Page 81 of Juniper Unraveling

“Sun’s high. Not quite noon, though. Maybe ten? You left the warehouse at about eight, right?”

“I don’t even know. I don’t care anymore. I just want to lie down and sleep.”

“You can’t lie down. Wren is counting on you.”

“I don’t even know if it’s a girl.”

“Listen to me, Dani. At noon, that sun is going to become intense. You’ve not had food, or water, in over twenty-four hours. Backtrack. You need to go south and slightly west.”

A tearless sob chokes in my throat, my shoulders so weak I can’t even stand upright. I turn around, as he says, and slam the heel of my hand to my temple to rub the ache there. My head feels heavy, throbbing with pain. “Will you stay with me?”

“For a little while,” he says and jerks his head, taking the lead in front of me. “C’mon.”

For over an hour, I stumble behind him, tripping over my feet, which seem to sink with every step, like there’s quicksand beneath me. My knees begin to buckle, the dry air so thick it burns to swallow.

“Ray … I need to rest. I’m too tired.”

“The tree is just ahead. I can see it, Dani.”

“You’re lying.” My chest thumps with the tears that refuse to fall. “You’re lying to me!”

“I’m not lying. Look.” He points ahead, to where I can just make out the twisted bend of a tree, hunched over itself, as if it’s been knocked to the side.

Pangs of hope blossom in my chest, and I stumble forward, falling to my knees, and push myself up, taking three more steps, before I fall again. Over and over, I fall and order myself up again, until my hand catches the bark and I hold on to the tree. Rounding it brings an opening into view, and tucked inside the trunk is a small pack.

Scrambling to my knees, I tear into the bag and find a small bottle of water. Not enough to rehydrate me entirely, but enough to stave off the faint feeling that’s threatened to pull me into blackness. A small pack of crackers also sits inside the pack. It takes mere minutes to devour them. It’s a pathetic meal, but enough that I’m no longer dizzy.

Strewn about the cracked dirt surrounding the tree are small blue berries, some purplish-red, and I lift one, studying it. The poisonous plants that my father always pointed out were silver leaf nightshade and castor bean. Nothing like these berries. I pop one into my mouth, and a tart, pine flavor explodes across my tongue.

Bitter, but satisfying enough.

I gather a handful of them into my palm, eating a few as I collect them, until my palm is full of berries.

Bent forward, I look around inside the hollow trunk of the tree. It’s deceivingly more spacious inside, and I climb in, over the small roots sticking up from the dirt, beside the pack. Breathing easier than before, I enjoy the shade while I snack on the berries, my gaze raking over the inside of the tree.

I notice a carving—a name with the date etched beneath it. I search the ground beside me and find a sharp stone, perhaps used by the owner of the name. Into the wall of the trunk beside me, I carve my own name and run my fingers over the permanent grooves in the bark, but even that seems to take effort. With the cool bed of dirt calling to me, I lie down, curled into myself, and succumb to the heavy weight of exhaustion.

* * *

Sharp spikes of pain strike my abdomen, twisting like blades deep inside my body. Arms wrapped around myself, I curl into a tight ball, squinting my eyes with each pulsing muscle contraction.

A cold sensation swells in my chest, and I open my mouth to vomit, but nothing comes up. Sweat has broken out across my skin, which has turned much more pale than before. My head feels as if I’ve been spinning too long, too fast, and all I want to do is close my eyes, but the pain won’t let me sleep.

Throb after aching throb radiates from the center of my belly and into my limbs in a never-ending assault, like a war has broken out inside of me.

The agony brings me to tears, and I open my mouth a second time, to nothing but a gag.

My body trembles, rattling that sickness inside of me, and I clamp my eyes shut, certain that I’m dying.

* * *

“What have you done? What have you done!”

The screaming draws me out of drowsy sleep, and I open my eyes to see Raymond, pacing back and forth outside the tree. The dusk creates silhouettes, but his voice is unmistakable.

“You again?” The weakness in my voice hardly carries, not that it matters. Raymond isn’t real, after all.

“You killed her! You killed Wren!”