“At least you had the sense to tell us,” Larry said. “Jesus.”

“It was fine,” Stevie said, though her voice sounded small. “It seemed okay.”

“That thing isn’t sound,” Larry said. “It probably wasn’t sound when it was built and eighty years of burial couldn’t have helped. I told them to seal it. If he’s not in there, we’re going to go around to everywhere else you’ve been working, because I am going to find him and talk to him. Jesus, that tunnel . . .”

Stevie’s heart began to thud as they drove along. They met another other cart containing Mark and the nurse, Ms. Hix, as they drove alongside the garden wall, then around into the woods. They parked on the dirt maintenance road.

“Stay here,” Larry said to Stevie.

Mark hopped out of his cart with a hard hat on. Ms. Hix was wearing a large puffer coat and had a fluorescent-orange emergency bag over her shoulder. The three moved into the woods. Stevie huddled inside of her coat.

“Hatch is unlocked,” Larry said. It groaned as he pulled the door open. He started down the steps, shining his tactical flashlight into the space.

“Hayes?” he shouted. “Hayes, speak up if you’re in there!”

No reply.

“I’m going in,” he said to Mark. “Stand by.”

The dark crowded around Stevie. Her fingers started to go numb from the tips down. Alone, in this cart under the thick dome of trees, Stevie felt a creeping dread, the kind that comes from cold, untamed spaces and uninterrupted dark and trouble that had no name. There would be trouble tonight. How did they punish people at Ellingham? Why was the night so wide? What the hell lived in the trees and undergrowth that made that much rustling? Did bats attack the heads of people in golf carts?

A shout pierced her devolving thoughts. It was Larry.

“Mary! Mark, call 911! Tell them we need the chopper!”

The words hit her like a bolt. Ms. Hix hurried into the tunnel. Mark stepped into a clearing to make the call. Stevie got out of the cart, taking every step deliberately, slowly, as though the ground itself might give way, and moved toward the opening in the ground. She heard muffled voices now. They were deep inside the tunnel, and something was very wrong.

She didn’t have her big flashlight, but her phone was in her pocket, so she used that as a light. Carefully, with an ever-increasing pulse, she climbed down the steps. She could hear feverish conversation deep within—they were all the way down in the liquor room. Stevie stepped forward like she was walking into a dream, her tiny light guiding the way. She ignored everything Larry had said about the instability of the tunnel. Something was happening, and some force was pulling her in to face some grim unknown.

As she approached the door, she heard the nurse use the words unresponsive, cold, cyanotic. Larry turned and flashed his light on her as she approached.

“What happened?” Stevie heard herself ask.

Larry walked toward her. He did not run. You ran when you needed help. You walked when you had to start carefully containing the scene.

Larry’s powerful flashlight was pointed down, focused on something on the ground. A mass, unmoving. It took a moment for Stevie to register that the thing was Hayes, his feet toward the door. He was in a semi-fetal position, one leg outstretched. His skin was a purple blue.

“Stevie,” Larry said, blocking the door with his body.

But she had seen all she needed to. You know death when you see it.

16

SHOCK IS A FUNNY THING. THINGS GET BOTH SHARP AND FUZZY. TIME stretches and distorts. Things come rushing into focus and seem larger than they are. Other things vanish to a single point.

“Come with me,” Larry said, turning Stevie by the shoulders gently and leading her out of the tunnel and back to the cart.

“He’s dead,” Stevie said, looking up at the sky and taking a deep breath of cool air. “Hayes is dead.”

Larry continued to lead her toward the cart for a moment before speaking. He settled her into the passenger’s seat and looked her in the face.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Just tell me if I’m right.”

Larry exhaled slowly.

“He’s dead,” he said.

“Why?” she asked. She sounded simple, like a child.

“I don’t know,” Larry said. “Do you? What was he doing down there tonight, Stevie? You need to tell me.”

“I don’t know,” Stevie said. “Really. I don’t know.”

Larry studied her face for a moment then seemed to accept her answer. Stevie felt like she was gently hovering over the scene like in a recurring dream she had in which she floated from room to room of a neighbor’s house, watching them do mundane things. A ghost in someone else’s home.

“What are we going to do?” she asked.

Again, what a weird question. Inside Stevie could think. Outside Stevie was hugging herself and saying weird things.

“I’m going to take you back to Minerva,” Larry said.

They said nothing as they drove back. Ellingham Academy rolled past her, looking like movie footage. Nothing was real. There was a far-off noise, a rupture in the air. Larry leaned forward and looked up as the lights of a helicopter appeared overhead and landed on the green. The ambulance had come, but the patient was gone.

She had wanted to see a dead body—but not this, not a real someone. Not sneakers upturned at the end of those legs, the legs that had been squatting so stupidly on Stevie’s floor only days before. The kneecaps—the patellae—the real human who was now still and cold, and somewhere behind them in the dark.

When they arrived at Minerva, Larry told Stevie to wait a moment, so she waited. He spoke to Pix just outside the door. Stevie saw Pix put her hand over her mouth as she got the news, and then she came over to the cart and grabbed Stevie’s hands.

“I’m okay,” Stevie said.

“Stevie.” Larry leaned in from the driver’s side, his hand on the roof of the cart. “I’m going to ask you not to say anything to anyone else in the house right now, just for a little bit. Do you understand?”

“You don’t want to cause panic and you need to keep the area clear to investigate what happened,” Stevie said.

“That’s right,” Larry said. “That’s real good, Stevie.”

“Stevie,” Pix said. “I’ll take you up to my rooms. . . .”

“If you take me upstairs, the others will know,” Stevie said. “I’ll just go to my room. I’m okay. I can do this.”

Larry nodded.

“She’s doing good,” he said. “You just go to your room and get into bed, Stevie. Just stay there and I’ll be back for you in a while. We’ll need you again.”

Stevie tested the ground before she stepped out of the cart and found that her legs were steady. She resisted Pix’s offer of an arm around her shoulders. Once inside, the common room now seemed very bright. The wall vibed red and the moose on the wall seemed grotesque. Janelle had gone but Ellie and David were still on the sofa, their feet facing each other, laughing at something. They stopped when Pix and Stevie came in.

“What’s up?” Ellie said. “Is Hayes in trouble?”