|
Chapter Three Stars speckled the midnight sky, framed by towering trees. Flea stared up at them, wondering if any of the stars were actually planets. Each twinkled of its own accord, at different intervals, a light show not only for him but for anyone who would appreciate it. A heavy sigh came from Flea's left. He turned and saw Anthony lying on the ground. He was huddled beneath his flannel shirt, which he used as a blanket. He hugged his knees to his chest with goosebump-speckled arms. Flea's fingers were wrapped around the opening of his down sleeping bag. The feathers within the fabric insulated him, disallowing his body heat to escape during the night. Anthony coughed. His eyelids fluttered as he clutched the flannel shirt closer to his body. He shivered. His eyes steady on Anthony, Flea slipped out of his sleeping bag. He unzipped the side and rolled his friend into it, careful of the injured ankle. As he pulled the zipper shut, Anthony's eyes flickered open. He grinned. "Thanks, buddy!" Flea smiled back. Anthony's eyelids drooped but his lips remained upturned. Flea curled up in a ball and gazed past his friend. Nestled in his own sleeping bag, John lay on his back. Strands of thick, black hair hung over his face, across his open mouth. Flea could hear John's breathing from where he lay. Glancing over John, Flea saw a rolled out, crumpled sleeping bag. 'Maybe nature called,' Flea reasoned with himself. He waited, staring at the unoccupied sleeping bag. Crickets chirped. John groaned. Anthony began to snore. No other sound. No movement. Rolling onto his knees, Flea got to his feet. He wandered toward the sleeping bag and heard a rustling from the darkness beyond. "Chad?" his voice cracked. He swallowed hard. He braved a step forward. A tree beyond the sleeping bag came into focus; a silhouette knelt by it. "Shhh!" Chad hissed, looking up from his frame pack. "Don't wake the others," he whispered and turned back to his bag. "What are you doing?" Flea breathed, crouching beside his friend. "Getting my water filter," Chad replied. "I'm going to get us some water." "Why now?" Chad retrieved the filter and stood up. Shrugging, he said, "Because we need it. Besides, I can't sleep." Flea rose to his feet. "Wanna go with me?" "All right." "We should grab John's water bottle," Chad held up the two bottles he was holding in his left hand. "I've got an extra for Anthony." Flea dropped to John's side and saw the shadow of a frame pack laying at his friend's feet. He reached into the open bag and rummaged around. John gasped. His entire body jerked, and he jutted out his right foot, kicking Flea square in the chin. Flea fell on his backside. "Damn!" he hissed, rubbing his chin. His other hand was still in the pack. His fingers glided over the surface of something fuzzy, and he pulled it out. Two beady eyes, a button nose, and a stitched smile greeted Flea as he came face to face with a stuffed bear. "I am not asking," Flea muttered to himself. He lay the bear on John's chest, over the hands folded there, and went back to digging. John had to have at least four T-shirts in this bag; Flea's fingers kept running along cloth. He had to look into the bag to track the water bottle. He found it. Sighing with relief, Flea gazed back at his friend. John was now cuddling the stuffed toy, a contented smile spanning across his face. John looked like such a little boy that Flea felt old. He shook his head and got to his feet. Chad stood at the edge of the clearing, until Flea joined him. The two stepped into the woods. The night wore on. Hours passed. Slowly, daytime sky faded in, as the sun peaked over the tree line. Beams of light shone over the clearing, where Anthony and John slept. And where Flea and Chad's packs and sleeping bags lay, abandoned by their owners. |