This isn't a decision I should be making.
That's the first thing that crosses my mind in response to Ember's plea. And a plea it really is. She's begging. Her eyebrows scrunch up with the helpless look that's come over her face, and she leans forward a little with the force of her hope that I'll say yes.
I don't even know what I'd do to help her and Oreo and the rest of this group. Pointing out the fire hazards, mold smells, and unsafe food storage I've already spotted here is unlikely to do anything against the Redding, even as a part of my brain whispers that damp in the rice bag in the hallway outside might be a Redding hazard in and of itself. I refuse to trust that voice until I've confirmed anything at all about how the Redding gets into food. Especially when Ember's already alluded to this place being short on provisions.
I could also point out how Oreo's lack of consultation with any of his teammates raised red flags for me back at the motel, but that's now tempered by Ember's assessment of her own group's survival skills. It doesn't matter, really, that I have different views about how a leader should act. I don't know the situation there well enough to judge.
Ember is still watching me, waiting on tenterhooks for my reply. I swallow against a suddenly dry throat.
"I'll have to ask the others," I say. I'm already scanning the room for anything that will give me an excuse to escape. There's no functional clock in here, but a glance out the window reveals a sky that's paled from black to royal blue. I'm tired again, but it's too close to sunrise now to get anything resembling a full night's sleep. The least I'll be able to wring out yet is a nap, which doesn't sound like the worst idea. "Can we talk more tomorrow? I'm kind of tired."
"Sure." Ember sags back in her chair. There's a long moment of silence. My heart twists with the knowledge that I've disappointed her, but it's not my fault she's put her faith in something—someone—that probably can't live up to the expectation.
"And stay healthy, okay?" she says, breaking the silence. "You gave me a scare when I found you outside that room upstairs. Don't make me regret letting you in without a screening."
It's not the first time someone's mentioned that, and I still don't know what it means. The clenched fist in my chest returns. I don't want to give the impression of naivety to Ember by asking now, potentially compromising our free pass here. I'll get someone who isn't being seen as our leader to ask instead.
"I'll try," I say. It's a hollow promise that makes Ember smile weakly. I can't promise anything when we still don't have the faintest clue why me or anyone in my group is alive.
I make my escape before Ember can say anything else. Our group's bedroom is silent when I ease the door open. I think Calico J tried to wait up for me. He's passed out on the mattress beside Patrick with his sleeping bag halfway unzipped and one hand on a book across his chest. Patrick is cuddled up like a cat against his side. It's actually adorable.
I brace myself for whatever I'll find by way of sleeping conditions, but it's not as bad as I was expecting. Ditzy has installed herself at the far side of our bed with her back to where I'll be sleeping. It's both a relief and, in the rebellious part of my brain, a disappointment. I change into pajamas in the dark, debate the merits of washing up and brushing teeth when it's an hour and a half to sunrise, and decide that performative hygiene loses to what little sleep I can still get yet tonight. I resign myself to the breakdown of routine and crawl into bed beside Ditzy.
I'm comfortably warm when I stir back into consciousness. In all the nights we spent back in Chesnet with proper beds and insulation, I'd forgotten just how warm my sleeping bag could be. The air around me nips my nose with the crisp chill of autumn, but I could stay right where I am for the next hour and still be perfectly comfortable.
It's not until I wake a little further that I realize the concentration of that warmth at my back and ankles isn't typical of even my well-insulated camping cocoon.
I shock awake like a dying phone plugged into an electrical outlet. I've had maybe four hours of sleep, but the foggy feeling in my brain is dispelled in an instant by the realization that the cute girl I'm sharing a bed with is cuddled against my back with both her feet shoved under mine. Even the separation of our sleeping bags can't cloak the exact position of her ankle against my shin, or her toes curled up in the warm spot right beneath my ankles. Ditzy refuses to wear socks to bed, even as the nights get colder, and she'd clearly rather parasitize my body heat than change that habit.
Not only that, but Ditzy is the kind of person who'd determine that I'm awake and then feign unconsciousness just to watch me panic. She's got me wrapped about her little finger, and while I'm generally the tough one in my social groups, she blows that out of the water and reduces me to a wobbly stack of jello in the process. I hate it less than I should, and I hate that I don't hate it enough to ensure my own self-preservation.
Which leaves me with a terrible dilemma, because I have no idea if she's awake, I have no way to tell, I absolutely do not want to move, and I have to pee.
I debate for several minutes whether I can somehow free my feet from hers, but the barest test puts that thought out of its misery. The moment I begin to lift my knees, Ditzy stirs in her real-or-pretend sleep and shifts closer. I hold my position for as long as I can, then am forced to let my knees down again as my muscles begin to burn from the effort. Ditzy doesn't stir again. She's not laughing yet, so I can only presume one and only one of us is awake.
With that thought, I am reminded that we are not the only ones in the room. I am not quite at the point of begging Calico J for help yet, and enduring the fact that he'll never let me live it down if I do. But it can't hurt to assess my backup resources.
They're both asleep. It's still early: morning light stains the bedroom's half-curtained window, still too pale too be more than an hour post-sunrise. I'm on my own here.
My worries from last night return as fresh as a bruise's ache, this time morphing into a sick feeling that kills my appetite before it can form. Sleep was only a temporary respite from what I now have to ask my companions. My gut screams against associating with the Anport Rescues long-term, but I can put exactly zero evidence to that feeling other than my clash of opinion over Oreo's leadership style and the bad vibes I get from repeated mentions of screening.
It's a very small relief that the decision will be taken out of my hands; we do all big things like this by democracy. But as it often does, that relief isn't enough to override the fear that my team will vote in the opposite direction from me, and that someone will make a too-compelling argument to back it. I can't trust myself to counter it. Ditzy and Calico J are just too damn smart.
I pull my eyes from the window curtains and nearly have a heart attack when I find Patrick watching me. He was fake-sleeping.
I give him a questioning look. It's not meant for anything, really, but he usually gets up when he's awake in the morning. He answers by unhiding a phone tucked inside his sleeping bag. My heart skips a beat. It's Vix's—he's been working at it—and I don't hear anyone outside who could bust in and catch us. It's only seven-thirty. The Anport house doesn't have breakfast until nine, and we won't be eating with them anyway. It's a perfect time for snooping.
I don't want to whisper. If Ditzy's asleep, it'll take a tornado to wake her, but Calico J sleeps much lighter. I poke my fingers out of my sleeping bag and catch Patrick's attention before tapping out a question against the wooden frame of the bed. How's it going?
He flips the phone around with a slight head shake. The lock screen stares stubbornly back at me from across the room. Patrick taps out a reply. Just started. It was dead.
For the first time, I notice the cord trailing from the bottom of the device, connected to what I can only presume is my solar charger hidden inside Patrick's sleeping bag. He must have snuck across the room to get it from my bag, then, unless he retrieved it last night while I was downstairs talking to Ember. If it's the former, I'm astounded he managed it without waking Calico J.
I'm still trapped by Ditzy's closeness, a state of affairs that draws away half my mental awareness no matter how hard I strain to focus on anything else. Several minutes pass in silence as I bounce between thoughts ranging from last night, to Oreo's irregularities, to Ditzy, to Chesnet, to Ditzy, to how far I would have to remove myself to not do something stupid when Ditzy wakes up if we were alone in this room. I'm glad that's not the case. I focus on Patrick instead, as he swipes and taps and pushes buttons on the phone with his eyebrows pinched together in a look of concentration.
It still doesn't manage to distract me from Ditzy. Until, that is, a small sound from Patrick precedes a grin I rarely see from him. He shows me the phone again, and I'm greeted by a different screen background and tidy array of app icons. He taps the obvious on the side of it. I'm in.
Like this chapter if you've totally shared a bed/tent/sleeping space with someone like Ditzy before
Comment what you think they'll find on the phone!