Foreverland Is Dead

fabric. Even when she holds her breath, she still feels it.
    The torso is off the path, buried in the undergrowth. The pants are shredded on the back side, exposing muscles and tissues. Looks like the work of scavengers. Hopefully, long gone.
    They’ll be back .
    Cyn stops short of the body. The odor saturates her face. A knot swells in her throat. She blinks away the tears and tries to hold her breath again. Vertigo spins in her head, but she wants to make sure.
    An adult.
    The woman is heavyset, facedown in the weeds. Her hair gray and matted. The shirt has been clawed away, the bra strap still intact. The flesh isn’t.
    “ The hell happened?” Roc asks.
    “I don’t know. Wolves , maybe.”
    Maybe.
    “Think we need to bury her?” Roc asks. “Keep the wolves away?”
    Cyn is thinking the same thing, but she doesn’t want to touch that body to roll it into a hole even if they dig it right next to her.
    “Let’s leave it,” she says. “Keep the girls out of here for a while. No one comes down this path, not until we’re sure it’s safe.”
    Roc is already backtracking.
    Cyn kneels down for a closer look. She dry heaves once and pinches her nose. If there was more than an apple in her stomach she would lose it, but she’s not coming back anytime soon. She wants to be sure she’s not missing anything. Perhaps if she sees the face it will remind her of someone. Maybe jog loose a memory, provide a clue.
    But there’s nothing familiar. Not the clothing or the body or the hair. And she’s not about to roll her over to see the face. She’s certain it’s beyond recognition.
    There’s something in her hand. Cyn pokes it with a stick but the fingers are stiff. Looks like a plastic bag.
    Cyn backs away. She’ll come back much later to investigate.
    Or maybe never.

4

    Miranda doesn’t sleep much that first night.
    There’s an open bunk in the back. The clothes in the box are her size but they’re filthy. She sleeps in the clothes she’s wearing. They’re dusty , but at least they don’t smell like wet animal.
    She’s the first one in bed. There’s no way she’s going back into the brick house, even if there’s clean clothes and a soft bed in there. She just wants to go to asleep, wants to wake up from this dream. Because it has to be a dream.
    The other girls wander into the bunkhouse once it’s dark. Miranda peeks from under the covers, just a sliver of an opening. They look drunk, sort of staggering to their beds and getting undressed, eyes half shut. They’re breathing heavily, softly snoring.
    Somewhere out there, a wolf howls. It sounds like outside the cabin. Others join. It’s getting hard to breathe beneath the blanket , but she’s not about to look. She’s trying not think about an animal getting inside.
    They’re probably coming back for the body.
    She didn’t follow Cyn and Roc into the woods. She stayed back. She wanted to run but then she would’ve been all by herself, so she waited outside the trees. She never saw anything, but she caught a whiff.
    Cyn didn’t talk about it, but Roc did. She said it was an old woman, half-eaten. Said the head had been gnawed off and the spine stuck out like a chewed corncob.
    Miranda didn’t believe her, but still…she tries not think about it.
    She doesn’t fall asleep until the wolves finish howling. But then, in the middle of the night, someone gets up and goes out the back door. Miranda figures someone’s going to pee.
    She has to pee, too, but decides to hold it. Doesn’t matter if those wolves stopped howling, they could still be out there. The bathroom is a little outhouse near the trees. She doesn’t know what’s worse: walking outside at night or peeing in that bathroom.
    It’s a tie.
    Half an hour later, the girl comes back. She must’ve delivered a number two.
    Even grosser.

5

    Not day.
    Nor night.
    Endless gray. Forever and ever.
    It cannot be grasped.
    Cannot be let go.

    Cyn tears at the fog. It slips between her fingers, yet clings to her skin. She tries to swim, tries to run, tries to do anything but be there.
    She hears them cry. The boys are out there. They’re crying for help.
    The rooster crows .
    Sleep i s like death, bottomless and heavy. Her head is a rock sunk into the pillow; her body gently cradled in the gel-like mattress. Feels like she’s hovering in its embrace. Cyn opens her eyes, stares at the lines carved in the wall. She can’t remember getting into bed.
    They fed the horses and chickens