Twenty bottles, brimming with crystal-clear water and a few sediment particles settled at the bottom, sit in a single row next to the box. One of the bottles was punctured by one of the box’s corners while riding inside Cora’s backpack, so it sits to the side, too precious to throw away.

The campfire remains dead. Not much distance separates both suns from the horizon, so they must hurry before the darkness sweeps over them, and with it the strange nightlife and disturbances.

Liam hasn’t forgotten the burst of bright light a few nights prior. Or the treacherously thin, tall creature he saw lumbering after, swallowed by the trees. Or the croak powerful enough to throw Cora down and make him ill, or the seared circles within the forest, or the literal fact somebody unknown built this campfire, and for whatever reasons fled too soon.

Too many unknown variables, not enough known ones. Even as he paces back and forth, internally at war with himself over how to boil the water, one thing stands out. Cora. He cannot stop his eyes from involuntarily flicking over to her every few seconds. Mercifully, she has her head bowed, eyes closed for whatever thinking she’s doing.

Her hands are clasped on her lap. Meditating, perhaps? He has no idea what pain she went through with inhaling a piece of the branch. Perhaps she’s resting. He shouldn’t bother her. He doesn’t want to. But they are running out of time, and luck is fickle.

His eyes flicker over to her. Shit. He needs to control where he’s looking, but it’s difficult when the girl he obsessed for years about sits a few feet away. It almost feels like the portal knew he wanted her back, although it had to be subconscious because he hasn’t thought about her in years.

At least, not until he laid eyes on her again.

“I can’t think,” Cora says, opening her eyes once more. He casts his gaze down at the bottles, pretending to be occupied. “I don’t know if it’s me, but there’s only one solution I have to this.”

“What is it?”

“We boil the water inside the bottles themselves.”

Liam’s mind is quick to jump to the contrary. “Yes, but then–”

“Toxic chemicals can and will leak into our water, thus dooming us to a worse fate,” she says, sighing. “I don’t even know if the plastic won’t melt before we heat it to boiling temperatures. We have that one to experiment with, though.” She points at the punctured bottle. “I don’t see any other way we can do this.”

“We either slowly die to germs in the water or chemicals in the water. Well, we can’t catch a break here, can we?”

Cora flashes a quick smile, replaced by the somber look he’s sure his own face reflects many times. “Never. But toxic chemicals I’ll take any day. They won’t multiply like germs will.”

“Fair point. The water will taste like shit, though. Probably.”

“You get what you can take. What choice do we have?” She hobbles over to the punctured bottle and takes one of the filled ones. She pours water up to the point where the puncture mark is, then loosens the cap. “So it doesn’t explode,” she explains, and he nods. Makes sense, Liam supposes. Pressure from the steam and all that. “Problem is… who’s gonna taste the water?”

Of course. One of them has to do it, and despite his bravado, he does not want to be the first sampler. “Ladies first.”

Cora rolls her eyes. That’s the first time he’s seen her do it, and honestly… it draws him in. No, he commands himself, breaking his fixated concentration and paying attention to the bottle. Getting water should draw him in.

“I got the last bottle. I don’t need to drink any more. You do it first.”

Flimsy excuse, but he doesn’t want her to get hurt, anyways. “Okay, fine. Time to start the fire.”

Liam takes the test bottle from her and places it on the ground. The crushed base leaves it leaning at a dangerous angle, so he takes two of the stones and presses them against the bottle’s sides. It holds, and he nods in satisfaction at the distance to the fire, which he assumes is enough to heat it without incinerating the bottle.

The magnifying glass is beyond useful. The bright beam of concentrated light hurts to look at, so he glances elsewhere for the moment, and once again his eyes land on her. This time, she makes eye contact with him and every fiber of his being sets ablaze.

He can’t look away. Too late. They awkwardly stare at each other, strangers once familiar to each other. A decade changes people. He knows he’s changed, for the better and for the worse, since he was that little child only wanting companionship.

She looks like she has, too. Her hair reaches down to chest-level. A ghost of a scar leads from her right cheekbone to her jaw. She must’ve gotten it not long after she moved away. Change the light level slightly, and he’d have missed it completely.

“This is definitely not awkward…” Cora says, running a hand through her hair. Shit. He peels his gaze away, downwards on the smoke beginning to lazily curl out of the leaves. “Uh… do I have something in my hair?” She holds her hair out in front of her and starts picking out bits of leaves and branches. “I probably look bad, don’t I?”

“No, not that. You still look good.” He gives a thumbs-up, which makes her crack another rare smile.

“You don’t have to lie to me. We haven’t showered in days. It was all this stuff in my hair, wasn’t it?”

Should he go along with her? Well, part of the reason might’ve been the leaves. They give her a type of feral beauty, something he will never admit to her. “Yeah. I was thinking about how you manage it. My hair is this thick–” he says, pressing a bunch of hair between two fingers, “and I find it a lot of trouble to deal with.”

“I mean, back home I had things like my shampoo, conditioner, comb, scrunchies–wait.” He raises an eyebrow. Cora grabs her backpack and plunges her hand into the front pocket. She yanks out a turquoise scrunchy. “I can’t believe I forgot about this!”

Faster than he can blink, she fastens her hair, fingers moving with the practiced ease of years of repetition. He’s lost in the motions, in another world, another time, staring down the face of the portal, its flickering lights reminiscent of Cora’s hair being woven into a bun.

When she finishes, she fastens the scrunchy and sighs. “That’s a lot better.”

The smoke bursts into flame. He opens up the box and throws the magnifying glass inside. Safe and sound. The fire begins to creep along the leaves, eating its way through them slower than he expects.

“You know, I never knew they were used for hair.”

She stares at him. “No way.”

“I saw people wearing them on their wrists. I thought it was some weird fashion thing or something.” He raises his hands in self-defense, and she shakes her head.

“Fashion? Seriously? They do look good, though.” He nods in agreement. On her, it looks stunning. The turquoise complements her brunette hair. With her hair out of her face, the softer features of her face come into view, the sharp angle of her jaw and the slightest tilt of her lips upwards. “I’ve worn them like bracelets a few times. I felt stupid doing it, but it wasn’t bad, I guess. It just didn’t click with me.”

“What was it? The look? How it felt? What people thought about you?” Liam throws a handful of leaves into the burning pile. The flame grows taller and stronger, the heat keeping him back. The bottle itself is slightly distorted, the water inside still.

“The look. The utility. Not using it for its purpose didn’t make sense. I don’t know, nobody at school did it. Maybe that’s why.”

“Mmm.” He extends a palm out to the bottle. It radiates heat of its own, warming his hand, but it’s not enough to boil yet. The conversation is stalling. He needs to find something else fast before she taps out. “You don’t happen to have soap with you, do you?”

Cora narrows her eyes. “No. What kind of question is that? What are you gonna do?”

“Bathe.”

Her eyes widen. “Seriously? I’ll give you some privacy, but it seems dangerous. With the river water? I don’t have any soap you can use.”

“What else? It looks clean enough. I’ll wash off all the dirt and sweat. No need for soap. And boiling the water, if it even works, will definitely damage the bottles. I’d rather use them only for drinking. River, though, that’s fair game.”

“Ugh. Are you gonna keep watch during the night like that?”

He knows exactly what she means. “I mean, I don’t see a problem. It’s only until me and my clothes dry. Shouldn’t take too long.”

“We can’t keep the fire going.” She looks at the blazing fire and wilting bottle. Bubbles burble on the surface, but he won’t call it boiling yet. “It’ll draw too much attention.”

“I’ll dry myself off on my blanket.”

“No offense, but it’s dirty.”

He unties the knot and extends it before him. The outer part is soiled, weighed down by caked dirt and leaves and twigs clinging to the fabric.

The inner part, the one that surrounded him, is far cleaner, although there is still a faint remnant of the blood that came out when he got bitten on his calf. He’d removed the bandage yesterday because the bite marks were shallow, and was relieved that there were no signs of infection.

“It’s good enough,” he says defensively.

“Are you really gonna do it?”

He casts his gaze down. “You did a great job arguing not to.”

“We should wait until we make sure nothing bad will happen. How long have we been here, half a day? You’re going in blind.”

“Yeah, and I’m not used to going this long without cleaning myself. My pipes froze before I came here. I dropped by one of my friend’s houses for a shower every other day when his parents weren’t home. It happened to be the day I was going to shower that I got teleported.”

“Oh.”

“It’s… bad.”

Understatement of the century. The smell is bad enough that he can smell himself, and back on Earth his friends called him nose blind. He doesn’t know how Cora manages to put up with him, because he can barely tolerate his own smell. Sure, living on the streets should’ve taught him a thing or two about going without a shower or bath, but without the world’s commodities he took for granted, he’s stuck.

Burbling water grows louder than the river’s churning, along with an acrid smell. He lets the memories fade away. “Hey, look. It’s boiling,” Cora says.

Surely enough, the water is burbling furiously, some of it frothing out of the puncture mark, the bottle yellowed and warped. The dirt drinks up the spilling water and leaves no trace of it behind. From what he can tell, the water looks good. Nothing inherently bad except the cocktail of chemicals likely swimming through the water.

“Nothing like some refreshing water after a long day,” he says, rubbing his hands. Cora lets out a choked laugh. “I hadn’t thought about it. How are we going to move it out of there?”

“Since my first idea worked, I have a second.”

“Go on…”

Cora grabs the plastic packaging and wraps it around her hands. “I just grab it really quick and set it down away from the fire.”

Liam eyes the water wearily. “Be careful. One wrong slip and not having water’s going to be the least of our problems.”

She huffs. “I can handle myself.” But she hesitates to get her hands close to the bottle. “Sorry, give me a moment.”

“I can do it myself if you need me to–”

“No. It’s fine.” She breathes in deep, holds it, and snatches the bottle away. Her face contorts into discomfort as she sets the bottle down upright in a hole she’d dug out with her boot. Clever. Once she removes the plastic and sets it aside, she exhales loudly. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“Now we wait.”

The water cools faster than he expects. The soil must be colder than he suspects, because in a matter of minutes the water’s surface goes still, and several more pass before his hand hovers above the bottle. Nothing. He quickly touches the bottle, expecting the sharp bite of heat, but finds the plastic warm.

“Well, it’s ready,” he says, gulping. Nothing looks wrong with the water. It’s fine. He steels himself for the taste and grabs the bottle. He places the bottle’s lip to his own, glancing at Cora a final time.

“Hey. I can do it myself if you don’t want to.”

He nearly drops the bottle from jumping with laughter. “You did your part, I’m doing mine.” Then he tilts the bottle up. An acrid taste overwhelms his taste buds, the water going down his throat and leaving a bitter aftertaste that makes him gag. Cora starts forward, but he shakes his head and sets the bottle down.

Finished. Not that there was more in the first place, but the entire drink felt like an eternity. “That wasn’t so bad,” he says, shuddering. Cora shakes her head, smiling.

“Are you sure you’re good?”

“Give me a moment. Oh, that aftertaste is killing me.” He musters what little saliva he can and swallows. It takes some of the aftertaste away, mercifully. “Okay. A little better. My stomach isn’t killing me at the moment, so I’m good.”

She places a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks. I mean it. My head kind of hurts right now, so I’m gonna go lie down, maybe sleep if I can. If you’re gonna bathe, I won’t judge. I’ll probably be knocked out by then.”

“I think I will. Just be careful opening your eyes if you do wake up in the middle of the night.”

“Ha. About that…” Cora slides her phone out of her pocket and presses her thumb on the screen. She quickly enters her clock app and sets an alarm for five p.m. Her clock reads twelve p.m., something he never expects. He just assumes that day and night here are the same length as on Earth. “I want you to sleep, too. I haven’t timed how long a day is here, but I think it’s somewhere around nine or ten hours. Night too. Not much time, but I’m timing it so you can sleep the other half of the night.”

A warm feeling stirs in his chest. Something he hasn’t felt since those early years in elementary schools so long ago. Somebody who cares, somebody who’s looking out for him purely because they care rather than for their self-interests.

Such a rich feeling, being cared about. Liam nods, smiling. “Thank you. I still can’t believe it’s twelve back home.”

“Yeah, me neither. But that’s how worlds work, right?” Cora glances down. “Anyways, I’ll go to sleep now. Wake me up if anything happens. And please change when you wake me up.”

“No problem. Good night… or good afternoon?”

She swats him on the arm. “Good night.”

She sets her backpack down and lays her head on it. Her eyes close, and her breathing stills. With the light outdoors, he doesn’t know if she’ll be able to fall asleep, but nevertheless he gets to work.

***

Liam lies on his back, staring at the developing night sky. In the horizon, a soft palette of lilac and fiery violet merges into the deep, dark azure night, gradually growing darker until it is black on the opposite side of the world he sees, the moon halfway visible with its faint metal-like crater.

He shook off as much water as he could, but enough of it clung to him that he soaked through the blanket. At the moment, he is wet and shivering as temperatures fall, but he is at peace.

He glances aside. Cora truly must’ve been exhausted when she closed her eyes, because her position hasn’t moved since she went to sleep. Her chest gently rises and falls, lips slightly parted.

His heart aches for her. Somewhere, somehow, a barrier broke, and he reached towards those dreams his younger self composed of her, shaping her into the person he believed she became during those years in another state.

Now there’s no going back. He can’t deny it. He doesn’t want to lose her again. This world, whatever it is, certainly is both alien and familiar. Like she is. And he’s determined to understand both of his new worlds, no matter how long it takes.

Somewhere in the distance, the first animal croaks. More croaks follow, much smaller than the titanic croak that shook the earth. The fire flickers, a fraction of its former self when he placed the other bottles to boil. The time is soon when he will extinguish it, but he rolls towards the fire, savoring every last bit of warmth.

His stomach grumbles. They have water. Now they need food. Too bad whatever person left the campfire behind neglected to leave some food to munch on. He glances at the dark woods behind them, past the bushes in the distance.

The fire, like the plastic packaging that caused him to be attacked by the rat-things, is a beacon for anything to come. The rest of the world is dark, so they should be, too. For their safety.

And he’s only just started warming up…

Liam takes the deformed punctured bottle, filled with river water for this specific task, and throws the water on the fire. It sputters, grows meek, and dies, leaving him in total darkness.

His foot brushes against the heap of clothing at the end of the blanket. The chill grows worse, so he rolls over, wrapping himself in a protective cocoon, and closes his eyes, waiting for sleep to overtake him.

It feels like forever until he finally begins to nod off. And then–

Crack.

His breathing stops. Slowly, he peels open his eyes, scanning the area where he heard it.

Crack.

A dim silhouette contrasts against the last remnants of the sunset. Slender, upright and vaguely humanoid, the silhouette is too far away to have any discernible features. He exhales gently, hoping he isn’t coming out as noisy.

The silhouette shifts slightly. Stands for a minute or two, a piece of itself splitting from the main body and going to what he assumes is its head. Then falling back to its side, and the silhouette turns, walking parallel to the river.

Its path leads it a minute’s walk from where he tossed the dangerous branch. The world is dark and cold, but the last traces of light catch the strands of what must be hair blowing behind the silhouette as the wind intensifies. He realizes that it’s holding something.

Round-shaped, a shade of gray different from the rest. Yes, he’s seen it before. The strange pumpkin-things at the center of every bush. He blinks, and the ghostly figure disappears into the night.

They cannot be caught. Cora left her phone beside her. Liam gently reaches his arm out and stretches, dragging her phone over to him with a finger. He tucks it inside his blanket and turns it on with the screen downwards. The light is too harsh, too bright, but he quickly finds the alarm ticking as a notification and cancels it without needing a password.

He places the phone back next to her. Closes his eyes, but opens his ears. Sleep does not come easy that night.