60 FICTION falling over each other out the door, and ended up back in a line on the mud, with our bags at our feet. “Don’t make me come back up here!” She threatened us too, then she was gone in a fl ash of yellow, chrome, and radio static. The gate locked behind her. We just stood there for a second, staring at the tire marks, and marinating in the familiar reek of Nasty-Water. “I knew your plan wouldn’t work.” Sean threw his duffl e over his shoulder and sulked back to bed. I picked up my bag and walked away, leaving Pat alone in the mud and mosquitoes, his mouth hanging open dumbly, rolls still bulging in his pockets. Climbing into bed with my soaked socks and shoes still infecting my feet, I listened to the slimy green fogs retreat in the early glow of the still sleeping bunkhouse. Pop, pop, pop. My mom is going to owe me such an apology.
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