Steve

For the third time, his mom was thanking Scott for offering his bedroom to the two of them. The teacher waved away her thanks by pointing out how comfortable the couch was and unrolling his sleeping bag on top of the cushions. The Williams family was occupying the adjacent bedroom, effectively filling all of Mr. Clarke's available beds.

Steve leaned against the porch railing, bathed in the light pouring out of the cabin's windows. The hum of Scott's generator was too loud for him to overhear anything happening at Hopper's cabin, but he watched Mrs. Wheeler pacing in front with her hands pressed into the small of her back and her eyes glued on the dirt path at the campsite entry. She'd tucked Holly into bed already and Nancy followed, leaving Karen to agonize over Mr. Wheeler's persistent absence.

It had been two hours since they'd arrived. Four more cars pulled in, bringing the total number of people at the site to forty-two. But Mr. Wheeler hadn't made an appearance. Neither had the Sinclairs – something Mike, Will and Dustin were discussing in hushed, urgent voices behind Hopper's cabin. Steve couldn't make out what the three boys were saying over the din of the generator, but their anxious faces were clear and the Walkie-Talkie they were using seemed to yield no results.

Steve exhaled loudly and crossed his arms. He was tired of feeling powerless, but couldn't come up with a single useful plan. Across the pond, a cluster of refugees had laid out sleeping bags or blankets under the pavilion. One middle-aged man was working diligently to set up a navy blue tent. Nearby, a campfire burned in a dirt pit. The people sitting around the fire were nervous and silent. Even from where he was standing, Steve could see the whites of their eyes as they looked around, lost and confused.

Every one of them thought they'd been driven out of their homes by a radiation leak. No one knew the truth. Steve exhaled angrily again. He scanned the area slowly. Of the ten cabins circling the pond, only three were occupied. The other seven were dark and locked.

Steve glanced through the window to see Scott carrying on a conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Williams and Steve's mom. Behind the group, through an open door, Steve saw two young children sleeping in the same bed, a stuffed bunny squeezed between them. Pulling his gaze back outside, Steve spotted an axe leaning against Scott's mountain of firewood.

Three of the seven cabin doors were secured with a padlock. The rest were deadbolts. On the first cabin, Mrs. Wheeler had spun around to stare at him, startled by the noise. By the third padlock, she'd turned her attention back to the dirt path, but the three boys surrounded him, watching when Steve brought the axe crashing down, breaking the lock in two. It was his cleanest swing yet and felt oddly satisfying to push the door open.

"This is breaking and entering," Dustin said accusingly.

A group had migrated from the pavilion to watch Steve break the locks. When he turned, he found himself facing an audience. He cocked one eyebrow and tossed the axe up, catching it with the other hand. The door to Hopper's cabin opened and the chief stuck his head out. He eyed Steve, then pulled his head back in.

Steve looked at Dustin and shrugged. "Then the chief can arrest me when we get back to Hawkins." He turned to address the group that had come from the pavilion. "Anyone with kids should take a cabin," he said in a clear voice. Then, quieter, he added, "We need a crowbar or something to get the others opened."

The crowd dissipated and families began shuffling into the open cabins. Through the movement, Jonathan appeared. He looked at Mike, then Steve and told them, "Nancy's getting worse."