[Win – School Grounds – 10:40 a.m.]
The rain's a hiss, soaking us to the bone.
Palm's weight sags against me, his arm bleeding through my torn shirt.
The back gate looms ahead, rusted, half-open, leading to the forest beyond.
Moans chase us, their wails slicing through the storm.
My pipe's heavy in my hand, slick with rain and blood.
I can't look back.
"Almost there," I whisper, my voice raw.
Palm's shivering, breath fogging.
"Its Cold," he mutters, his legs dragging.
His gash is red, and now he's burning with fever.
[11:00 a.m.]
We stumble through the gate, the forest swallowing us.
Trees loom, dark and wet, branches clawing my face.
The moans fade, muffled by the rain and leaves.
Palm's steps slow, his body heavier.
I pull him under a tree, its roots a weak shield.
"Rest for now," I say, easing him down.
His eyes are glassy, sweat mixing with rain.
I touch his forehead and it's too hot.
"Win," he whispers, "I'm slowing you down."
"Shut up," I snap, my throat tight.
I can't lose him.
Not after everything.
[1:00 p.m.]
The rain stops, but the air stays heavy, gray clouds choking the sky.
We push deeper, twigs snapping underfoot.
Palm's leaning hard on me, his good arm around my neck.
Every step's a fight and his fever's climbing, his breaths short.
I clutch my pipe, scanning for shadows.
No moans yet, but the forest feels too quiet.
[3:00 p.m.]
The forest thickens, roots tangling our feet.
Palm's burning now, skin like fire under my hands.
He stumbles, falls to his knees.
"Win… I can't," he gasps, voice barely there.
His gash is swollen, red streaking up his arm.
My stomach twists.
I kneel, ripping another strip from my shirt, ofcourse useless now, but I try.
"You're fine," I lie, same as always.
His eyes meet mine, soft but fading.
"Like old times," he murmurs, trying to smile.
I choke on a laugh, my tears burning.
[5:00 p.m.]
The sun's low, painting the trees bloody red.
We're deep in the forest, far from the school.
Palm can't walk anymore.
His legs gave out an hour ago, and I've been half-carrying him.
My arms ache, my pipe dragging in the dirt.
I find a clearing moss, fallen logs, a scrap of open sky.
"We can camp here for now," I say, in my shaking voice.
Palm's slumped against a tree, his breath ragged.
I gather branches and build a weak shelter.
Now All left in the name of food is just the cans and rice we grabbed which is too heavy to carry far.
The water's also gone.
[5:30 p.m.]
Palm's fever's worse now.
He's shivering, burning, curled on the moss.
I sit beside him, his head on my shoulder.
"Stay with me," I whisper, my hand in his.
His fingers are cold, weak.
"Win… if I don't—"
"Don't," I cut him off, voice breaking.
I squeeze his hand, like it'll keep him here.
[6:00 p.m.]
The sky's on fire, sunset bleeding through the trees.
A boom shakes the ground distant, heavy, like the world's splitting.
Our school.
They bombed it.
I picture Best, Namtan, FahFah, Jack, Emily and Kao in that helicopter.
Did they know?
Did they care about us?
Palm stirs, eyes half-open.
"What was that?" he whispers.
"Nothing," I lie again, my throat tight.
But the air feels heavier, smoke faint on the wind.
Moans echo somewhere deep in the forest—not close, but like it's getting closer
I grip my pipe, Palm's fever burning against me.
The world's gone cold, and we're alone.
Just us, the trees, and whatever's left of hope.