Morning arrived slowly, like it was uncertain whether it should bother showing up at all. Gray light seeped in through the mist and low-hanging clouds, smearing across the camp like ash. There was no sunrise—just a gradual lifting of the darkness. Cold air still pressed against the trees. Everything felt damp and heavy.
Rafi blinked his eyes open to the sound of quiet breathing and shifting tarps. Around him, the others were beginning to stir. Some kids sat up with dazed expressions. Others stayed curled beneath their blankets, clinging to the last threads of sleep like safety ropes.
His muscles ached from sleeping on wet ground. His clothes were still damp. His breath clouded in the air. But he pushed himself upright and scanned the camp instinctively.
The mess tarp was still standing, barely. The plastic bins had been stacked in a corner—someone had tried to keep them dry. The counselors' tent was still dark. No fire had been lit.
No adults were moving yet.
That truth settled in again like a stone in his chest. They were still alone.
He stood up, rubbed his hands together to bring the feeling back, and walked toward the edge of the camp where a small wooden shed had once stored emergency gear. It had been battered by the storm—the roof was dented, and one door hung half open. Inside, he found a half-empty water jug, some waterproof ponchos, and a few field guides sealed in plastic.
It wasn't much. But it was something.
Back at the fire pit, a few kids were up. One older boy from another cabin was trying to sweep branches into a pile using his arm as a broom. Two little ones sat with their backs against a stump, heads leaning together, sharing body heat. A girl about Rafi's age had a twisted-looking knee and was dragging her blanket around like it was armor.
No one was crying anymore. They had run out of energy for that.
Rafi started dividing tasks in his head without realizing. Water. Warmth. Food. Shelter. First check the cabins for anything dry. Then assign people to gather kindling, even if it was wet—they could try to light it later. Someone needed to boil water, but that would require fire, which meant finding matches that hadn't turned to pulp.
He took the water jug and brought it to the fire circle, placing it in the center like it meant something. The gesture helped. A few of the younger kids perked up when they saw it, like it proved someone was still in charge.
And maybe, in a way, he was.
Not officially. Not with a clipboard or a whistle. But he was the one who kept moving. The one whose eyes kept scanning, planning, bracing.
That was when he noticed something else—something off.
The counselor's cabin door was wide open. Flapping gently in the breeze.
Rafi frowned. He remembered seeing that same door shut last night. One of the younger kids had tried to sleep inside, and a counselor had carried him back out. The counselors had been using that space for supplies and first aid.
He stepped over a muddy path and made his way to the cabin. Inside, the room was dark, but not silent. There was a slow, steady dripping from the ceiling. A few sleeping bags were scattered on the floor, along with a walkie-talkie with a cracked antenna.
But no one was there.
He checked behind the door. Peeked under the cots. Looked out the side window toward the tree line. No movement. No voices.
It didn't make sense.
When he walked back to the fire circle, he noticed something else missing: the counselor who had left to find the supply tent hadn't returned.
Not last night. Not this morning.
And no one had said anything.
Rafi felt the cold deepen, not from the weather—but from something creeping into the back of his thoughts. Something dangerous.
There weren't enough adults left in camp.
They were disappearing, one by one.
And if he didn't figure out what was going on—or at least keep the rest of the kids steady—things could fall apart fast.
He glanced toward the ridge, where the trail climbed steeply through the trees. If the path was passable, they might find help. But if it wasn't, someone could get hurt—or worse.
He looked back at the circle of kids, most of them now awake, some chewing on scraps of granola or trying to dry their shoes in the mist. They were waiting.
Not for instructions, exactly. But for something. For someone to act like they knew what came next.
Rafi wasn't sure he did.
But he stepped forward anyway.