Foreverland Is Dead

working.
    The paper is limp in Cyn’s hand. She can’t hold the sheet of plastic up and write without the rain falling on her notes. Maybe she’ll just walk to the east end of the meadow and make observations; she doesn’t necessarily have to write everything down. So far, there’s nothing but trees and grass.
    She’d already determined that the house and cabins faced south and the trees were approximately six hundred feet away if she walked straight out of the dinner house. If she went west, the land rolls for quite a while—maybe miles—before the next dense stand of trees. It’ll take a full-day excursion to explore that. Once she gets a feel for the surrounding area, they’ll do that. The only thing left to explore is the trees behind the cabins.
    Where the body lies.
    Cyn studies her notes where she’s sketched the outline of the meadow. She puts the point of the pencil in the middle , about where she’s standing, and twists back and forth to mark where she’s starting when the hard rain comes, hitting like cold bullets, running down the plastic, marring the world around her.
    She runs for it.
    The puddles seep through the holes in her boots. She splashes a path straight for the bunkhouse, smelling smoke. She rushes inside. The bunkhouse is warm and dry. Warm?
    One of the beds is only a f ew feet away from the stove, the seams glowing.
    Cyn strips off the wettest layers of sweatshirts and wrings them out near the door. Her feet slap across the floor. She sits as close to the stove as possible, hands out. Heat is welcome. She drags the blanket off of her bed, strips the rest of her clothes off, the fleece rough on her skin.
    “ Cold as a witch’s tit.” Roc’s head appears from the bed.
    “I’m going to need help cutting more wood,” Cyn says.
    Roc settles back inside her blankets. They sit in silence, absorbing the heat. Cyn doesn’t move. She can’t put those clothes on. It’ll take hours for them to dry.
    “You having dreams?” Roc’s voice is muffled. “About the gray?”
    Cyn doesn’t answer.
    “You see the lump s coming for us?”
    A shiver runs through her. We’re having the same dream.
    “Someone’s coming,” Roc says.
    “Don’t say that. It’s just a dream.”
    “ That’s we’re all having. I talked to the others; they saw it, too. Someone is coming out of the fog, coming to save us.”
    “We don’t know that.”
    “I do. And I ain’t freezing my ass off while all this wood sits out there.”
    “Bad idea.”
    Roc wraps the blanket around her face. Her lips glisten. Cyn smells peaches.
    She doesn’t say anything.
    “When the weather breaks, we’re going to start exploring what’s out there. I’ve mapped the surroundings, but it’s time to go farther out. I’m planning a day-long hike in two directions, far enough out that we’ll be back by sunset.”
    “Good luck,” Roc says.
    “You’re going, too.”
    The covers slid e up Roc’s face, leaving a sly eye peeking out.
    Cyn scoots closer to the stove. Her skin is hot, but her bones are still frigid. She puts her head inside the blanket teepee, breathing the warm, rank body odor.
    Welcome to the cold, she thinks. Here to stay.

11

    “ Miranda!” Mad waves her hand in front of Miranda’s face. “Yoo-hoo, girl. You going to eat, or do I need to feed your breakfast to the chickens?”
    Miranda looks at the plate in Mad’s hands. “Thank you,” she mutters.
    All the girls are sitting and waiting, spoons in their hands. Everyone is there except Roc. Once Miranda sits, they dig in. That’s Cyn’s new rule: eat together, like a family.
    Except Roc. No one seems to mind.
    A dysfunctional family.
    Cyn is at the head of the table, fingers steepled in front of her. She watches the others eat. Eggs and hominy. And prunes so slimy they race past the tongue and down her throat before Miranda can properly swallow. She doesn’t want to taste them.
    “This sucks.” Mad looks at the cold wood stove.
    “This all sucks,” Cyn adds. “But we’ve got to save the wood for the real cold.”
    Cyn promises not to light another fire. Roc lit the one yesterday. No more, Cyn promised herself.
    “As soon as the weather breaks, we’re hiking into the countryside. I’ve got some routes planned to get as far out as possible and be back before sunset. Maybe there’s a trail out there, or a sign of civilization.”
    The wind blows, the roof crackles in protest., reminding them how cruel the weather is.
    “What if it