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I look at him a little closer. His eyes are bloodshot, his fingers twitching slightly. “Clayton, look, I don’t know what you’re going on about. I really don’t. If you want to call me special, fine. But if I am, then we’re all special. And whether this is busywork, I don’t know. We all have different reasons for being here. They can’t exactly cater the curriculum to everyone.”

Suddenly, he comes closer, stopping a couple of feet away. Too close. I back up, but my back hits the slimy rock wall. “Don’t you see, Sydney?” he says, his eyes wild, his voice raw. “They’re lying to you. They’re lying to all of us. And we all go along with it because we want to be someone so badly. That’s how they get us. Our need. Our want. To be seen and heard. But they don’t care.They don’t see us like that. They see us as something to be used and disregarded until there’s nothing left of us.”

“Okay, you’re freaking me the fuck out now,” I say, putting my hands out. “Please go and leave me alone, or I will scream. I swear it.”

He exhales, visibly trying to control himself, but his face crumples, tears in his eyes. “I went to a fortune teller a month ago. She said I’d never leave this place.”

Okay, that’s it.

I start walking fast, away from Clayton, looking over my shoulder while trying not to bump into the trees. He stands there watching me until he eventually turns around and goes back the way he came.

Meanwhile, I’ve ended up in a little pocket of bushes and rocky outcrops covered in moss and tiny maidenhair ferns, the trees clearing a space. I stop, not wanting to go any further, and let out a long breath. I still feel a little shaky from that interaction, even more so because he wasn’t making much sense. Is he on drugs? He must be on drugs. His eyes were red, and he was acting erratic and twitchy, much different than the insolent douchebag from the first day. Perhaps this place is getting to him. The isolation must be taking its toll.

Kincaid had said one student always goes home. Maybe Amani won’t be the only one this year.

I decide to wait a few moments before I head back, making sure there’s no chance of running into Clayton again.

Until something catches my eye.

Up ahead on the rocky ground is what I first think is a fallen branch, lying across the moss.

But…

It’s not.

It’s a leg.

An animal’s leg.

Oh god, I think, my fingers clenching at my chest.

It looks like a…paw.

A dog?

Against my better judgment, I creep forward. I don’t want to see what it is, but at the same time, what if it’s alive and hurt and I can help?

I peer around a salal bush and gasp.

It’s a fuckingwolf.

Not just any wolf, but a dead wolf, half of its body rotted away. Sinew stretches over the bones like pink gum, fluffs of fur sticking out in places. Underneath a couple of exposed ribs, I can see the heart, bright white and…fuzzy.

Nausea rolls through me. My hand covers my mouth, trying to keep from vomiting. The more I look at the wolf’s lifeless, decomposing body, the more disturbed I become. Thin white strands loop around the exposed skin and muscle, looking like tendons at first, but then I realize that’s not what they are at all.

It looks like…mycelia. Like fungi have sprouted up from inside the wolf, which isn’t strange at this stage of decomposition, and yet…

The fuzzy white heart twitches inside the rib cage.

No.

I freeze. Blood fills my ears until it sounds like a hammer.

I stare at the unmoving heart, wondering if some unseen maggots are writhing underneath, making it move. It seems too large for its body, and as I keep staring, I realize the white fuzz is hyphae, each tiny white hair moving together, like seagrass in a current.

The heart pulses again.

Once.