Chapter Twenty Four
TWENTY-FOUR
“Does anyone have a secret stash?” Diana asks now.
It’s the first time anyone’s spoken in minutes.
After a rush of excitement for tracking down Silas, no one seems to be moving much.
It feels like to get up and start going would be to admit what you all now know: There is no game.
This is not part of the therapy. It’s not a zany series of obstacles to overcome on a reality show.
There is only the five of you, the indifferent wilderness, and your brains.
“Food?” says Troy.
“Pills,” she says.
Will gets up and starts pacing again.
“Are you kidding me?!” he says. “Pills? We need clean water. We need sustenance, bro. We need to find Silas. Or we’re dead!”
“That’s true,” says Troy calmly. “But for some of us, without our meds, we might not be able to do those things.”
“Yo!” says Fran. “My mom forgot to call in a refill once, and after forty-eight hours I was getting the brain zaps.”
You can remember something similar from the times you tried to wean yourself off your main script. Those little tingling jolts that went off like firecrackers with no discernible pattern. You haven’t gone through benzo withdrawal, but it’s not supposed to be fun.
“So then…,” says Diana. “About that stash.”
Of course.
That’s the answer.
Of course some people have a pill or two.
If you’re the kind of person who needs sedatives to make it through the day, you’re also the kind of person to hide them places.
In your pocket. In your bag. The cuff of a pant leg or a Pez dispenser or a hollowed-out Bible.
You yourself used to keep one inside a mechanical pencil for emergencies at school.
Everyone has suddenly found something incredibly interesting to look at around the campsite.
Eventually, you glance up and find Diana staring right at you.
And you know the look. It’s the same pleading one she gave you that night in the hallway with the meteorite.
And you don’t have the strength to ignore it again.
“Oh dammit,” you say.
Then, slowly, you untie your wet hiking boot and take off one of the merino wool hiking socks your mom got to regulate your foot temperature.
Inside this expensive REI sock is a small sandwich bag with a single tiny pink pill inside.
You hold up the bag for all to see, then toss it in front of you.
Seeing it leave your hand makes your breath catch, but you don’t pick it up again. You let it go.
There is quiet after this. Then, gradually, you see a few hands digging in pockets, going up sleeves, inside socks.
People open hip packs and zippered wallets.
And, little by little, a rainbow of pills come out.
Orange Klonopin. Blue one-milligram Xanax.
The white five-sided .5 that reminds you of D you don’t know how much. But finally he seems to calm.
“I need help,” he says with a sniffle.
The sun is getting warmer, and it’s tempering the chill in the air.
“And this was supposed to be the help. This trip!” he says. “Leave it to my dad to send me on a stupid-ass nature trip instead of just sending me to a doctor.”
He starts laughing, or maybe laughing and crying at the same time. You haven’t really seen him do either very much, so it’s hard to tell.
“We’ll make it,” says Troy.
And at first you have to make sure you heard him correctly. But he gets up and walks over to sit next to Will. You almost gasp when he puts an arm around him. But Will doesn’t shrug it off, and there it stays, around his broad shoulders.
“We’ll find Silas. Or we’ll find the drop point somehow. And when we’re there, and we finally head home, you can get some real help. Who cares about your dad and your coach. You can do what you need to do and figure it out.”
Will rubs his temples.
“I don’t want a dog,” he says. “I’m allergic.”
“That’s your loss,” says Troy. “Because Turbo is fucking awesome. But you don’t need a dog to feel better.”
Will sighs. Then, when it seems like maybe their interaction is over, Diana reaches down for the pills.
“This is actually perfect,” she says.
And you watch as she scoops them up gingerly, like she’s handling the delicate eggs of a rare animal. You watch as she takes them all in her hand and dumps them carefully into your sandwich bag. You watch as she makes sure that the bag is rolled up and fastened tightly.
“I’m not on anything either,” she says.
Everyone stares at her, a few mouths hanging open.
“I’m kind of new to all this,” she says. “And my family doesn’t have a great history with pills, so…”
“Then where did all these come from?” asks Troy, looking at the bag.
Fran raises her hand. “Three of them are mine.”
“My god, Fran!” says Troy. “Where were you hiding them?!”
“I’d rather not say,” says Fran.
Diana gets up and walks over to Will, and you watch her hold the bag out in front of him.
“You’re not on any meds, and you don’t have a family history of addiction, right?” she asks.
Will gives the slightest nod.
“Perfect. You can be the pharmacy.”
Will just blinks at the bag.
“If you need a pill, talk to Will,” says Diana. “Emergencies only.”
She claps him on the back.
Will looks baffled. But eventually, he takes the bag and puts it in his pocket, and each one of you, including Diana herself, watches it disappear, wondering if you’ll ever see it again.
Once it’s gone, you’re left back where you started, in a trashed campsite surrounded by woods and lakes with very few prospects for survival.
You all look around at the wrappers glinting in the sun, the evidence that it all really happened.
“I don’t want to be the one to ask,” you say. “But you said we’d make it to the drop point, Troy. How exactly are we going to stay alive until we get there?”
Troy takes his arm off Will and stands up. He picks up your whisk and slices it through the air. Then he looks out into the woods, and in the same tone of voice he used to present the lighter, he says:
“I know about plants.”