They’d paid their money at the campsite, took up their spot on a rise in the woods, he had his licenses in order to fish and the go-ahead to hunt rabbit and only rabbit. He’d signed on the dotted line on the sheet that said he would take out everything he brought in. No trash.

Twice a week, for the last three weeks, he’d taken her into town. While she had appointments, at hospital and with the head doctor, he bought groceries, bought the little odds and ends, and then went to the library to while away the remaining time.

For the first time in his life, he’d smiled because the days made him happy. He’d been able to breathe in deeply and take in raw oxygen, close his eyes and feel the sun against the lids, and he’d felt at peace. Better yet, he’d seen Kelly at peace. Not perfect, but as good as he’d ever seen her.

A very long and light rain had closed out the summer. Not what he’d thought of as ‘natural disaster’ rain. They’d been laughing at how everything was wet, sorting out the van, when the mud had come down, rolling the van, swamping and mostly burying them.

Burying them alive.

It had been Kelly who had talked him down when he’d broken down, after the van’s horn stopped working. Because he’d exhausted the battery, or, from his rudimentary car knowledge, corrosion under the van’s hood. He’d known he wasn’t rationing it out enough, but he’d panicked. Because Kel needed help. Kelly had kept him sane, helped him to relax, and hadn’t once blamed him for overusing the horn.

Rationally, he knew the campground had records that put him and Kelly on the hillside. It was a question of time. He’d heard helicopters.

His chair squeaked and grated as he twisted around, his hand extended, reaching for her hand.

She didn’t take it. Instead, she pressed something into his palm, reached up, and closed his fingers around it.

“Whatever happens, no matter how this turns out, you absolutely cannot let my parents have her. They don’t see her, they don’t talk to her, they do not touch her.”

In the gloom, his hands traced the outline of the thing he had been given. He was careful, because he already knew the shape of the handle.

“Promise me,” she said. “Promise me, promise me, promise me.”

“I promise,” he said, even though he was still wrapping his head around what she wanted. Or he understood, like he understood the knife, but there was always that doubt in his mind when it came to Kelly.