could hear Brandon—but not Brandon—struggling with the tent flap, calling out to her. He acted afraid, but it all felt wrong, like a thin ploy.
You’re being unreasonable, she told herself. If that truly was Brandon, then she was acting insane and flipping out on him for no reason.
But if it wasn’t . . .
Brandon or not, she had to be away from it. She moved into the jungle, feeling her way through the undergrowth. Brandon let out a cry of protest from somewhere behind her.
“Just leave me alone,” she yelled.
Tiny branches whipped at her face and legs and a row of jagged thorns cut into her thigh. She didn’t run, fearful that it might chase her if she did.
She emerged into a dense thicket, where moonlight found its way through the canopy. She tried pushing through the branches, but they gripped her legs and slowed her down.
She heard footsteps behind her and then something crashed into the clearing behind her. She reacted without thinking, spinning on her aggressor and tightening her fist. Her knuckle connected solidly.
Brandon gripped his left eye, wincing.
The presence, whatever it was, had vanished. Or had it been there at all?
“Oh my god, Brandon,” she cried. “I’m so sorry.”
“What the hell is going on? Why did you hit me?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, feeling guilt welling up inside. “I—I just panicked.”
“Sam, you scared the hell out of me.”
She kneeled down, feeling jagged branches scrape her legs. She helped him up so they were both crouched, the thicket towering around them.
“I was having a nightmare and—” his voice trailed.
“You were?”
“Yeah,” he replied with a shiver. He looked around at the dark forest, before grabbing her roughly and hugging her tight. “There was this thing . . . and it . . . it had you.”
“ What? ”
“It was inside you,” he tried to explain. “And then you were running away from me . . . like you were someone else and you didn’t know who I was.”
She felt the chill. Was the presence still there in her mind? It was hard to tell the difference between dreaming and awake. “Brandon, that last part happened . . . I ran away from you.”
“I know. It felt like part of the dream.”
A noise cut through the forest, a guttural cough. “Maybe we should head back to the tent,” she said.
Together, they crept back to the tent. They did not hear the noise again, but neither of them could shake what had happened.
Dream or not, they remained awake for the rest of the long night.
Morning shone through the canopy in amber hues, illuminating the swiftly flowing waters of the jungle stream. With the sun came the thick heat and humidity and, because they stood by the river, swarms of biting insects. Brandon swatted at one landing on his neck. He felt the stinging slap on sunburned skin and the satisfying squish of a mosquito.
Their water was low, and Brandon suggested they crawl through the dense brush at the waterline to inspect the stream. He hoped the stream had originated in the mountains and would be drinkable.
Sam stepped to the edge of the water and crouched on the bank, holding out the empty water bottle. She stared at the glassy surface, gazing at her own reflection. She appeared transfixed by the trickling stream.
“Does it look clean?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she answered. “What does bacteria look like again?”
“Is it clear though?”
“Yeah . . .”
“So touch it.”
She dipped the tips of her fingers into the sparkling water. After a moment, she looked at him and nodded. “It’s pretty cold.”
She dipped the water bottle, watching the bubbles roll out of the top and get swept downstream where they disappeared in the froth. Cold water meant water that had moved swiftly from its source, the melting snows in the nearby mountains, and was less likely to be contaminated.
She lifted the full bottle to her lips and took a sip. She tasted it carefully, letting the liquid collect in her
You’re being unreasonable, she told herself. If that truly was Brandon, then she was acting insane and flipping out on him for no reason.
But if it wasn’t . . .
Brandon or not, she had to be away from it. She moved into the jungle, feeling her way through the undergrowth. Brandon let out a cry of protest from somewhere behind her.
“Just leave me alone,” she yelled.
Tiny branches whipped at her face and legs and a row of jagged thorns cut into her thigh. She didn’t run, fearful that it might chase her if she did.
She emerged into a dense thicket, where moonlight found its way through the canopy. She tried pushing through the branches, but they gripped her legs and slowed her down.
She heard footsteps behind her and then something crashed into the clearing behind her. She reacted without thinking, spinning on her aggressor and tightening her fist. Her knuckle connected solidly.
Brandon gripped his left eye, wincing.
The presence, whatever it was, had vanished. Or had it been there at all?
“Oh my god, Brandon,” she cried. “I’m so sorry.”
“What the hell is going on? Why did you hit me?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, feeling guilt welling up inside. “I—I just panicked.”
“Sam, you scared the hell out of me.”
She kneeled down, feeling jagged branches scrape her legs. She helped him up so they were both crouched, the thicket towering around them.
“I was having a nightmare and—” his voice trailed.
“You were?”
“Yeah,” he replied with a shiver. He looked around at the dark forest, before grabbing her roughly and hugging her tight. “There was this thing . . . and it . . . it had you.”
“ What? ”
“It was inside you,” he tried to explain. “And then you were running away from me . . . like you were someone else and you didn’t know who I was.”
She felt the chill. Was the presence still there in her mind? It was hard to tell the difference between dreaming and awake. “Brandon, that last part happened . . . I ran away from you.”
“I know. It felt like part of the dream.”
A noise cut through the forest, a guttural cough. “Maybe we should head back to the tent,” she said.
Together, they crept back to the tent. They did not hear the noise again, but neither of them could shake what had happened.
Dream or not, they remained awake for the rest of the long night.
Morning shone through the canopy in amber hues, illuminating the swiftly flowing waters of the jungle stream. With the sun came the thick heat and humidity and, because they stood by the river, swarms of biting insects. Brandon swatted at one landing on his neck. He felt the stinging slap on sunburned skin and the satisfying squish of a mosquito.
Their water was low, and Brandon suggested they crawl through the dense brush at the waterline to inspect the stream. He hoped the stream had originated in the mountains and would be drinkable.
Sam stepped to the edge of the water and crouched on the bank, holding out the empty water bottle. She stared at the glassy surface, gazing at her own reflection. She appeared transfixed by the trickling stream.
“Does it look clean?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she answered. “What does bacteria look like again?”
“Is it clear though?”
“Yeah . . .”
“So touch it.”
She dipped the tips of her fingers into the sparkling water. After a moment, she looked at him and nodded. “It’s pretty cold.”
She dipped the water bottle, watching the bubbles roll out of the top and get swept downstream where they disappeared in the froth. Cold water meant water that had moved swiftly from its source, the melting snows in the nearby mountains, and was less likely to be contaminated.
She lifted the full bottle to her lips and took a sip. She tasted it carefully, letting the liquid collect in her
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