Page 127 of Grave Matter

But even though the lodge didn’t seem very far at first, the more that I walk, the harder it is to keep moving. I can’t feel my feet, my heart rate is slowing, and it’s getting hard to breathe. My body won’t stop shivering, my teeth chattering so violently I’m afraid I’m going to chip a tooth.

You died, I remind myself.You fucking died, and you’re worried about a tooth.

I keep going.

Eventually, I see lights through the trees.

“Help,” I call out, but I’m too weak to make a sound. I’m too weak to even think of a plan.

What was my plan again?

I escaped Wes, and now…I tell Everly?

The very Everly that probably cut my brain open?

She was trying to save you though, I tell myself.Everly was your friend. Think of the photos. Think of those moments.

I stumble out of the forest and collapse right outside one of the staff cabins.

“Help,” I cry out again, louder this time. “Help me.”

But the storm is too loud.

So I crawl, pulling myself forward over the dirt until I reach the path, and then I crawl to the front door and start pounding on it with all the strength that I have.

Suddenly, I hear footsteps on the other side.

The door opens.

A flashlight points down at me.

“Sydney?” It’s David’s voice. “Oh my lord.”

I stare up at him. “I think I might have killed Wes,” I croak.

His eyes widen, and then he’s reaching down and pulling me to my feet and bringing me into his cabin. He puts me on the couch and wraps a blanket around me, then picks up his walkie-talkie as he goes around and starts lighting candles and emergency lanterns.

“Everly? We have a situation here. I have Sydney in my cabin. I think something happened between her and Wes.”

The radio crackles. “I’ll be right there.”

He puts it down and looks down at me. “What happened?”

I can’t even answer I’m shivering so hard.

“Fuck,” he swears. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him swear before, but then I remember what he’s like when he loses at poker.

He disappears down the hall, and then when he comes back, he’s got an emergency kit with him. He unzips it and rips open a silver space blanket.

“Before I use this, I’m going to have to take off your clothes and put you in dry ones,” he says. “Do you consent to that?”

I snort. Just like I consented to being an experiment?

He gives me an odd look and then takes my sweater off, then my jeans. I make it extra awkward for him since I can barely help.

“I re-remember,” I manage to say, teeth chattering. “What a sore l-loser you are.”

He pauses to give me an incredulous look.

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