as I stared into the flames. Maybe I was watching a cold from standing in the cold water. In the back of my mind, I knew better⁠⁠—that wasn't how it worked.

When the first smell of fat dripping from the fish hit my nose, Liz decided to make an appearance, with a tin can full of berries. We split the fish in two and let the flesh slide off the bones. It tasted fresh like the stream and burned my tongue as I tried to swallow. Then we washed it down with fistfuls of berries that were tart and unripe.

Thea and Ramona emerged from beyond the camp, and looked over us, crouching beside a small fire with our-grease covered hands.

"Is there any left?" Thea asked.

"I only caught the one."

Ramona shrugged. "We'll eat what the boys hunt anyway."

"Hunt?" I sat up higher. "They have guns."

"Something like that," she said. She walked away and down the path toward group B. Liz reached for a tin of water and swallowed it down in two big gulps. I took the other and polished off the luke-warm water. It tasted faintly of silt.

"How do you think Yasmine is doing?" I asked

"For her sake, better than us." Liz laid back against her sleeping bag. The sun had finally gained strength and the light shone down on us, though it didn't drive away the cold; no, that was here to stay.

"I want to go back to sleep," I said. "My head hurts so bad. I thought I was hungry and thirsty, but maybe I'm just tired."

"I can't sleep," she said, stretching her limbs. "I need to find more berries."