Rhys Evans lies face down in the murky waters of Llyn y Blaidd, the lake beside which every family in town has camped or picnicked, or visited on a school trip — like the one we're on, now.
It can't be him but it has to be. Nobody else is still wandering after the last Reset, and the body wears the same blue tartan pyjamas Rhys wore the night he walked.
No bubbles surface from near his face as he bobs gently in the wind-swept water. You'd expect him to be thrashing, struggling to get his head up or turn himself over but he just... isn't. He isn't moving at all. Why isn't he moving?
Oh.
Oh.
I don't want to look at him but I can't look away. Someone screams. It spreads through us all then, rippling through our group gathered at the tree line like a stone skipped over water. It echoes from all our mouths, a haunting chorus that chills me to my very bones.
After a frozen second that stretches for an eternity, another voice joins. I only notice it because it sticks out: it holds horror as all of the rest do, but also anguish, pure and palpable. It leaves a hush in its wake as we all fall silent and turn to Ms Henry, our form tutor, rushing to that shore still screaming that awful scream.
At the water's edge, she kicks off her shoes. Some of the boys from my class and the year below rush to her side to hold her back. She thrashes until her wordless howl turns to ragged sobs. Eventually, those sobs punctuate shouts of his name.
She begs, "Rhys... Rhys... Get him out! Someone...someone get him."
A hollow ringing rises in my ears as the scene before me seems to slow. A couple of the boys split from the group, shed their shoes and blazers. They cast a glance back at the others still crowded around Ms Henry, who seem to be the only thing holding her upright. Swallowing hard, the boys turn back to the water. Wade in until it's at their hips and swim to Rhys' side.
Our group is drifting forward; something pulls us toward the water like a magnet, fear or curiosity or morbidity I can't tell. The distance between us and the trees widens as we near the lake, everyone craning their necks to see the rescue because this is a rescue. It can't be anything else.
I know it isn't. I know. But I want to hope, to believe. We all do.
They're at Rhys' side now, both reaching for him.
"Fuck." One of the boys curses, splutters and kicks away abruptly, sudden movement splashing water over Rhys' back and his classmate, who covers his mouth and retches. A black cloud rises up and mostly disperses. Flies, there are flies swarming.
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Oh doesn't cover it. Fuck doesn't either.
"Miss, I-I—" The other boy gags again, voice cutting out as he tries unsuccessfully to stop what comes next.
"Get him out!"
The other boy now. He's covering his nose, maybe to avoid doing what the other boy is still preoccupied with, turned away from the body that was a boy we all knew but is now just food for flies. "Miss, he's..."
"Get him out!" She's met with a pause so she says it again, and again, and again. Keeps saying it until after a long pause and an even longer glance at one another, the boys approach again. Each takes ahold of an ankle to pull him to the shore. As they near, the smell that no doubt made them gag hits us all.
Blackness. Sharp and sudden. It's chased away by a sudden flood of sound —sobs, screeches, more retching— just in time for me to turn onto my stomach to be sick. Something warm drips down the side of my face and a spot above my brow stings as I move to wipe it away with the back of my hand. It comes away red.
"Eve." Tabby's voice near my ear, the familiar warmth of her hand burning through my blazer as she touches my upper back. She's trying to get me to look at her instead of them, but how can I look away when they're turning Rhys over to show he's half-gone. Literally.
The front of him is hollowed out from breastbone to hip, torn open and missing everything that should be inside save for bones. Most of them, anyway; ribs are snapped at irregular places, some intact but looking like they've been gnawed on. The flesh that is still on his frame is bloated and waterlogged, darkening in patches as mold eats away at it, darkening further where small clouds of flying insects land to continue their meal. His flame-like hair is plastered to his face, thankfully hiding it, but from between the strands a clouded eye is visible as it stares off into the middle distance.
Ms Henry wails, falling limp. The boys can no longer hold her and they all go down as one to their knees. A horrible second of silence, the shock of it somehow worse than the cries of before. Then she's crawling on palms and already-scuffed knees over jagged rocks to his side. Only a few of the boys remain with her as the others scramble to their feet and rush, retching, to the would-be rescuers who have fled to the walking path leading back to town. One of them, Owen I realise, waves them away other than one, a friend of his I think, who remains at his side. The others reroute to the boy whose name I can't recall as he's repeatedly sick a few feet away.
"Eve." Tabby again. This time I force myself to look at her, just to tear my eyes off of how Ms Henry cradles what used to be Rhys Evans. Tabby's puffy, glossed-over eyes lock with mine. Her lips tremble the way they do when she fights to hide tears, and I know the distant, panicked look in her eyes well enough to know where her mind is headed.
Five words spill from my mouth: "That hasn't happened to them."
I shouldn't have said it. Shouldn't have bought them up, not now. Her face crumbles and I don't have to see the tears spill to know they will, I just throw my arms around her and pull her as close as I can. She keeps her breathing even but every now and then there's a sniffle or a tremor, and I'd tell her I'm sorry in a heartbeat but I can't. Not for bringing them up when I know they're all she's thinking of right now. She needs to know this can't have happened before or else we'd know. The whole town would. So I say it again, with more conviction this time, hoping the confidence —really blind optimism— in my voice is better than an apology: "This hasn't happened to them."