Andy had a mini flashback to his junior year of high school, when his two best (and only) friends started dating. He’d turned third-wheeling into an art form.

“You know,” Darnell said, breaking the silence, “I’ve had my fair share of panic attacks.”

“Really?”

“Got my first one sophomore year of college. Ohio State. I was playing football back then. It was our second game of the year. It happened on the bus ride to the stadium. I started hyperventilating, and I got all sweaty, and then I just started to completely lose it.”

“What did you do?”

“I kept it together until we got to the stadium, and then I hightailed it to the bathroom and locked myself in a stall. It took me twenty minutes to get my shit together and go to the locker room. Told the coaches I had stomach cramps or something. But I ended up playing. Played good too. Two sacks.”

“That’s impressive. That you didn’t go to the hospital. And the two sacks too.”

“Yeah, well, three days later, I had another one. I was in class and the same thing happened, except ten times worse. Thought I was about to die. I ran to the clinic at the school, and the doctor tells me I’m fine. Just a panic attack.”

Andy scoffed. He’d heard those words numerous times. It’s just a panic attack. The only words he heard more often were It’s all in your head.

“Anyhow,” Darnell continued, “she started me on an SSRI.”

Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitor. The most commonly prescribed medicine for anxiety.

“Which one?”

“Lexapro.”

“I’ve been on that one.” Andy had been on all of them at one time or another: Lexapro, Zoloft, Celexa, Prozac. “It help?”

“It did.”

“You go to therapy?”

“Not until later; not until my late twenties. But yeah, therapy helped a lot. Haven’t had a panic attack in a few years.”

“That’s good.”

“Anyhow, I just wanted you to know that you aren’t alone.” Darnell put his hand on Andy’s shoulder. “And, just so you know, that footage you shot with Roth—I accidentally erased it all.”

“Are you serious?” Andy asked with a grin.

“Yeah, fuck that guy.”

It was clear Darnell wasn’t too keen on Jonathan Roth. Andy was thinking of a way to inquire about the two’s history, when there was an earsplitting scream.

Both Andy and Darnell’s heads snapped in the direction of the sound. It was coming from the small bivouac area—the temporary shelter—where two portable burners were heating the water for their meals.

Libby stood near one of the burners, a kettle in her hand.

Andy and Darnell ran the twenty feet toward her and joined everyone else.

“Get back!” Holland said, loudly. “Everyone, point your headlamps at him.”

At him? Andy thought. Then he saw him.

His breath caught.

A fer-de-lance.