Give me the pins. Give me pain, shredding hot pain. If the plan was to hurt me, then you’ve found your method.

The film was clearly taken from one of the many surveillance cameras placed around a Woodland town. I could see the images in the sky blocked slightly by people’s shoulders, but they were looking. Gasps emitted from the crowd. Sighs of shock and rumbles of anger. A name was cried out, and then the camera focused on people’s damning feet as they surged towards a group of guards.

Shots fired, and people screamed. The feet ran harder. The shadows of boots stomping furiously into the solid ground dispersed, and a circle of space opened up over a small child. His eyes were closed and his clothes dirtied—his body motionless. Trampled.

More shots.

Then an explosion.

It cut to another camera, one over a Ring gate. It followed a trail of smoke to a birch tree, alight. Its leaves curling and crackling. Chunks of concrete lay in the street. People screamed, pushed, but not to get out. They were running away from the wall. I didn’t understand it. My eyes blinked several times, trying to take it in. They were afraid of us.

Mr. Hun handed the screen back to the guard, who put it on the desk and pulled it back to the image of the child in the street. Lying there, curled protectively over himself like he was hiding something, a secret he couldn’t tell. The image shone bright in the dark of this tiny room.

Mr. Hun let go of my pinky finger, which was just about breaking, and I remembered pain. One by one, he pulled the pins from my fingers, cleaning them with alcohol wipes and placing back on his tray of instruments. He patted my cheek with his warm, dry hand and left me.

They all left me. To stare at the lifeless child whose death was partly my fault. They wanted me to take it. The responsibility. And I did. This hurt me more than all the small pains they had inflicted on me so far. I tried not to let it show. But as soon as the door closed, my mouth broke into a torn-up sob, my heart seized, and my head fell.

“No,” I whispered. To myself. To them. To the child.

They were chipping away at me, wearing me down to a splinter they could flick to the floor. I couldn’t let them win.

JOSEPH

I’m clinging to the end point of a snowflake, spinning round and round.

“Just let go,” she tells me. “Just let go…”

“Hang on, Joe. Damn it. There’s a lot of blood. Should there be this much blood?”

My legs were warm; my chest was cold, wet. Every bump felt like my skin was peeling away from my body. I opened my eyes to slits. Warm spots of light hovered over my head.

I wasn’t dead.

I was flat on my back, my body sailing unevenly though the air. Up. Rocks slid and people stumbled. My leg fell off the stretcher, and I pulled it back up with a lot effort. I could use my legs. A good sign. They hurt like hell, but I could feel them. Someone’s hand wrapped around my own. It was soft, delicate. I squeezed. I didn’t open my eyes. It could be her. I’d keep them closed, and it would be her.

A smooth, feminine voice spoiled my delusion. “Hang on, Joseph. You’re going to be ok.” The voice was worried, but sure. So I believed it. I hung on. Until my mind slipped from consciousness again. But this time I knew I’d wake up.

Smooth fingers glided across my forehead. I flinched and opened my eyes. Staring back at me were two perfectly symmetrical, almond-shaped eyes, light green ringed with a darker green around the outside. She blinked and so did I, trying to change the picture. She smiled and ran a cloth over my chest. I shivered.

“Sorry,” she murmured, shyly, as she ran the wet cloth over my wounds, her gaze on my chest rather than my face. “I need to clean your wounds.” She pursed her pink lips and concentrated on her work.

I grabbed her wrist and stopped her hand before it touched me again.

“Who are you?” I asked, looking from left to right and searching for a familiar face. We were still in the woods. It was dusk or dawn; either way, the sun was leaving or returning and not giving much light. People moved around me, talking.

“Whoa there, Joe. She’s trying to help you,” Desh said, his face coming into focus behind this girl’s halo of short, blonde hair. She smiled at me again, her small freckles dancing over the bridge of her nose. I narrowed my eyes.

“Who is she?” I said, coughing.

She held a bottle of water to my lips. “Drink,” she whispered, her brow furrowed.

I snatched the bottle and regretted moving so suddenly.

Desh came to sit by my side. “Joe, this is Elise, the Birchton Spider. She saved your life.” He grinned and patted my leg. I winced. I was covered in bruises. I took a small sip of water. It slid coolly down my throat.

“You make me sound much more important that I am,” she said, shaking her head and muttering, “The Birchton Spider… sounds like the title of a bad book.”

I pulled myself up to sitting, the sudden movement making me dizzy.

“Book?”

Gravity caused blood to seep from the deep claw marks on my chest. The girl put both her hands on my torso and pushed me back down gently.

“You need to rest.” She rolled up a jacket and placed it behind my head.

Desh’s head bobbed up and down. “It was amazing Joe. After the blast, that thing, that huge, white bear came at you. Everyone was trying to get your attention, but you were totally zoned out. It jumped down on your chest and went for your neck. Elise ran out from behind a rock, slapped its big, white butt with a tree branch, and it just ran away.” He was breathless from excitement but managed to calm down and look at me seriously for a second. Poor Desh, I’d put him through hell. “What were you doing out there, Joe? It was like you wanted it to kill you.”

Did I? I wasn’t sure, maybe for a millisecond.

Elise started spreading gauze over my chest and taping it down. I caught her eyes. “Thank you,” I mumbled.

She shrugged. “Don’t mention it. It’s what I do,” she said casually.

I groaned as she pressed down on my skin. Her touch wasn’t reassuring; it just felt alien.

“You routinely slap bears on the ass?” I asked quizzically, raising my eyebrows.

“Ha!” Desh spluttered. “At least now we know he’s not brain damaged!”

Rash shouted from across the campsite, “Based on current evidence, I’m gonna need further proof.”

Desh shot him a warning look and I snorted. That was kind of funny.

Elise laughed lightly, ignoring Rash’s comment as she tossed her head back to get her hair away from her face. “No. I’m Medical. Saving lives is what I do.”

“Oh, right. Me too. Or at least I was. Medical.”

“Shhh!” she said, putting her finger to her lips. “Get some rest.”

Her face faded to a pale blur for a moment, and I shook my head. “Where are we? What happened after the blast?” I asked.

She didn’t answer.

Matt’s warm voice sailed in and his face followed. “How’s the patient?”

“Superficial wounds to the chest and legs. Bruising to most of the lower body and also to the left eye,” Elise replied, running her little finger down the side of my face. I jerked away from her touch.

“It doesn’t feel very superficial, Matt,” I said, managing a smile. “Now tell me what happened after the blast?” I insisted.

He nodded and faked a smile. “Nothing.”

I clenched my fists and pulled my head up so I could see him better. Smoke from a campfire whirled around our faces and stung my eyes. “What do you mean—nothing?”