Chapter 1: Michael
"Michael! Move your ass and get down here or you’re not going, damn it!"
When his mother swore, Michael knew it could only mean one of three things:
1.) The judges and/or audience on her favorite talent hunt show had chosen poorly.
2.) The apocalypse was nigh.
3.) She was royally pissed.
Considering that he was supposed to have been ready to leave thirty minutes ago (and still not done packing), it was a safe bet he’d brought the wrath of option three down upon him. But to be fair, this trip wasn’t the type of thing you packed for without a lot of second-guessing over clothing and travel amenities. Every summer, his friend Maggie Inman held a big weekend get together at her family’s lake house near Woodstock. It had been a cherished pre-back to school tradition for years, but this one was even more of an ‘event’ than the others before it. After nearly a decade of all going to the same school together, the end of eight grade would see Michael’s tight knit group split up among various mega-sized high schools within the district. For better or worse, everything was about to change. This was their last chance to all hang out together before then. He planned to make the most of it.
Michael was surprised his parents still let him go every year, especially considering that there were both girls and boys present and it was overnight. He held no illusions about having enough game to make something happen, but coed sleepovers weren’t the type of thing his folks were normally okay with at all. Their willingness was probably due to the fact that up until a few years ago, Michael had been deathly afraid of being away from home for extended periods of time. He wasn’t scared to leave the house for normal stuff like school or hanging out at a friend’s place for an afternoon. But staying overnight somewhere without his family used to bring on The Grip like nothing else could.
It always started the same way. His chest would tighten up and he’d start to feel dizzy. Then The Grip would reach in, wrap a cold hand around his heart, and squeeze the absolute shit out of it. His lungs would also stop working completely, which made the hand squeeze even harder.
For a long time, Michael never knew why or when The Grip would happen. Riding rollercoasters or watching scary movies barely fazed him, but getting yelled at by a teacher or hearing terrible news (like when his grandfather died) could easily set it off. Being cut off overnight from his family proved to be a definite trigger after the third sleepover where his parents had to come pick him up.
Multiple doctor visits later, his mom explained The Grip was actually a panic attack, which was the result of an anxiety disorder—which still didn’t make any sense. What the hell did he have to feel that anxious about? Even at the age of thirteen, Michael was self-aware enough to know that his life was a good one—an upper middle class kid with two parents who loved him and every advantage he could ask for. His biggest obstacles in life were not having enough allowance money to buy a decent gaming system and the potential consequences of having a grade less than a ‘B’ on his report card. He never had to worry about where his next meal would come from or not having a roof over his head. He still got stressed or freaked out about stuff, but that was different from when The Grip took him. Those times felt like his very life was spiraling down the drain.
The attacks were rare and never lasted more than a minute, but The Grip’s constant specter made Michael feel weak and pathetic. It took him a while to tell his friends about it, which he pretty much had to after skipping out on an overnight field trip in fourth grade. To his surprise, they were all cool about it. Craig and Johnny occasionally ribbed him for his “white people problem,” but aside from that, no one ever gave him a hard time. Still, he knew that it would cause him to miss on a lot of things, especially with all the class trips in middle and high school.
The summer before fifth grade, Michael forced himself to ask his parents if he could attend Maggie’s annual August get together. The party/sleepover had been a no-go for him three years running by then. The streak looked even more certain to continue when the event was moved to the Inmans’ vacation home in the mountains near Bluefin Lake. They’d bought the house because it was close to the Lanier military base, where Maggie’s dad worked four months out of the year. It was also four hours away, which was basically another solar system as far as Michael’s anxiety was concerned. The added distance made for a terrifying new obstacle, but it also represented an opportunity. If Michael freaked out and needed to be picked up, it would take his parents hours to get there instead of minutes. He’d be forced stay and fight through the fear no matter what.
Maybe it wasn’t the smartest or healthiest way to combat anxiety, but he had to try something. None of the medications he’d been put on did anything except make him feel sleepy. Seeing a therapist had helped a little, but any progress they made went right out the window whenever The Grip decided to show up. If Michael was ever going to take control of this thing, he had to put himself in a situation where there was no other option but to work through it—at least that’s what he told himself. As far as his mom and dad knew, he’d simply declared himself ready again try being away from home for a night.
His parents weren’t wild about the fact that girls would be there (even if they were sleeping in separate rooms), but seeing Michael’s willingness to try something he’d been so afraid was enough to get them to say yes.
That first night at Maggie’s lake house was rough at first, but being surrounded by a group of people Michael trusted—and an all-night marathon of multi-player first person shooters—helped him make it through to the next morning. His parents had stayed up all night, as well, texting him every hour to make sure he was all right. Those first few messages felt like a lifeline. By 4:00 AM, they’d started to get annoying. He felt a little guilty after asking them to stop checking in, but also normal.
Wonderfully, gloriously normal.
He’d finally taken that first big step towards getting a handle on his anxiety. By the time Michael’s first year of middle school was over, band trips and church youth group retreats were the type of things he looked forward to rather than sources of dread and shame.
From that point on, Michael’s parents saw Maggie’s annual get together as a turning point for their son. He could tell they were uneasy about it, especially as the co-ed group got older, but they still let him go.
Of course, it also helped that his parents trusted the Inmans completely. Just like always, both Maggie’s parents had pledged to be there the entire time and to monitor things carefully. What Michael’s parents didn’t know was that despite their very put together appearance, the Inmans were really bad chaperones. Mrs. Inman could be all types of strict when it was just her family and a couple other people. But surround her with a large group of kids and she basically checked out. At last summer’s get together, Craig and a girl from the grade above them made out the in the back yard the entire time.
Maggie’s dad, on the other hand, just wasn’t physically there a lot. Michael used to assume that her parents were divorced until he made the mistake of asking Maggie when her parents split up. After a solid punch to the stomach, she explained that her dad was often out of town for his job with the military.
From that point on, Michael was careful not to say anything remotely negative about Dr. Inman to her. She didn’t just love the man—she practically worshipped him. The fact that he was going to be at the lake house this weekend was the main reason she’d picked it for this year’s gathering, advertising his presence with the same fervor most adults reserved for news about engagements and pregnancies. But Maggie had made the same claim before only to see her father have to leave unexpectedly. He’d get a phone call, grab his things, and head out in the middle of the night on some sort of secret mission. Like a middle-aged James Bond with a beer gut and receding hairline.
Dr. Inman’s intimidating presence was never far from home, though. He had only one hard and fast rule while Michael and his friends were guests at the lake house (besides the obvious stuff like not lighting anything on fire): No one was to enter his work shed.
Not that they could have gotten into it, anyway. The shed was locked with a massive deadbolt. But when you combined a tantalizing obstacle like that with Dr. Inman’s military work, it made the curiosity about what was inside almost unbearable.
Michael and a few others had once made the mistake of trying to pick the lock. They were caught by Maggie’s mom, which in retrospect may have been a blessing compared to what would have happened if Dr. Inman had caught them. It was also the only time he’d ever seen her really lose it. They actually had to beg not to be banned forever from the lake house.
"MICHAEL! NOW!"
Michael’s mind snapped back to the task of departing the house. The current tone and octave of his mom’s voice meant she was prepared to make good on her most severe threats, which included not letting him go. He tossed a few more things in his suitcase, prayed that he’d packed enough boxers, and barreled down the stairs.
"It’s rude to keep your friends waiting," his mother hissed from her position at the front door. She glared at him and grinded her jaws together, which caused Michael to quicken his pace even more.
"Bye Mom, love you," he replied, stopping to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.
Before he could scoot out the door, she grabbed his arm. His heart jump, then relaxed when he saw that her eyes had softened.
“Your father won’t be back in town until Sunday, but I’ll be here if you need anything. It’s okay if you have to call no matter what time it is.”
Michael started to mutter a casual acknowledgement, then turned gave her a hug instead. She might be too strict sometimes, but she was still the best mom in the world.
“And remember, if you have an attack, don’t try to think through it. Just stop and remind yourself to keep breathing—
“—one breath at a time.” he said along with her. “I will. Bye!”
Michael closed the door and jogged toward the grey SUV idling in the driveway, which belonged to Will’s mom. Will was the ultimate all-American kid: Boy Scout, played every single sport imaginable, all honors classes, etc. If you took a blood sample from him, it would probably have shades of white and blue mixed in with the red.
"Sorry, Mrs. Hughs," Michael said, tossing his stuff in the back and climbing into a middle row seat.
"That’s all right," she replied. "We had to wait twenty minutes at Chris’s house so he could finish primping."
Chris’ face turned bright red like it always did when he got called out for being overly concerned with his looks. He was a good friend, but the guy cared more about his appearance than most girls did. It probably had something to do with the fact that he was a lot smaller than most of them.
As they pulled away from the house, Chris and Will resumed their debate about whether pro or college football was better. Michael had an opinion on the matter, but didn’t feel like getting involved. Instead, he put on his headphones, closed his eyes, and let his mind drift towards unconsciousness. There would be plenty of time to let his mind race with excitement once they arrived at Maggie’s.
He also didn’t want to deal with the sadness that had started to encroach on his manic enthusiasm. When school ended back in June, everyone promised to remain close when they went their separate ways next fall. It was a nice thought, but Michael held no illusions of that happening. They’d definitely stay in touch. Maybe even hang out once in a while. But most of them wouldn’t even be going to the same high school next year. It would never be like it was now. Even if no one else would acknowledge it, he knew these next few days would be much more than a last blast to end the summer. It would also be their goodbye.
Michael had no idea just how true that would turn out to be—or how many of his friends would die that night.