Cameron

CAMERON

Little pink mushrooms.

The color reminded Cam of the ring of mildew that formed around the bathtub drain. An unappetizing, soft peachy hue.

They were her lifeline. The core of her diet. The first page in Ruby's foraging book.

Pebble mushrooms: abundant within a thirteen mile radius of The Other Backpack. Source of fiber, protein, probably vitamin D. Never pass up a patch. You will regret it.

Cam hated mushrooms. She didn't understand why anyone would enjoy eating a dirt-flavored sponge. The texture was still terrible after two weeks of consuming them. That was when the last of her backpacking food ran out.

Pebble mushrooms grew in patches along the fence of The Tooth, and every few mornings, when Cam was assigned moss and fungus scraping duty, she'd collect them. She loved the satisfying pop they made when she plucked them from the ground. The patch that had cropped up along the eastern side of the fence could feed her for a couple of days.

She unzipped her fanny pack—something she'd taken from Levi after he died—and stuffed it with the mushrooms instead of dumping them in the gunk bucket next to her. Her fingers moved quickly and inconspicuously before sweeping up her scraper from the ground. She stood and focused on digging out the slimy green growth poking from the wood wall.

The Tooth had no rules against collecting and eating mushrooms. There were no rules against foraging at all, especially for the folks who could come and go as they pleased, because why would anyone forage for dirt-flavored fungus when slop was freely available every night?

Cam concealed her mushroom gathering because that was easier than explaining why she did it.

Haven't you heard? Those filthy, hairy animals butchered for dinner are fed rotting corpses.

Plus, she didn't want anyone getting wise and stealing her mushrooms before she could get to them.

"Mornin'."

A few meters down the wall, a gaunt woman named Spice waved her scraper at Cam before starting on the patch of moss in front of her. Everyone at The Tooth was gaunt, but Spice looked like she'd used her scraper to shave the fat from her own cheeks.

Cam returned her attention to the wall. "Sun's out today." She inwardly cringed. Small talk was worse than eating mushrooms.

"Lucky us," said Spice. "Got an outside job."

Cam scraped the log clean and stepped over to the next. The catwalk above jangled, and she glanced up at one of the wall guards leaning against the metal rail and staring right at her.

Subtle.

Cam knew they reported her every move to Tammy, because Tammy would tell Cam during the evening slop dish-outs, when she'd smile unnaturally wide and ask Cam if she'd had a good day cleaning the exact section of the wall she'd been working on. If Cam sneezed during her shift, Tammy would ask if she had a cold coming on. And Cam would always smile unnaturally wide back, and say something like "Good day indeed" or "Right as rain" or "Never felt better. "

And then, from Tammy: "Will you join us for prayer around the bonfire tonight?"

Cam answered with that same shit-eating grin on her face: "Plan on getting to bed early."

She had a little dignity, after all.

But Tammy never seemed concerned by this answer as she flung hog slop into Cam's bowl. "Surrender will happen in time."

If by surrender, she meant forcefully offering Cam up as a Lover in some weird sexual sacrifice to a goddess who didn't exist, then sure. Cam would surrender eventually. Tomorrow, in fact, at the Harvest Feast.

Ever since her cards were pulled seven weeks ago, Cam had been such a good little chosen sacrifice. She never fought or pled or attempted escape... yet. She showed up for her shifts, scraping the walls and manning the medical cabin. She was pleasant to the villagers even though it killed her on the inside—most were terrible conversationalists and never had dirt to offer on Tammy or Bert.

For the first time in her entire life, Cam did everything she was supposed to do. The Tooth was an atrocity of secondhand cannibalism, but she was exactly where she needed to be, in the same place Avery was years ago. Handpicked for The Mother, a sacrifice cast into the woods the night of the feast.

Unless cast into the woods was a euphemism for fed to the pigs . She thought about this often—whether this Harvest Feast was a show to keep folks faithful, and Bert and Tammy merely planned on killing her. But Tammy gave her more devout-fanatic vibes than evil cult engineer. The woman truly believed in this sacrifice bullshit. Bert was the wild card. Cam hadn't seen him since her cards were drawn. A shepherd who kept his distance from his flock was one with secrets.

Even though she'd willfully ignored her danger radar since leaving Agnes—a habit of hers that would inevitably define her demise—she'd have to keep her wits about her before this feast. She still had time to escape if the urge presented itself. But for now, she was closer to Avery than she'd ever been.

She thought of Siena. She'd had a lot of time to think of Siena over these past weeks, and how appalled she'd be at the mess Cam had gotten herself into. Siena would have been morbidly fascinated by The Tooth and gleaned more answers from her surroundings. Harassed more of the villagers, gone to the nighttime masses to soak in as much information as she could about the cult, gotten on Tammy's every nerve. She would have come up with plans beyond going through with the sacrifice or escaping.

But Siena wasn't here, and Cam would have to figure her own way out of this mess.

When she was done with her section of the fence, she headed toward the bonfire to dump the contents of her bucket, the guards' eyes shamelessly burning into the side of her head. Did they even know why they were supposed to keep an eye on her? She hadn't been announced as The Sacrifice to the public yet. That was a reveal for the Harvest Feast, to leave no time for friends or family of the sacrifice to doubt The Mother's will .

She stole a glance at the catwalk. A young woman with an unfamiliar face stood amongst the guards. Her skin was vibrant, cheeks flush and plump. Newborn . Those stern, watchful eyes would soon house an untethered gleam, and her gums would recede until her smile was full of dark, bleeding gaps. And then she'd be taken off guard duty when she developed the shakes.

The shakes happened to everyone who ate the pork. At least, that was what Cam gauged with a control group of one: herself.

One thing she knew for certain was people who took refuge at The Tooth died quickly, most often from infection fed by a weakened immune system. Cam had seen enough wounds to make this conclusion.

Tammy did a good job at shuffling those who died out of sight. There was always vacancy for the newcomers to The Tooth.

Cam veered left around the crag and away from the hog pens, dumped the contents of her bucket in the fire, and stored the bucket and scraper in a nearby toolshed. She continued toward the cabin that had once been Isaac and Levi's and entered stuffy darkness. Kneeling near her bed, she jiggled a floorboard free and deposited the contents of the fanny pack inside the makeshift compartment, rotating the older fungus to the top of the pile. Her hand brushed against a folded piece of paper—the letter Isaac had left her.

Every time she thought of Isaac, a sick weight filled her gut. She hadn't forgotten her final days in the research cabin, Emmett dragging in a borderline decrepit Isaac to the couch. He'd been old. Which meant that no matter what, Isaac had to live long enough to reach that age.

Right?

She still had no idea how this time-loop bullshit worked. She'd contemplated for weeks whether she wanted to ask someone here if they knew anything about it, but every time she thought of doing so, a warning flickered inside her.

Trust no one. Listen. Don't speak.

Not like anyone would give her a straight answer, anyway. Probably some religious horsecrap about how The Mother controlled time, or whatever.

She resecured the floorboard, tugged the frayed hood of her rain shell over her head, and returned to the muddy street, weaving between cabins and past waving strangers with familiar faces. She waved back with a grimace for a smile.

The rare morning sun slid behind a soft blanket of gray. In the distance, the sky loomed black. Storm. Big fucking shocker. There was never a day it didn't rain, and never a handful of them where the sky wasn't darker than a city night—just enough light to make her feel like an abyss wasn't holding her hostage. The one thing this place had in common with her home—her real home—was pattern. Storm every two days. Three days. Two days. Every day until her skin was pruny even after she slept. And then a break of sun. But not long enough. Cam had never known such a craving before. She'd turned into an antivampire, desperate for light .

Eat the mushrooms. Get your vitamin D, bitch.

The clinic looked like another cabin, and upon Cam entering, the cloying stench of infection slapped her in the face. Three cots and a stool filled the room, and melting candles made of foraged beeswax lined the floor near the walls. Only one bed was occupied, by a woman who whimpered when Cam entered.

Fresh rainwater funneled into a basin in the corner, and Cam washed her hands, still wearing her jacket. "What happened?"

"I f-fell." Youthful vulnerability filled her voice, though she looked a little older than Cam, with pale skin and jet-black bangs that stuck to her forehead. Her watery eyes were too big for her head. Familiar eyes, though Cam couldn't recall her name.

Cam picked up a glass bottle on the lip of the basin and rinsed her hands with an herb-based astringent. From her pocket, she tugged free a pair of neoprene gloves, one of the few she'd packed in her first aid kit all those weeks ago. She'd been so damn careful not to rip or lose them, and gingerly eased a hand into each one before turning back toward the woman. "Let me see."

The woman presented Cam with an upturned palm and a shallow gash. Blood rolled between her thumb and index finger.

Splat.

Great. Now she would have to scrub the floor.

She retreated to the basin and returned with the bottle of astringent. "Keep your hand steady, this will sting."

The woman hissed before Cam had even tilted the bottle. Maybe this would be easier if she distracted her. "How long have you been at The Tooth?"

"A couple days."

"What's your name?"

"Thia," she said through gritted teeth, her hand jolting when astringent flooded the wound.

Thia? No, that wasn't right. Cam remembered now. The woman she was thinking of had lived in The Tooth for a whole ten days with her husband before taking off into the woods in search of a way back home. She'd volunteered in the clinic for a few days with Cam.

"You remind me of someone I knew who lived here for a bit, but her name was Cynn."

Thia's eyes darted from the hand she cradled to Cam's face. " Cynn? "

Cam nodded slowly, trying to make sense of the alarm on Thia's face. "You know her? She left a bit ago... probably before you arrived."

"How did you—" Thia's head shivered, and Cam couldn't tell if she was shaking it or trembling. "That's my name," she whispered. "The first part of it."

"Cynn... thia?" Cam said dumbly, and then repeated, "Cynthia."

"But I've told no one. I thought I was supposed to shorten it, like everyone else. How did you know?"

Cam stared at her. She swore to all fuck this woman had introduced herself as Cynn and left The Tooth a couple of weeks ago. "Weird coincidence, I guess," Cam muttered.

She was aware enough of her fellow villagers that she'd figured out the patterns and flow of how many came and went, just like the weather. Every time new folks wandered to The Tooth from the woods, their faces either looked familiar or so plain that they felt familiar. Their one-syllable nicknames often contained only a handful of letters. Pill, Star, Dee, Jon, Maz, Chess, Clem.

It was like she was stuck in some fucking simulation. The Truman Show: Cult in the Woods edition. That thought slid into her mind at least once a day, both outlandish and perfectly plausible. Was Thia some actress, having played the part of Cynn a couple of weeks ago? Did some higher power think Cam was too stupid to notice? Or was this the inexplicable time loop at work again?

Thia said nothing as Cam contemplated this, her attention fixed on the cut in her palm welling up with blood once more.

Cam tested her. "How's your husband? "

Thia's head shot up, her eyes full of bewilderment. And then Cam gleaned pain from her expression.

"Dead," she choked. "Out there. Out in the forest. Before I made it here."

Oh, shit .

"Did I... did I tell you I had a husband?"

No, she hadn't, but Cynn had a husband, and Cam had been trying to call Thia's bluff. Now she just felt like a monster.

Cam avoided the question, sliding an old tin from beneath the bed and opening it. She selected a long strip of fabric sterilized through boiling and wrapped Thia's hand. "Cut's not deep enough to waste stitches on. Keep it dry and clean. I mean it. Come back tomorrow to get the bandage changed, unless it gets wet, then you come back immediately." Cam stood, carefully tugging the gloves from her fingers, rolling them together, and tucking them into her pocket.

She didn't say goodbye to Thia as she left.

Ignore it, she thought. After tomorrow, she'd never see Thia again.

The stench of roasted hog hung heavy in the air. Her evening ritual was almost upon her: fixing a meager dinner, counting her remaining calories, and then working on her plan before the bell for the slop line rang. It would keep her mind off Cynn and Thia, too.

And, of course, the Harvest Feast.

A raw-throated voice scraped the air. "Hey there, Lover."

Cam skidded to a halt, mud sloshing over the front of her boot. A casual phrase. A stupid nickname for a friend, or actual lover. If only there hadn't been so much intention behind the word.

"That's right, I'm talking to you."

According to Tammy, no one was supposed to know about Cam's cards, and that she was the sacrifice.

Morbid curiosity got the best of her, and she swiveled toward the smoking bonfire. A handful of folks sat on the logs surrounding the pit, but the sky was already dark and their hoods cast shadows over their faces. She couldn't tell which of them had called out to her, but the voice had been older and feminine.

"Come here."

The person who spoke sat farthest away, on the other side of the fire. Cam craned her neck and spotted Dee's smirking face. Dee—one of the first villagers to introduce herself around this same fire all those weeks ago.

"We don't bite," Dee said. "Unless The Mother's Chosen thinks she's better than the rest of us."

"Heh, heh." The man across from Dee ended his laugh with a choked cough.

"How did you know?" Cam blurted, unable to help herself. God, she hated being surprised.

"You think Tammy can keep her flapper shut for half a second? Probably the reason folks respect Bert more than her. Swear to god, she'll never learn."

A few of the others around the fire hummed in agreement. Cam counted five in all.

Thump, thump, thump. Dee slowly slapped the empty patch of log next to her. "Sit."

Cam resisted the urge to run, and then questioned the impulse. Was she afraid of these people? Maybe, but it was more than that. She didn't trust anyone who stayed in this place for fun and without an ulterior motive.

Then again, how would she know what they really felt if she kept her distance?

Cam took another step toward the fire, and then another, choking on the wet-wood smoke. The ends of Dee's smile twisted victoriously into her dumpling cheeks as Cam sat.

Dee was one of the few villagers who didn't look hollowed out. Neither did her lanky partner, Star, a man with youthful dark eyes. The others around the fire had faces both gaunt and haunted. She recognized them, but couldn't place their names.

"Hanging in there, Lover?" said a woman much younger than Cam, face scarred and voice petal-soft. When Dee said the nickname, it had surprised her, but this time, the word slowly grated against her insides.

"That's not my name," Cam said.

"Your name doesn't matter," Dee replied. "You'll be gone in a day, won't you? Thrown to the trees like the others." She offered a rusty flask to Cam.

Cam stared at it. The thing on its own would give her tetanus, and she didn't know its contents, or who'd put their filthy lips on it.

"No, thanks," she said.

Dee snorted. "What you trying to preserve? Your dignity? Health? Trust me, none of that's gonna matter."

The omen filled Cam with apprehension. "Why not?"

Dee shook the flask, and the liquid inside sloshed around. Information for a drink... that was the bargain, and Cam was both desperate and impulsive.

Cam pinched Dee's flask from the woman's hand with two fingers like it was covered in shit. She made sure it didn't touch her lips while carefully pouring no more liquid than absolutely necessary into her mouth, expecting some pisswater moonshine like what she'd drunk at Ruby's.

Smoked caramel hit her tongue, followed by a kick of black pepper. Goddamn, she missed whiskey. She let the liquid melt through her mouth before swallowing. "This rye? What brand?"

Star chuckled. He was missing a couple of teeth, his upper lip split in a scar. She hadn't paid enough attention to him to notice.

"How long have you been in these woods, Lover?" Dee snatched back the flask as though she suspected Cam would steal it.

Cam roughly calculated how much time had passed since she'd entered Deadswitch on July 13th. "Three months, give or take."

"And how far did you travel before settling here?"

"A hundred miles, maybe," Cam said. Dee grinned, and Cam felt the need to clarify. "Came from the south. Walked north until I found this place. Didn't have to wander around in circles much."

"I'll let you in on a little secret, Lover." Dee passed her flask to the younger villager. "Wherever you came from to where you are now ain't nothing but a sliver of these woods. There are darker places. Safer places. Villages, settlements, raiders. All different and yet all sharing one thing—a sea of wilderness that keeps them separate."

Cam didn't know if Dee was talking out of her ass, but others around the fire nodded like she spoke gospel.

"You see these places yourself, or just hear stories?" Cam asked. She wished she'd drunk more whiskey when she had the chance.

Dee's smirk softened. "I've been in these woods longer than you've been alive."

"Hard to believe," Cam retorted. "Because if that were true, you wouldn't be here. This place is a fucking hospice."

"I haven't always lived in The Tooth, Lover. I've been all about these woods. It's what keeps me alive. But you're right, I have settled down for a few months. Tam's needed me here."

Something inside Cam clicked, and she suddenly saw it—Dee's resemblance to Tammy. Sisters, maybe. She couldn't be sure, but they were definitely related.

"Only a few months?" Cam asked.

"This time around. Been back every couple of years."

"You've been around for the Harvest Feast?"

Dee chuckled. "Oh, you bet."

"If you're so close to Tammy, tell me what happens to the sacrifices. Really." Even trying to keep a neutral tone, Cam came off desperate.

A strange quiet fell over the group. She swallowed and read the others' faces. Star looked uncomfortable, but the others were curious.

They didn't know .

"You go out in the woods," Dee said. "You go out in the woods during the night, and then you never come back. No one does."

"I won't get murdered and turned into pig feed?"

Dee's laugh hissed like a sparkler. "There's enough pig feed already."

So she knew what happened to the bodies. A chill ran up Cam's spine. "Do you believe in The Mother?"

Dee's expression fell, delight leaving her eyes, almost as though she suddenly grew uninterested in the conversation.

"There's no believing. There's no faith. There are folks with power to do whatever the hell they want to the rest of us. And then there's the rest of us. You're the mouse, Lover. The Mother is the cat. The second you get out in those woods, I suggest you run... and you find a place to hide."

Cam returned to the cabin and started a fire in the tiny pit, her meager supply of wet firewood smoking more than catching flame. Preparing food in the cabin was so arduous with a piss-poor fire, especially because she always boiled the water before running it through her hiking filter. Seemed pointless, though, after drinking from the flask.

She should have drunk more deeply. Maybe whiskey would have eased the leftover tension inside her from her conversation with Dee.

The second you get out in those woods, I suggest you run.

She retrieved rainwater from the collector outside and tossed it into the cooking pot, studying her hands in the light—the pallor of her skin, her brittle nails, the way her spindly fingers twitched like spider legs. Run... She was far too weak to run. A few weeks of malnutrition had already fucked her up this badly. How was that even possible? She'd never dreamt, not in all her years of training, that a place like this could weaken her so quickly.

She'd murder someone for a cheeseburger. At least, a cheeseburger made from a cow fed grass, not body parts.

She filtered and separated the water when it was done boiling, half to a mug with added herbs for tea, the other half back to the pot. In went mushrooms, the product slightly better than hot mud water. As it cooked, Cam sat on the floor and shut her eyes, rolling through her plan once more.

The Harvest Feast: a communal meal with the villagers. Cam would be announced as the sacrifice—The Mother's new Lover— and cast out into the woods for The Mother to find. Every now and again, Cam had asked some veteran Toothers about the feast details while waiting in the slop line, but they'd more or less said the same thing. Food and Sacrifice, Mother and Prosperity. Dee had talked in riddles, but at least gave Cam a little more information.

There are folks with power to do whatever the hell they want to the rest of us. And then there's the rest of us.

Dee spoke as if The Mother were the one with power, but Cam knew better. The Mother wasn't the one who'd trapped her in this village for two months, because The Mother wasn't real.

At least all this would be over soon. And once cast out, she'd be on the path Avery had taken.

Cam wasn't allowed to take any belongings, but rules wouldn't stop her. She'd already sewn hidden pockets into her clothes, which contained Ruby's guide, the empty pouch of her water filter, her knife, and Avery's map. Which would have to do; any more and the bulges would be suspicious.

But she felt like she was forgetting something.

Her mind drifted to her bag and the supplies she kept stashed there—just her tent.

And the journal. Ruby had given her a handmade journal before all this, and Cam hadn't cracked it open once. She was always terrible at writing things down anyway, but maybe if she could make a list of all the things she needed to remember to do and take with her before this Harvest Feast bullshit, she could calm her nerves.

She dug for the bag beneath the bed and yanked it out, the wilted sack depleted of her store of food and clothing. The journal and pen were tucked beneath her bivy. Sitting on the floor, Cam opened the journal, and frowned. The page was full of very familiar handwriting.

When everything evolves at such a rapid pace like this, there is no top of the food chain. Mammals, reptiles, bacteria, and fungi are in a constant fight to be the top. The risk to their species is high. Everything is trying to kill or run from all the threats, and everything is a threat.

I am innately aware of this threat, too. The cut on my arm isn't healing. The blisters on my feet are turning yellow and fat and I feel like I'm walking on needles. Injuries a backpacker expects, and yet my instincts scream that I'm in danger. That if we don't find real shelter soon, we'll both be in serious trouble. But Cam won't listen.

Cam reread the last sentence two, three times. She stared at her name, or the word she thought was her name, willing the curves of the letters to spell out anything else. But the handwriting was neat.

Siena. This was Siena's journal.

Cam flipped the page so quickly that it tore between her fingers. The next few were filled with mediocre sketches—Siena had never been an artist. Leaves and plants, fungi and trees, birds and rodents. Siena had labeled them with question marks and notes: strange, doesn't present like its species . On animals, she'd drawn arrows to lumps along bellies, spines, and wings. Tumor? Infection?

Siena's documentation of life in the Briardark. Except, when Cam had left Siena a couple of months ago, they'd only really been in the Briardark for a handful of hours.

Cam had left Agnes Cabin while Siena remained with Emmett. What if Siena had come looking for Cam instead of leaving?

No . Even if that were the case, the timeline didn't add up. This journal entry featuring Cam would have had to occur before Cam left Agnes.

Unable to come up with a theory that made sense, she kept reading, hoping context would align things.

The next entry was brief.

Scabs keep ripping open .

Jesus Christ.

There were more drawings, but they were haphazard, and some pages were smeared with so much grime that Cam had a hard time deciphering them.

More entries.

She's so obsessed that she'll leave me to die.

Cam swallowed and turned the page, but there was nothing. She turned the page again, and again, but the pages were all blank. Half the journal was empty.

She'll leave me to die .

No . . . Siena couldn't be talking about Cam. Cam would never . . . ever.

Fire roared in her chest, and she blinked away tears when she remembered Ruby had given her this book, claiming it was empty. There was no way she'd done this by accident. Ruby knew this journal was Siena's, which meant she knew of Cam's friendship with her. Ruby had lied.

And Ruby also knew Siena's fate.

But Cam couldn't think about that now. She needed to let her anger drive her, and figure out how the hell she would escape The Tooth to ask Ruby herself.