Page 34 of Camp Bliss
“Nothing—” he pants. “He’s not here.”
My knees hit the wooden planks, relief taking me down. I'm grateful. Overwhelmed. And afraid to believe him. “A-are you sure?” The water is as dark as tea. There’s no way he can see to the bottom.
Zach treads water as he squints up at me. “We’d see him, Greta. He’d be floating.”
Even though the words make me shudder, I’m shaking my head. “No. No, not at first.” Somehow, the science teacher part of my brain takes over. Middle schoolers have a lot of questions about dead bodies. I’ve answered this one before. “Drowning victims usually sink at first. Putrefaction takes a few days to make them resurface.”
Zach’s eyes bug atputrefaction.
And when I realize I’ve just said the word in reference to Josh, the love of my life, I heave again, but nothing comes up.
Because there’s nothing left.
Josh, where are you?
That’s the moment when hysteria takes me down like a tidal wave. No time to cover my face. No time to turn away.
“WHATTHEFUCK! WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK!”I’m shrieking. Screaming. The sound echoes off the lake and two egrets take flight. “JOSH, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!”
He can’t be at the bottom of the lake.He can’t be.
I’ve run out of words that make any sense. But the screams seem endless, tearing out of my raw throat, shaking my bones. And even though I can feel them throughout my whole body, it’s also like a part of me is watching all of this madness from the ether.
Because thiscan’t be happening.
I’m not even aware of the sounds of Zach climbing out of the water and onto the dock. He’s suddenly just there. Down on his knees in front of me. Soaking wet. Gripping my shoulders. Repeating my name.
“Greta. Greta. He’s not here. He’s not here, okay?” He gives me a shake. Firm, but not rough. The screams choke off to breathless cries, and I gape at him, feeling like a wild animal, caught in a trap. Panting. Shaking. Senseless.
“Breathe,” Zach orders. And then he shows me, drawing in a deep lungful through his nose. He huffs it out of his mouth right into my face. The blast of heat and cinnamon gum ground me somehow. And when he inhales a second time, I follow along.
My exhales are jagged, guttural, but at least I’m breathing and not screaming.
I lock eyes with Zach and see concern. Intensity. Maybe even fear.
And that grounds me too. I’m not alone.
A moment ago, I felt like the last person on earth.
But I’m not.
We inhale and exhale again, and I swallow.
“W-what… What should we do?”
He’s watching me, searching my eyes like he’s waiting for me to go off the rails again.
“Where is he, Zach?” I croak.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. But we need to think about this. Think about what we know.” The way he says it sounds so logical and orderly, I grab hold like this is a lifeline, and I realize I’m clutching his forearms at the same time. He’s wet and shirtless like he just got out of the shower. I let go.
“Okay.” I gulp. “W-What do we know?”
His brows lower. “Tell me everything. Everything he said to you yesterday. What made you decide he needed a break.”
I blink.That was only yesterday?
It feels like weeks ago.
