Page 195

Pain becomes my mantra with every step.
Guilt becomes my courage.
The evening gloom drapes over the trees, the late summer air hanging thick and stifling. Somehow, I’m still drenched in sweat after feeling like I’ve shed half my water weight.
That frenzied buzzing in my head gets louder, more insistent, more worrisome.
Sighing, I shake my head, but that won’t make it go away.
Something lands on my arm—thicker than the mosquitos that keep plaguing me.
I squint down.
“Work, brain,” I slur.
It’s amazing how everything can hurt and feel numb at the same time. None of my senses work.
But my eyes finally focus on the small creature crawling up my arm.
…a bee?
Yes, a perfect little honeybee.
And I realize that droning buzz isn’t just in my head.
That buzzing, it’s—
Holy shit.
Bees!
My heart rockets straight to the sky, flooded with emotion.
Happiness. Relief. Awe.
I choke back a sob as I crawl on my hands and knees, closer to the buzzing sound, a lopsided smile twisting my face.
This is worth the agony. The achy limbs, the nausea, the impending death.
This is worth my very real fear of dying out here, because if I hadn’t come out all this way, I never would have known the bees made it.
Holden didn’t kill them by leaving them homeless when he scattered them to the winds.
They’re here, alive in the woods, safe and hidden.
The next sound that escapes me is guttural and raw.
I’m sobbing.
Real, rib-cracking sobs.
I curl up on the mossy ground and vent my feels in a messy explosion of sound that hurts to expel.
I can’t be certain, but I’m pretty sure these are the same bees from the bee boxes. There are never any guarantees bees will make it when they’re violently evicted from their old homes.
But I think these guys did.
They’realive, busy, and so close.