The Freak

9. skull rock

The next morning, we find ourselves under Skull Rock, hair entwined with grass and dirt and last night's fear still written on our faces. I haven't been here since the beginning of Junior year and it's genuinely jarring to be sleeping at a make out spot with Eddie Munson.

After we swam to shore, Eddie tried to contact the group but his walkie drowned when he fell into the lake. If any of them had tried to contact us, we wouldn't know. The feeling of being cut off made it nearly impossible to sleep, along with the sensation of my wet clothes and the chill breeze bringing me to shivers. Not to mention everytime I closed my eyes I saw Patrick. I probably got an hour of sleep before I heard Eddie rustling.

I look over at him as he stands, stretching out his legs and pacing around the grass patch with his tongue poking out in focus. He looks deep in thought and I can't help but wonder if he slept at all last night. In fact, I wonder if he's slept at all in the past few days. He's always up before me and is always awake when I pass out. He interrupts my staring when he realizes I'm awake and squats down in front of me so he's at my height.

"You hear that?" He aims his finger into the air, motioning for me to listen. I hear a whirring in the distance, sounding like someone is doing construction not too far from here.

"Yeah, it's a drill," I tell him and he smiles sarcastically.

"I know it's a goddamn drill, Veronica," he groans and I hold my hands up in surrender, not expecting him to get so defensive. "If there's a drill that means there's construction. I bet one of those sweaty motherfuckers has a walkie we can snag." I rub my eyes, trying to comprehend his plan, but my brain is still having trouble forming thoughts. Not only has my concussion gotten significantly worse since yesterday, but all I can think about is Patrick's body folding up like origami.

"You," I sit up, squinting at him through the sunshine, "are gonna go into an open construction site, with a bunch of workers, and steal a walkie-talkie from them?" He stands back up, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yeah, and?" He acts as if it isn't completely insane and risky for him to do so.

"Isn't that kind of...I don't know...stupid?" My sarcasm doesn't entertain him, as shown by the deadpan look on his face. "What if someone sees you? Just yesterday you were crying about getting caught."

"I wasn't crying, Jesus," He rolls his eyes, his words sounding unconvincing. "Do you have a better idea, smart ass? I'm all ears," He knees back down, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning closer to me to get a better listen. I look between his eyes, trying to think of a different solution, but nothing crops up. Our walkie is completely busted and unfixable unless one of us magically becomes a mechanic.