Page 13 of The Chaperones

That night, 2:17 a.m.

The walk to the lower loop is longer than it was in daylight, each step weighted with fear for their missing sons.

“Javi? Lei?” Sofía calls, shining a heavy-duty flashlight one of the mothers gave her into the empty streambed by the trail. Rain has collected in its bowels. The leaves once coating the ground now float in muck.

“Guys, if you’re hiding, this isn’t funny,” Charles says.

As Sofía steps sideways down the bank, a few parents charge ahead to check the lower loop and the trails that lead to the beach. Sofía scampers down, slips, and tumbles into the dark pit beneath her, so black that the short fall feels like it will have no end. She hits the water headfirst. Her chin smacks against the bottom as she rolls onto her back. The shock makes her so dizzy, she doesn’t immediately feel the cold water seeping through her layers.

“You okay?” Charles calls from above.

She stares up at the sky, clouds covering the stars she and Javi counted last night. It was so clear before it started to rain. She could see several constellations she couldn’t name. Javi could name them. Her boy is obsessed with the stars. She begins to cry.

Charles sidesteps down and then slips, too, catching himself on the brush as his feet splash into the water. He gasps at the cold as the rainwater trickles over the edge of his boots.

He rights himself, then reaches for Sofía to help her up.

“You’re okay,” he tells her, giving her a little punch on the arm that’s meant to encourage her. She’s so sensitive right now, even the lightest touch stings.

They scramble up the bank and charge toward the lower loop. The wind has calmed, the stagnant air filling the night with a quiet tension. They know they’ve reached the campsite when their lights catch on a wooden structure. Sofía sprints over and sees that it’s some sort of kitchen, more permanent than the one Raymond constructed at their camp. She checks behind the stove, under the tables. The boys aren’t here. She checks the tepee-like tents, also permanent-looking. No Javi or Lei.

“Javi! Lei!” she screams into the quiet campsite. The beam of her light disappears ahead, illuminating two nearby tents in this valley of darkness. She can’t tell how big the lower loop is, how many campers are here, how many places she will have to search for her son.

“I’ll check on the beach,” Charles shouts as he runs ahead.

Sofía makes her way to the closest tent. She startles the first couple she sees, when she unzips their tent and shines her flashlight inside. They are too stunned to respond, and she sprints down to the next tent, where the man’s instincts are quicker.

“What the fuck?” he says as he sits up, the woman beside him still fast asleep.

“Have you seen two boys?”

“In our tent?”

“They’re missing.”

He inhales audibly and pats the sleeping woman before grabbing a flashlight, tugging on some water shoes, and following Sofía into the night.

As they navigate through the lower loop, one tent becomes visible, then the next, but it’s hard to keep track of where they’ve checked, where they haven’t. The sites are spread out, the loop oblong, their flashlights no match for the breadth of the night. Sofía spots a tent tucked along the riverbed. Its seclusion fills her with dread. She runs over, knocks on the fabric tent door, then unzips it. The two sleeping bags inside are empty. A mug with a dark drink in it rests beside the door. When she bends down to touch it, it’s warm.

She stands up, feeling the vastness of this small island.

“Javi,” she screams so loud her bones rattle.