I don’t want to watch as the man grips the hatchet tightly and raises it into the air, but I can’t look away. He brings the hatchet down as hard as he can and the snapping bone is almost as loud as Hank’s screams. It isn't a clean cut.

I feel sick. I want to turn away.

Hack! Another scream, but the tendons and muscles are so thick.

Hack! This time there is no scream, and I’m only slightly relieved to know that Hank doesn’t feel the pain of the fourth and final Hack! that cuts off the infected part of his arm.

Blood pools out onto the gym floor all around Hank. Someone wraps a shirt around his stump to try and stop the bleeding. It takes four men to carry him up the stairs and out of the gymnasium. Gilbert meets us in the hallway.

“Okay,” Gilbert says, “what was that all about?”

“Leave her alone,” Ethan says. “I’m sure she doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“Back off, Ethan. I think we deserve an explanation as to why someone so close to us can predict the future. That’s a pretty convenient gift. Wouldn’t you say?”

“Lucky guess,” I say.

“Sounds pretty unlucky to me,” Gilbert says. “That’s pretty specific. The wrist? The fact that you said it would happen.” He looks at Ethan who wasn’t stopping his questions.

I’m cornered.

“It started just the other day. When Lucas died. I grabbed his hand and I saw what was about to happen before it actually did. I don’t know why, but it just happened.” I look at Ethan. “And you remember when you killed that greyskin last night? Remember that I touched your hand? I was able to see that you would be okay. So, then I just saw that Hank would be bitten by a greyskin on the wrist. This time I tried to stop it, but I wasn’t able to.”

Both of them look at me as though I just grew a tree out of the side of my head.

“I can’t explain it,” I say.

“So, you can’t change what you see?” Ethan asks.

“I haven’t been able to,” I say. “But to my regret, this was only my first time to try.”

He nods at me and looks away as if he’s deep in thought.

“Seems like a pretty useless ability if you can’t change what you see,” Gilbert says. “If you’re telling the truth, that is.”

“What?” I say. “First you’re grilling me about how I might have known it was going to happen, and then you act like you don’t believe me when I tell you? What is wrong with you?”

“Just sounds a little far-fetched is all,” Gilbert says. “I don’t know what I believe.”