Cal leaped up, grabbed his pants. Before he could wiggle into them, he saw Gage from behind. “Holy cow. Your back is messed up bad.”

“The old man got wasted last night. It’s no big deal.”

“Dude.” Fox walked around to get a look. “That’s gotta hurt.”

“The water cooled it off.”

“I’ve got my first aid kit-” Cal began, but Gage cut him off.

“I said no big deal.” He grabbed his shirt, pulled it on. “If you two don’t have the balls to go back in and see what happens, we might as well move on.”

“I don’t have the balls,” Cal said in such a deadpan, Gage snorted out a laugh.

“Then put your pants on so I don’t have to wonder what that is hanging between your legs.”

Fox broke out the Little Debbies, and one of the six-pack of Coke he’d bought at the market. Because the incident in the pond and the welts on Gage’s back were too important, they didn’t speak of them. Instead, hair still dripping, they resumed the hike, gobbling snack cakes and sharing a can of warm soda.

But with Bon Jovi claiming they were halfway there, Cal thought of what he’d seen. Why had he been the only one? How had her face been so clear in the murky water, and with his glasses tucked in his shoe? How could he have seen her? With every step he took away from the pond, it was easier to convince himself he’d just imagined it.

Not that he’d ever, ever admit that maybe he’d just freaked out.

The heat dried his damp skin and brought on the sweat. It made him wonder how Gage could stand having his shirt clinging to his sore back. Because, man, those marks were all red and bumpy, and really had to hurt. He’d seen Gage after Old Man Turner had gone after him before, and it hadn’t ever, ever been as bad as this. He wished Gage had let him put some salve on his back.

What if it got infected? What if he got blood poisoning, got all delirious or something when they were all the way to the Pagan Stone?