Afraid

was eight years old.”

“I saw someone die, too,” Tom said.

Tyrone sneered. “Man, yo gramma doesn’t count.”

“Does too. I was there. Does it count, Sara?”

“It counts. And let’s try to talk about something other than death for a while.”

“Damn.” Meadows stuck out his tongue. “My shit is burned. Tastes nasty.”

“I like the burned ones.” Georgia held out her hand. Meadows passed it over. “Thanks.”

Sara bit into hers. The perfect combination of sweet and toasty. She loaded up another one, then felt her neck prickle, like she was being watched. Sara turned around, peering into the trees. She saw only blackness.

“When is Martin coming back?” Cindy was poking her stick into the fire. She still hadn’t replaced her lost marshmallow.

“He’s probably just beyond the trees,” Sara said. “Waiting to jump out and scare us again.”

“What if someone grabbed him?”

“Cindy, no one grabbed him. We’re the only ones on this island.”

“You sure?”

Sara made an exaggerated motion out of crossing her heart. “And hope to die.”

“What if he had an accident?” Cindy persisted. “Maybe hit his head on a rock or something?”

Sara pursed her lips. There was a slight chance, but it could have happened.

“Tyrone, can you go check?”

Tyrone sneered. “You want me to go in those woods so he can jump out ’n scare the soul outta brother? No way.”

Sara sighed, and just for the sake of argument she let her imagination run unchecked. What if Martin’s little stunt really had gone wrong and he’d hurt himself? What if he’d fallen into a hole? What if a bear got him? There wasn’t supposed to be any bear on this island—according to Google, there wasn’t supposed to be any animal here larger than a raccoon. But what if Google was wrong?

She sighed. Her imagination had won. Even if this was a stupid trick on Martin’s part, Sara still had to go check.

“Fine. I’ll do it.” She got up, handed her stick to Cindy, and dusted off her jeans, staring into the darkness of the woods surrounding them.

And the woods were dark. Very dark.

The confidence Sara normally wore like a lab coat suddenly fell away, and she realized the very last thing in the world she wanted to do was tread into that darkness.

“Tom, can you help me look?”

Tom shook his head. “He can stay out there. I’m not leaving the fire.”

“Ain’t got no balls, white boy?”

“You go then, Meadow.”

“Hells no. At this particular time, Laneesha be holding my balls.”

Laneesha rolled her eyes and stood up. “Y’all are cowards. C’mon, Sara. We’ll go find him.”

Sara blew out the breath she’d been holding, surprised by how grateful she was for the girl’s offer. “There’s a flashlight in one of the packs. I’ll find it.”

She walked over to her tent and ducked inside. It was dim, but the fire provided enough illumination to look around. Sara cast a wistful glance at the double sleeping bag. She tugged her eyes away, then located the backpack. Pawing through the contents, she removed a canteen, a first-aid kit, some wool socks, a bottle of Goniosol medication, a hunting knife, the papers …

Sara squinted at them, staring at the bottom of the last page. It was unsigned. Irritated, she shoved them back in. She eventually dug out the Maglite, pressing the button on the handle. The light came on. It was yellowish and weak—which annoyed Sara even more because she told Martin to buy new batteries.

Putting the papers out of her mind for the time being, she left the tent and joined Laneesha, who was staring into the woods where Martin disappeared.

“If you see any cannibals,” Tom said to their backs, “don’t tell him we’re here.”

“Y’all are weak,” Laneesha said.

Sara eyed her, normally cocky and busting with attitude, and saw uncertainty all over the girl’s face.

“The story was fake, Laneesha.”

“That Plincer cat ain’t real?”

“He might be real. The name is familiar. But the way to make campfire stories sound believable is to mix a little truth with the lies.”

“How ’bout all them cannibal soldiers, eating people?”

“Even if that was true, and it wasn’t, it happened over a hundred and forty years ago. They’d all be long dead.”

“So Martin just joshin’?”

“He’s probably just waiting to jump out and scare us,” Sara said.

“Prolly. That’d suck, but be better than someone grabbing him.”

Sara raised an eyebrow. That possibility was so far out she hadn’t even considered it. “Did you see someone grab him?”

“It was dark, ’n’ he was right in front of that bush. Thought maybe I seen somethin’, but prolly just my mind playing tricks ’n’ shit.”

Now Sara was really reluctant to go into the woods. She knew the Confederate story was BS, but wondered if perhaps someone else was on the island.

That’s crazy, Sara thought. There’s no one here but us.

There were over a hundred of these islands on Lake Huron, from the size of a football field up to thousands of acres. This was one of the big ones, a supposed wildlife refuge. But there was no electricity, and it was too far from the mainland for there to be anyone living here.

Other campers?

Sara reminded herself to be rational. Occam’s Razor. The simplest solution was usually the right one. Martin joking around made much more sense than unknown habitants, or coincidental campers, or old Warden Plincer and his imaginary gang of southern maniacs.

Still, they did have that radio the boat captain gave them. Sara wondered if her husband goofing off qualified as an emergency, because she was almost ready to contact the captain and beg him to return.

“Let’s do this,” Laneesha said.

Sara nodded. Practically hip to hip, the women walked around the bushes and stepped into the thick of the woods.

When they’d hiked to the clearing earlier that afternoon, the woods had been dark. There were so many trees the canopy blocked out most of the sun. Now, at midnight, it was darker than anything Sara had ever experienced. The blackness enveloped them, thick as ink, and the fading Maglite barely pierced it more than a few yards.

“Be easy getting lost out here,” Laneesha said.

Sara played the light across the trees, looking for the red ribbon. They’d tied dozens of ribbons around trunks, in a line leading from the campsite to the shore, so anyone who got lost could find their way back. But in this total darkness every tree looked the same, and she couldn’t find a single ribbon. Sara had a very real fear that if they traveled too far into the woods, they wouldn’t be able to find their way back to the rest of the group. After only a dozen steps she could no longer see the campfire behind them.

“Tyrone, Cindy, can you guys hear me?” she called out.

“We hear you! You find any cannibals yet?”

Neither Sara nor Laneesha shared in the ensuing chuckles. They trekked onward, dead leaves and branches crunching underfoot, an owl hooting somewhere in the distance.

Sara had always been ambivalent about camping, having only gone a few times in her life. But now she realized she hated it. Hated camping, hated the woods, and hated the dark.

But she had hated the dark for a very long time. And with damn good reason.

“Martin,” Sara said, projecting into the woods, “this isn’t funny. It’s stupid, and dangerous.”