Page 26 of The Chaperones

“Look, we fucked up—messed up.” The lanky one corrects himself. “We should have brought them back the second it was safe. We got distracted.”

Sofía shines her light out of the tent at the men standing there, arms splayed out helplessly. Their eyes are red, glassy, unfocused. They’re high, she realizes. They’re stupid, arrogant, high boys. She wants to feel relief at this, the fact that they were not a threat to her son, and she does, but it doesn’t quell the anger fueling her system at their bad judgment. It’s easier to be mad at them than Javi.

“Okay.” Emmy steps into the center of the circle, claiming the moment. “These are the two missing boys, yes?”

Sofía reaches for her son, who puts down the cards and scrambles toward his mother. Together, they step out of the tent. Sofía keeps a hand on her son the entire time.

“Just them,” she says.

“Okay, good. Now we need to account for everyone else.” Emmy cannot hide her frustration. “If I could have everyone go back to their tents so we can figure out if anyone is missing.”

The campers amble back to their tents. Some are irked, claiming they will never fall back to sleep. Others are titillated by the episode, now that the boys have been found.

As the boys and the parents begin to walk toward the upper loop, Sofía whispers to her son, “Do you know how much you scared me? You know better.”

Emmy watches them to make sure they head straight back without getting distracted.

From the darkness behind her, she hears a voice.

“Help,” it echoes.

“Help,” it repeats.

She whirls in the direction of the plea. On the path from the kayak huts, a faint circle of light materializes in the darkness. She keeps her floodlight fixed on it until the person becomes visible, their face covered in blood.

He’s wearing the school fleece.

Emmy charges toward him. When she’s close enough to put her hand on his shoulder, she can smell the copper scent of fresh blood.

“Sir, are you okay?”

He’s dazed and stares blankly into the dark behind her.

“Sir,” she says again, trading out her floodlight for a spotlight, to inspect his blood-covered face. The blood has congealed around a section of his forehead where he must have been cut.

“Sir, can I get you cleaned up?” She reaches for his arm. He flinches at the contact.

“On the beach,” he says.

“Did you fall at the beach? Hit your head on a rock?” She reviews the symptoms of a concussion, the questions to ask, starting with the date and time, if he knows where he is.

“A body,” he says flatly.

Emmy can feel the circle of campers closing in around her.

“Charles, are you okay?” Sofía asks, having returned at the sound of the commotion.

“Daddy.” Lei runs to his father and throws himself on Charles’s leg.

“On the beach,” he says again, barely registering his son, who clings to him, who was the reason for this quest. “Along the rocks. I think they’re dead.”