A pile of folded clothes were brusquely thrust into Spencer's waiting hands by a man with startling green eyes and a mess of black hair.
"These are your… your clothes. You can change behind that wall." The man who had handed her the clothes pointed a finger at a large square board that was propped up against the tent wall. It looked unstable. She turned back to the man whom Ms. Linton had introduced to her as Matt. He was the one who was assigned with the duty of acquainting her with her new living arrangements.
"When you're done, give one of the leaders the clothes you're wearing. We'll keep them with everybody else's." He spoke abruptly. Everything about this man was rapid and uneasy, from his constantly shifting weight to the anxiety in his jade eyes. He blinked forcibly, as if he were flinching from some object only visible to him or perhaps reacting to some unseen pain.
"Will I get them back?"
"No, no. Not anytime soon, you won't."
Spencer looked down to the clothes in her hands. Included were thermals, rugged khaki pants, a hoodie, a long-sleeved shirt, a pair of camouflage pants, and a fleece sweatshirt. The primary color scheme was an ugly green that reminded her of asparagus. Except for the hoodie, that is, which was orange. Matt's clothes were fashioned of similar colors.
Spencer's newly appointed guide moved toward a different board that was resting on a frame of PVC pipe. The tent was lined with such structures, all bare and uninviting. There were at least ten feet between each board. Matt glanced over his shoulder to make sure that she was following, his strides short and unsure.
"This is where you'll be sleeping. Everyone has their… has their own bed. There'll be no talking during this time. This is the…the individual phase." Every now and then, there was a hitch in his words that matched the irregular pattern of his blinking eyes. Only as he continued to talk did his speech begin to flow, as if he were easing into a pattern that he was forced to relearn every time he opened his mouth. "Everything you do, you do on your own. At the start of each week, we give you enough oats, lentils, bread, and rice to last the week. If you're good, you'll get one potato and a carrot for the week. If you're… you're lucky, you'll get a can of peaches. If we catch you talking, we'll cut your food rations. Punishments will be dealt out as each leader sees fit. If you need to use the toilet, go outside and find a bush."
He paused, eying her up and down. He reminded her of a bear staring down his next meal, causing her to mentally retract, even if her body remained still. His fingers were partially curled at his side, lips parted so the ridges of his lower teeth were exposed. "You'll be a part of Team Beaver. Other than Team… Team Beaver, there are teams Elk, Wolf, Falcon, and Bear."
Resisting the urge to lengthen the distance between them, she spoke up. "What am I going to do during the day?"
"This is survivor week. You learn how to… how to survive. Fires will be started for you for the first week. After that, you're on your own." He leaned toward her slightly with his last words, his voice offering her a sense of foreboding. She felt chills creep up her arms that had very little to do with the cold climate and falling sun. With the surrounding foliage, visibility was already low, giving everything a haunted edge.
Matt swung one tense, muscled arm to her bed frame, leaving it hanging in the direction of a backpack and boots that sat at the foot of the board. "Inside that pack, you'll find your bed mat and food rations." The arm fell. "When you're ready, you can take your food and go to one of the fires. They'll be starting them soon." He looked as if he were hesitant; searching for any other instructions he might have forgotten. However, he quickly snapped out of his pause, his lips now meeting in a frown as fretful eyes returned to hers. "Good luck." Stiffly, he turned on his booted heel and receded to stand along the opposite tent wall.
She looked after him for a moment, standing there as if time were suspended for a few terse seconds before she picked up her boots and moved behind the board. After changing her clothes as quickly as humanly possible while trying to avoid standing on the damp dirt floor, she emerged and walked over to Matt, handing him her clothes and sneakers. He accepted them with a jerky nod before breaking away from his station to store the fabric in some concealed location.
She was surprised when the tent began to fill with people. Boys and girls all near her age began filing through the flaps, their eyes holding different looks that ranged from nervous to haunted to bored. Their faces were sallow, most lined with dark circles beneath heavy eyes. Hair was not kept in any particular order, and some of the older boys had stubble sprouting from chins and sideburns. Adults walked among them, like shepherds tending their obedient sheep.
Spencer stood there, paralyzed, like a deer debating between remaining still in hopes of passing unnoticed or bolting to avoid the situation altogether. She stood there, awkwardly, looking on and considering what to do next until a woman's raspy yell broke the unnerving silence of the tent. Spencer jumped in response.
"Time for dinner, everyone! Go to your fires!" The woman speaking looked to be in her 60s, dressed in what looked to be a lengthy gypsy skirt with a number of neutral colors all swirled into one so that it was difficult to differentiate where one ended and another began. Her hair was a long, gleaming silver that was draped over the customary asparagus green sweatshirt. She held an air of authority about her, chin poised high and shoulders open with hands clasped behind her back.
"And remember, no talking!" It was the gruff addition of one of the male leaders. She heard a few grumbled complaints in response.
Spencer craned her neck for a glimpse of a familiar face, eyes searching for mahogany curls and fiery amber eyes, but her efforts were not rewarded. She felt fingers clutch her shoulder and whirled around with a sharp intake of breath, fending off the unsolicited touch. She was met with Matt's blinking, emerald eyes. There was no recognition there that he had just frightened her.
"Time to… to eat. Grab your pack."
Spencer walked back to retrieve her pack, approaching Matt with it as he prepared a fire for her and looked up. He took the backpack from her and searched through it for the rice and lentils, also extracting a pot as he went.
"Ready?"
She nodded, not liking this one bit, but watching as he showed her how to prepare her food.
She ate her first meal in solitude with only the disturbing glances of Matt to keep her company. The boy crouching at the fire closest to her continually attempted to make eye contact, but she ignored him. The feeling of both pairs of eyes on her crawled at her skin as she tried to focus on the tasteless food that was slipping down her throat.
The evening passed in calm. There was a fight that broke out between a girl and an instructor, causing Spencer's head to snap around impulsively and the flutter of false hope to beckon in her stomach, but it was nothing of interest. The two snapped at one another like wolves over the remains of a meal before the tent settled once more into the symphony of crackling wood and clinking pots. The only sound of speech emerged from the murmuring of two group leaders in the corner.
The only light came from the glow of fires when the same woman as before stepped into the middle of the tent. She cleared her throat before expelling yet another command. "Time for bed everyone! Put out your fires!"
Everyone looked too tired to protest—not even a grunt of complaint was offered as youths rolled up into stiff stretches, extinguishing their fires and carrying packs to their assigned bed frames. Spencer approached her own. She felt without looking that the same kid as before was attempting to make contact with her, trying to communicate with his heavy glances and smiles. She should have pounced on the presented opportunity of a comrade, but she didn't even bother to offer him an apologetic glance as she rolled out her mat on her board and spread out a blanket from her pack.
She couldn't help but wonder where the girl from the doctor's shed was as she had not yet glimpsed her in the tent. She would have liked to deny that her eyes had been scanning the rows of people for sight of the girl's face, but every now and then while she had been eating her eyes had definitively strayed from her ever captivating rice and lentils to sweep the tent.
She scrutinized the tent a final time before shrugging off the memory of the girl and the sensation that came along with it in the same way that she shrugged her way into bed, allowing her mind to return to the safety of numbness as she focused on the rustlings of other boys and girls climbing into bed. Closing her eyes, she felt sleep not far from her grasp and allowed it to enfold her in a web of darkness, not allowing her thoughts to wander and stalk the dangerous paths of awareness. The questions that swam in her head like hungry sharks would have to be patient in wait of their next appeasement.
After a heavy sigh and determined efforts not to let her mind return to the dangerous trap of yearning she had previously fallen into, Spencer's breathing deepened and heartbeat slowed its rate. She slipped off into dreamless sleep.