"Somethings not right. That door," Chelsey gestured to the open door in the front of the cabin, "It's supposed to be closed."

Henry cautiously raised his harpoon. Chelsey took a careful step closer to the cabin. She stopped and bent to study a set of tracks in the mud. They were from a human, one who was wearing boots of some sort based on the tread. Chelsey leaned in close and whispered in his ear again.

"We're going to go in. Harpoon ready. I'll check right; you check left."

They crept up until they stood just outside the open door. A set of muddy footprints led through the doorway and into the station. Chelsey flashed him a hand sign, asking if he was ready. Henry nodded.

Chelsey slid through the open door and quickly leveled her Harpoon to the right of the door. Henry followed quickly after. He turned to the left and lowered his harpoon, prepared to stab anything that moved. There was nothing. The room was sparsely decorated. A couch was situated in front of an old TV. Next to the TV, a small bookshelf was built into the wood walls. Two more doors led to further rooms. One of them was standing open.

Henry's heart was racing. His eyes darted around nervously, looking for any sign of a bloodthirsty Ghost Story. He could see where the muddy footprints continued across the room. They led to the open door. Through the doorway, Henry could see what you might call a kitchen.

Chelsey moved deeper into the cabin. She headed right for the open door. With her spear ready to kill, she entered the kitchen. Henry followed behind her.

The kitchen was simple. A small refrigerator bolted to the floor. Next to it was a combination oven and stovetop. The muddy footsteps crossed the wooden floor to a series of cabinets worked into the wall. Their doors were left open. Chelsey was in the middle of searching through the left cabinet.

"Uh, I am going to kill Wendy!" Chelsey shouted suddenly.

"What happened?" Henry asked.

"Wendy happened. This was her."

"How do you know?"

"Someone took cans of food. It had to be sometime in the last 12 hours; otherwise, it would have reset. Not a lot of possible culprits running around. I know she comes to the Camp Zone from time to time. I guess she came last night while we slept."

Henry was relieved, as you might imagine. His mind had been busy at work, creating dreadful horrors that could have lurked in every corner. So, it was a relief that it turned out to be a dreadful horror that he already knew. As he often was these days, Henry was still confused.

"Why take cans?"

"Wendy doesn't know about my deal, so she probably thinks tonight's British night. So, she took cans of chili and soup, hoping to avoid it."

"Clever, I guess," Henry said.

"I'm just mad she didn't rope the rest of us in. It's a damn good plan. I guess deceit was always her thing. Sorry for the scare; it's time for the grocery run part of this. Snag a couple of cans that look good, and I'll get hot dogs from the fridge. Oh, and grab a few Chef Boyardee cans for me. They're my favorite."

Chelsey turned and moved towards the fridge. Henry began to search through the cabinets. They were full of soup and boxes of instant meals. Henry dug through them as quickly as he could. Mark had made it clear that speed was the key during a grocery run. He wasn't sure that still applied in the camp zone. After all, there was no hostile Ghost Story here.

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"Do we have pots in the cave?" Henry asked.

"Yes," Chelsey replied as she dropped the bottle of ketchup into her bag.

Henry nodded, then swiftly dropped two boxes of Mac and Cheese and a box of Rice-A-Roni into his own bag. He quickly added a couple cans of Chef Boyardee, as Chelsey had recommended.

"That should be good," Chelsey said.

He looked up and found her tying up her bag. He quickly did the same.

"Not a bad haul," she said, "You did well, Henry. I know this one isn't really the trial by fire you were promised, but still, you did good."

"Thanks."

"I'm supposed to show you one last thing before we go. You can leave the bags; we'll come back for them."

She sat her bag down and headed to the back door, which led to the woods outside. Henry followed behind her, leaving his own bag behind. As they left, Henry noticed that the muddy footprints were following the same path.

***

They walked through the woods, following the same dirt path they had before. The trail seemed to be winding up a large hill. The pine trees surrounded him on every side. He still hadn't quite gotten used to their size. The trees in the Texas Hill Country were much smaller, mostly cedar and oak. The harpoon in his hand had become convenient for use as a walking stick. Just as Henry was about to ask where they were going, they reached the top of the hill. It was a breathtaking view.

A pristine lake fed by a wide river filled the valley below. Henry can see a few houses or cabins littering the area around the lake. Trees climbed up the hills on the other side of it. It would have looked like an image you'd see on a postcard had it not been for the giant, dark purple wall that rose behind it all.

It was made from mismatched black cobblestones and was unfathomably large. Henry would have compared it to the pictures of the Great Wall of China he'd seen in his school books, if you were to ask him. That comparison doesn't truly do the walls of Paradise justice. Though any person reading this knows its appearance well, I hope you'll humor me as I attempt to paint a more clear description of the wall than Henry ever could. Perhaps you'll still find something of interest in the details.

The wall is over two hundred and fifty feet tall. Two hundred and sixty-eight feet tall, to be exact. It surrounds the entirety of Paradise in a perfect circle. The oily, dark purple rock used to make the wall is unlike anything you could find on earth. It is a stone made from nothing and, at the same time, everything. Such stone is born from the same essence that built Paradise. One of the stranger things about the wall is that it seems to be slightly slanted. It appears to bow outward, with cobblestones jetting out in random places. This gives the impression that the wall was intentionally made to be climbed.

I can tell you this impression is the carrot in front of the stick, which anyone who tried to climb the wall would quickly find. In Paradise, the possibility of escape is always right in front of you, yet impossible to reach. As you are doubtlessly aware, the wall is one of the more tormenting aspects of Paradise. Yet, such a torment feels right at home in such a place.

"That's the wall. It's what keeps us in here," Chelsey said.

"It's incredible,"

"You could say that. I prefer horrible."

"The stones look climbable. Why haven't you just left?"

"Looks can be deceiving. We tried three times, and we died three times. The wall isn't an option. Trust me."

Henry did. He had an innate sense for these things. Henry had always said he was remarkably ordinary. This was mostly true. The one skill he had in abundance was reading people. Even as a boy, he could always tell when someone was lying to him. The whole time he'd been in Paradise, none of the others had lied to him. Except for maybe Mark, Mark was the only person here Henry couldn't read. That was unusual.

"What could have built something like that?" Henry asked.

"No idea. Probably the same thing that made us immortal."

"The Dickhead," Henry guessed.

Chelsey laughed.

"I guess so. I don't think there's any other higher power here."

They studied the wall for another 10 minutes before they turned to leave. The two of them worked their way back to the cabin and collected their bags. Soon, they were back at the intersection between the different paths.

"Which one is mine?" Henry asked.

Chelsey stopped and turned back to look at him. She nodded, then gestured to the path that turned to gravel.

"That's yours. It wasn't here before."

This time, Henry nodded. Try as he might, Henry has been unable to recall a particular childhood story. At least, not one like the others had. If he were to be honest, Henry didn't remember much of his childhood. He'd spent it living in one place, and so much of it had just faded. Frivolous things, like scary stories he'd heard as a boy, were gone. If he had any at all, they were lurking in the darkest part of his mind. Needless to say, curiosity had gotten the better of him.

"Do you feel like being adventurous?" Henry asked Chelsey.

Chelsey raised an eyebrow.

"You want to look at your zone, don't you?"

"I do."

Chelsey shrugged.

"Why not? What's the worst that could happen?"