She wished Kyle would leave so she could sit by the fire without him, but clearly he wasn’t going to. So instead she went to the lakeside and pulled up reeds, beating them with a stick until the stems frayed into fibers. The ends curled like hands, little fists, and then relaxed into strands once more. Mara wound them tightly, twisting between her fingers and thumbs to form a single pliable strand. That was one lesson she knew well for survival: when in doubt, make string.

7

By late afternoon Mara’s mouth felt sticky with dry saliva, and as the light slid down the horizon, with no sign of Ashley or James, she started to wonder if she’d drink at all that night. She wished she had kept the pot lid back at camp, if only to boil tiny scoops of water at a time, but she supposed that then Ashley would have nothing to keep the pot from spilling as she walked, and the whole thing would be worse all around. Still, it was bad to get messed up this early in the game, and for a relatively needless reason. She hoped the strawberries were worth it.

Just as Mara had resigned herself to a waterless night, the sound of voices came through the trees, and two figures in brown stumbled into the clearing. Behind them, Lenny and his cameras tromped more loudly than ever, as if they were too weary for even their usual halfhearted finesse.

All Mara could think about was the taste of water. She took the pot from Ashley’s hands and made her way in half darkness to the lake’s edge, dipping before the muck had even settled. By the time she got back to the shelter, to the fire, the crew was already gone.

In the firelight, James and Ashley wilted. Red lines on their arms and cheeks, hives down their legs. They carried nothing. No berries. Mara saw immediately. But Kyle kept asking, even as they shook their heads.

“Those motherfuckers,” said James. “Those motherfuckers.”

“Calm down,” said Bullfrog, in his deep voice, but even then it took a while for James to really talk.

It seemed that he and Ashley had set out strong, but the mountain was farther away than it looked, and the route, without hard-soled shoes or a cleared trail, steep and slow going. They clambered over boulders and rotten logs. When the overgrowth grew thicker, James wondered aloud how they’d carry the berries back through conditions like this, if it was even worth trying to find them. But each time they discussed turning back, Lenny encouraged them. Saying, “Just wait, you’ll see. It’ll be fantastic. Trust me,” until they had gone so far that they couldn’t stand to give up, so far that any step now would get them to the acres of berries, and the thought of fruit in their mouths kept them going, the promise of sugar and moisture and taste.

Exhausted and hungry, they climbed the mountain, one slope after another. Until they reached the very top. It was windy, and the wind was cold. And you know what was there? Stone and moss and scraggly trees. Nothing. As good as nothing.