Foreverland Is Dead

the whole point of starving ourselves — to survive long enough for someone to find us.”
    Cyn point s at the marks on the wall. “I got tired of that.”
    “So now you’re rushing out to die?”
    “Who says we’re not an experiment, that maybe we’ll wake up again and not remember anything, like it’s the first day?” She yanks the bed away from the wall, exposing all the marks. “Maybe we ’ll wake up tomorrow and the whole wall will be filled because all we’re doing is lying in bed and waiting.”
    “I hope so. Then I won’t remember how miserable I am now.”
    “You’ll still be miserable.”
    “I won’t remember it,” Roc says.
    “I don’t want to fill the wall, that’s all I’m saying.”
    “Maybe you need to run these things by us, stop making all the decisions on your own.”
    The windows are dark. Night has descended. Cyn already feels the weight on her eyes. The girls do, too, making their way to bed. Kat throws a few more logs on the fire before crawling under the covers.
    Cyn strips off her pants and socks, stuffs them beneath the covers where they’ll be warm in the morning. She takes the keycard from around her neck, crosses the room, and presses it into Mad’s hand.
    “Take care of that,” she whispers.
    Mad puts it around her neck, tucks it inside her shirt. Cyn pats her shoulder. She should have the keycard, especially if Cyn doesn’t return.
    Soft snores are alre ady drifting up from the bunks.
    Cyn pulls the blankets over her shoulder, snuggles into her pillow. She begins to drift off, carrying a guilty weight with her. She’ll be leaving the girls alone with Roc. But she’ll be back. She won’t abandon them. Even if the Miranda’s journal is real, Roc is more interested in sleeping and eating.
    The girls won’t get in the way of that.

20

    The last cracker.
    Miranda shakes out the crumbs, licks them off her palm. It’s past midnight and she’s still hungry. The food for the girls is almost loaded and ready, just a few more items to think about. She’s got to be careful. Can’t give away too much.
    The photos from the bedroom are scattered on the coffee table. She pushes them around like playing cards, endless tropical scenes that make her feel colder.
    Hell.
    That’s what the woman wrote in the leather-bound journal about this place, like she didn’t want to be here. Why did she come here? She’s got all those boats and houses and she comes out here until the end?
    Miranda ’s stomach whines. She takes the binoculars to the window. It’s something to do, help her forget about food. There’s not much to see at this hour, but there’s nothing else to do. The day is a better time for spying. She spotted Jen inside the dinner house, picking her nose and wiping it under the table.
    She scans the horizon, looking for a wolf or a marauding grizzly bear. Maybe she’ll spot a truck or an airplane — wouldn’t that be nice? She’d be the one to save them, laugh right in the Dagger Queen’s face.
    Sometimes she catches Roc sneaking into the kitchen when the others aren’t around. She hasn’t seen her at night, though. Not yet. What’s she going to do if she does see her? Tell the others? They already know and do nothing. How long will it be before Roc just steals right in front of them?
    If Miranda had a gun, she could make things right. Problems go away in a hurry when someone has a bigger stick. Miranda would do it, too. Why not? She’s the runt. A gun would level the playing field.
    Time for a little payback.
    Something moves.
    Miranda ’s heart thumps. “Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy Name…”
    The prayer leaps to her lips like a talisman. She aims the binoculars at the garden. The kitchen is open!
    There’s no light , but the door is clearly open. The shelves are easy to see in the moonlight. She turns the knob, watching the open doorway— Someone comes out.
    Cyn’s skin is bluish-white. Her legs are bare from her pointy hips down to her naked feet. She’s wearing panties and a t-shirt and it’s freezing. She must be carrying the keycard. Cyn closes the door and heads around the back of the dinner house.
    Miranda keeps the binoculars trained on her.
    Cyn doesn’t turn toward the bunkhouse. Miranda fumbles the binoculars, loses sight of her. She presses them against her eyes, refocusing, scanning. Where’d she go?
    There. Right there near the trees.
    Miranda races to the kitchen for a better vantage point. Her pale skin