Trapped

“But we haven’t gotten to the part where I pretend to be dragged off into the woods, kicking and screaming. That’s the best part.”

Sara placed her hands on her hips, feeling herself smile. “I’m sure we would have all been terrified.”

Martin sat back down. “You’re the boss. And if the boss wants to do marshmallows, who am I to argue?”

“I thought you’re the one who created the Center,” Laneesha asked.

Martin glanced at Sara. There was kindness in his eyes, and maybe some resignation, too.

“Sara and I created it together. We wanted to make a difference. The system takes kids who are basically good but made a few mistakes, sticks them into juvee hall, and they come out full blown crooks. The Center is aimed at giving these kids positive direction and helping them to change.” Martin smiled sadly. “Well, that was its purpose.”

“It’s bullshit the man cut your program, Martin.” Meadow tossed a stick onto the fire.

“It sucks,” Cindy added.

There were nods of agreement. Martin shrugged. “Things like this happen all the time. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you kids. Sara, Jack, and I are a small family, but you guys are like our—”

Martin screamed in mid-sentence, then fell backward off the log, rolling into the bushes and the darkness.

Sara, like everyone else, jolted at the sound and violent action. Then laughter broke out, followed by a few of the teens clapping.

“That was awesome, Martin!” Tom yelled into the woods. “I think I wet my freakin’ pants.”

The applause and giggles died down. Jack slept right through it. Sara caressed his head and waited for Martin to lumber out of the woods and take a bow.

But Martin stayed hidden.

“Martin, you can come out now.”

Sara listened. The woods, the whole island, stayed deathly quiet.

“Martin? You okay?”

No answer.

“Come on, Martin. Joke’s over.”

After a moment the crickets began their song again. But there was no response from Martin.

“Fine,” Sara called out. “We’re not saving you any marshmallows.”

Martin apparently didn’t care, keeping silent. Sara picked up the bag of marshmallows and began passing them out, the kids busying themselves with attaching the treats to the sticks they’d picked out earlier. Sara kept glancing at the forest, inwardly annoyed.

“Now what?” Tyrone asked, raising his stick like a sword.

“You put it in the fire,” Tom said. “Duh.”

“Ain’t never roasted marshmallows before, white boy.”

“It’s like this, Tyrone.” Sara held her twig six inches above the flame. “Like we did with the hot dogs. And keep turning it, so it browns evenly on all sides.”

Everyone followed her lead. Sara allowed herself a small, private smile. These were the moments they came out here for. Everyone getting along. Criminal pasts momentarily forgotten. Just six kids acting like kids.

“Mine came off,” Cindy said. She was sitting so far from the fire it had fallen onto the ground.

“Wouldn’t eat it no how. So skinny, oughta change yo name to Annie Rekzic.”

“Respect,” Sara reminded Meadow.

“Sorry. My bad.”

Tyrone pulled his marshmallow out of the fire, blew on it, then offered his stick to Cindy. She took it, plucked off the gooey treat, and popped it into her mouth.

“Georgia. Please stop that.”

Georgia had been using her stick to nudge the dead frog into the fire. She gave Sara a blank stare and then jammed a marshmallow onto the tip that had been poking the frog.

There was a comfortable silence. The fire crackled. The crickets chirped. The stars sparkled. Tyrone and Cindy giggled, sharing some private joke.

Sara forced herself to stay in the moment, to not look over her shoulder for Martin. He’d come back when he was ready.

Then she saw another flash in the woods. Tiny and bright, over almost as quick as it began. A flashlight?

“I’m on fire.” Georgia held her stick and mouth level and blew hard on the burning marshmallow. Then she bit into it carefully. “Mmm. Gooey.”

“Like an eyeball on the gridiron.” Tom plucked his off the stick and pretended it was oozing out of his eye socket.

“Awful way to die.” Cindy hugged her knees. “Guy I knew, had an ice lab in his basement. He died like that. When he was cooking a batch it blew up in his face. Burned him down to the bone.”

“You see it?” Tyrone asked.

Cindy glanced at her hands, then nodded.

Tyrone frowned, his face looking ten years older. “Saw a brother die, once. Drive by. Right next door to me. I was eight years old.”

“I saw someone die, too,” Tom said.

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

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

“It counts,” Sara said. She gave up trying to find the source of the flash and smiled at Tom. “And let’s try to talk about something other than death for a while.”

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

“I’ll take it.” Cindy held out her hand, and Tyrone passed it over.

Sara bit into hers, careful not to drip any on Jack. The perfect combination of sweet and toasty. She loaded up another, 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 drawing in the dirt with her stick, making no attempt to replace 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.

“Meadow, can you go check?”

Meadow made a face. “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 frowned. 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 marshmallow 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 rain coat fell away, and she realized the very last thing in the world she wanted to do was tread into that darkness.