It Was Just A Game

 Author's notes:

This one is my take on War of the Worlds. I wish I'd heard the original over the radio when in aired. This ones a longer slower paced story than the rest. Less gore and no content warning I can think of except this story still contains death and no happy endings. 

"The truth is out there, but so are lies."

That was the phrase that, if uttered by any of the six of us, would bring our playacting to an immediate halt. It was supposed to be a safe word, an emergency stop button, a failsafe. I'm a big X-files fan and it just seemed a fittingly theatrical phrase for a summer camp run by drama nerds. If we heard those words, we were supposed to break character without question. It seemed like the best way to ensure safety. To be completely sure that none of us got so caught up in our imaginations that the consequences might carry across the line and bleed into reality.

The idea for camp came after our first year of college together. All of us being theater majors with a taste for drama and varying levels of performance arts skill. Hugh, Max, Vivienne, Josie, Caroline, and yours truly, Wells. My parents shouldn't have named me after one of their favorite authors without expecting me to go into the arts in one way or another. My name turned out to fit me well. You could say I enjoy the spotlight. As a child, I was drawn in by the merest hint of a compelling story. I straddle life with one foot in reality and one foot in one fantasy world or another. Acting came to me with little effort, and I've never wanted anything else. By the time my first year of college passed, the six of us had already cemented ourselves into an inseparable little clique. A tight little knot in our already tight knit graduating class. The idea that we might continue our dramas during the summer seemed only natural. Thus, acting camp was born that first idyllic summer.

We all have our roles to play in our found family. Vivi, who could be my doppelgänger if you don't bother to look closely. We share clothes with the ease of sisters. She's my polar opposite in most every other way besides appearance, but that dynamic works well for us. It isn't immodesty when I say I had the most natural skill; it is simply a fact. But Vivi has always been my closest competition. I can slip into a character as naturally as I can slip on a pair of pants. But Vivi is the same size and shape, so she can wear my roles just like she can wear my clothes. Whoever doesn't get the lead role still practices the lines as an understudy. Vivi and Wells, the pair of us treated as interchangeable eldest sisters.

Josie is sweetness incarnate, the baby of our little family. Health ailments have plagued her throughout life; her immune system is practically nonexistent. I think that's why we all have a protective streak for her. She's the weakest in natural skill but the hardest working. People tend to underestimate Josie, but if I had to pick, I'd take hard work over natural talent any day.

Caroline, our fourth sister, is in the middle of the pack in every way. Ironically, she's also an actual middle child and peacekeeper of the group, the glue that holds us together. She’s everyone’s best friend, I don’t think any of us has ever been in a fight with her.

Max is the true weak link of the group if I had to pick. He is top tier if you looked at talent alone but lacks in dedication and passion. If you catch him studying, it's a notable occasion. He's the closest thing we have to a privileged nepo baby. Since he doesn't flaunt it, we forgive him for it. Always the first to skip a study session in favor or a party or a hookup. Max is the one who's most likely to have too much tequila the night before an exam. He’s the one who's called us all at least once to bail him out of a bind. Whether he's locked out of the house in just his boxers or stranded at Taco bell at 2 am, it's always something. He's our hot mess problem child. But he's also the one most likely to be by your side during your low moments.

Hugh is the misplaced and long suffering only child of the group somehow. Hugh picks up the slack where Max drops it. He's got a solid amount of natural talent and a good work ethic. He's most likely to succeed in a graceful and modest way that you want to hate but can only admire. You want to resent him, but you can’t.

We all attended the same prestigious arts university and after that first year, lived in the same house. Our personal lives are all intertwined with an arguably unhealthy codependency. I don't know what we'll do when we all must expand our horizons next year. This last year of theater camp is our last hurrah together as a cohesive group. Originally, the idea was a simple, cheap summer getaway, sharing a rustic cabin and roughing it for a few weeks. After a drunken acting exercise spiraled out of control the first week, we implemented rules and a schedule. Then the whole thing became an elaborate summer camp tradition.

Now we spend eight weeks in June and July tucked away into a remote cabin in the depths of the Pacific northwest. No phones allowed, no Wi-Fi, no internet. Only each other and the bare necessities for survival. We have short range walkie talkies for use when anyone goes on hikes or overnight mini camping adventures. The only connectivity to society during those weeks is a two-hour hike down the mountain to a tiny little town. One or two of us hike down once a week for groceries and news. The whole setup is more refreshing than I usually like to admit. Sometimes I daydream about living like this forever. The six of us in a perpetual bubble, living out fairy tales in the forest.

It's only the first and last weeks of camp that we live out as ourselves, that we adopt our own day-to-day characters. The other six weeks are an exercise in method acting. We use our free time during the school year to plot and write scripts. Each of us crafting our own version of a story to spend a week living out during the summer. We draw numbers out of a hat to see who's writing the script each week. Everything is covert beforehand. All the roles and scripts are handed out in secret. Sometimes they are left on beds in the middle of the night, a basket of carefully labeled envelopes covertly left on the windowsill for someone to find. That kind of thing. The suspense and drama of it all add a fun flair to mundane life. The big reveal is the very last week when we confess to each other who wrote which play, discuss who did which role best, rehash our favorite moments and so on.

Each piece, each act, has six roles, one for each of us. The rules we came up with are simple. Never break character. You live and breathe whatever character you are given for the week they exist. No outside help. No research or conferring with the others in the group unless it's in character conversation. Some roles are meticulously scripted, some are half-assed with only vague character traits or arcs. Other roles are left entirely to chance. Full improv characters. It all varies wildly depending on who creates what and a million other factors. I've sometimes wondered what chaos would ensue if we were all given blank sheets of paper, no script at all. What a strange direction we might go, acting in a play that didn't exist. What might happen to our dynamic if we all thought each other was acting, but no one really was? I've been tempted to try it, but one or another of the ideas in my imagination always wins out every year.

It's chaos enough with the scripts and secrecy. We've had some of our most fun experiences at camp and some of our most cathartic. Once or twice someone has pushed against someone else's walls or picked at something tender, it doesn't feel dissimilar to a sibling dynamic; we know where each other's weaknesses are. We know all the buttons to push but also how to defuse the situation. Rarely have we put ourselves in any real danger. The safe words have only even been used twice. The first time we used the code phrase was when Max broke his ankle during a particularly dramatic scene that involved a jump from the cabin's roof. And we were back to business in 24 hours, working Max's injury into our next play. The second time was when Josie spotted a bear on a hike and the rest of us were slow to catch the seriousness of her observation. That week's theme had coincidentally been centered around finding Bigfoot and spotting things in the woods had taken on a real "Boy Who Cried Wolf," type of casual dismissal.

This last year, it was during the fifth week of camp when things went wrong. It had started out a particularly good year. Our skills vastly improved after four years of intense coursework and classes and three years of our immersive acting summer camp. We'd already graduated, some of us had jobs lined up, all of us had some sort of plan about what came next. The sense of future nostalgia colored everything we did. We weren't going to take this last summer together for granted.

 The first week was pure lazy indulgence, as it always was. Celebrating our finals, our prospective futures, enjoying our last days as a household of six before going our separate ways. It was the denouement performance for all of us, the grand finale. I'd been disappointed to draw the first performance of the season. The best ones are always towards the end when we've all been in the swing of things for weeks, but I thought I'd pulled the performance together well enough. Shakespeare seemed a bit cliché, but Shakespeare is also timeless. Though I did stick with a final performance theme in picking The Tempest to base my week around. Selfishness had me taking the lead role just because I could. I didn't expect to empathize with Prospero as much as I do now, but that's its own chapter of the story and not the one I find myself telling now.

I could usually guess who was responsible for each week's play, but this year it was harder. It was clear our skills had grown enough that it wasn't as easy to read each other anymore. Or maybe we'd grown apart with our upcoming exodus from university. I could no longer say I knew them all by heart, could see enough of their inner workings to pick out their specific style of art from a crowd. It left me feeling unmoored and uneasy. I thought I knew them as well as I knew myself, yet they could still fool me.

It was the end of the fifth week and it had been the strangest week yet. The papers that held this week's character roles and cues had been nearly slotted into manila folders with our names printed across the tabs. I found the stack in a neat bundle on the kitchen table on Monday morning. Everyone else had been sleeping, and I'd nearly peeked at the rest of the scripts. It would have been easy, and it would have changed everything. We'd lived the week so far with almost nothing happening. The folder with my name on it had held nothing but a nearly blank piece of paper. "Almost autobiographical." Whatever the fuck that means. I guess I'm me playing me this week. I'd folded it up and tucked it away in my things just like everyone else did, anyway. I would have to take my cues from everyone else and follow my gut. It gives me a lot of creative freedom, but I always preferred at least the smallest hint. 

The atmosphere feels tense now, and I wonder if that is the point. Set us on edge, keep us complacent before the sudden twist and chaos. Something is going on with Max and Vivi. They alternate between being tight as two peas in a pod full of inside jokes and sniping at each other viciously. Bickering over who forgot to bank the fire the previous night, which one of them left Max's favorite sweatshirt out in the rain, on and on it goes. They keep trying to drag me in and make me pick a side; it is getting tedious. Hugh keeps sighing loudly at them, but never stepping in. Caroline is unusually preoccupied and silent. Even Josie is irritable. She mutters something about not feeling well and retreats to her bed for most of Wednesday. Her quiet coughing grates on my nerves.

By Thursday morning, I find myself grudgingly packing my bags, setting out on a tent camping mini adventure with Max and Vivi. I envy the peace and quiet I'm leaving behind with Caroline and Josie and Hugh. I don't know what I did to deserve being shuttled off into the wilderness with these two. It's impossible to decipher if Max and Vivi's drama is in character or real. Perhaps both. We hike for several hours before setting up for the night in a clearing along the base of a hilly ridge. Max has his own single person tent, and Vivi and I have one only slightly less miniscule to share between the two of us. All of us had been too busy conserving our energy for much talking on the trail, but with camp set up Vivi and Max start up again, almost at once.

"Did you bring the spare lantern? I can't find it in my pack," Vivi says tersely to Max.

"No, it was supposed to be in yours," Max replies.

"Well, it isn't in either mine or Wells," Vivi says with frustration apparent in her voice.

"Don't blame me. I wasn't the one who packed your stuff," Max snarls.

"Then don't whine at me when you're sitting in the dark later," Vivi starts.

"What makes you think I would? Stop getting mad at me for things I haven't even done," Max says.

Without a word, I leave them to bicker and head off to find some firewood. Anything for an excuse to get away. I stay in the woods for longer than I mean to, and it's nearly dinnertime when I approach camp again. The fire flickers in the clearing, illuminating the scene. Max and Vivi don't hear me approach. I know because I glimpse the two of them, tangled in each other's arms before a twig snaps under my feet, giving me away. They spring apart and act like nothing happened, as if I care.

"Subtle," I remark as I pass them and work on dinner prep.

Max blushes, Vivi rolls her eyes, and they share a covert look but say nothing. I'm left wondering if it was a genuine kiss or an act I was supposed to stumble on and what their reasons might mean for either scenario.

The walkie talkie sputters sporadically throughout dinner. Distorted voice artifacts sounding like alien language over the speaker. I assume its Hugh and Caroline and Josie back at the cabin trying to contact us. I try to reply to let the others know we're safe and set up for the night. But it isn't until the sun sets that we finally reconnect. The walkie cuts in and out mid-sentence. It's Caroline's voice over the speaker.

"Base Camp to Roving Camp, do you copy? Please, please answer we-"

A long static filled pause.

"-out there-"

More static and silence from the cabin members as we try to answer their calls.

"-copy?"

Then finally a longer message comes through, "-calling it an emergency. There's been some kind of viral outbreak. They're saying it's 100% fatal. Spread by body fluid. We don't know much else. It-" but the walkie cuts out again.

The three of us exchange looks. I can read the apprehension on Max and Vivi's faces clearly, but a hint of glee leaks through Vivi's expression. Finally, the premise of the game is through enough for the week's fun to begin. We're playing a survival scenario then.

We spend the evening huddling around the fire, discussing the virus, spinning theories, planning our next moves. We have to make up our own facts to some extent, extrapolating from the little information we got over the walkie talkies. Settling finally on rushing back to the cabin the next morning. Vivi and I take the reins on discussion and planning. Max is unusually subdued. He keeps fiddling with the walkie-talkie until the batteries die completely. He swears and angrily tosses it aside. I wonder what his angle is here.

"Chill, we'll talk to them tomorrow," Vivi says with a glare in his direction.

"Didn't you hear? It sounded like part-" he cuts himself off, "I'm going to bed," and he does without another word to us.

"Who peed in his cereal this morning?" I say in a stage whisper with a pointed glare at Vivi as he exits.

Max sleeps late the next morning.

Vivi and I are having breakfast when she turns to me and says, "What if he's sick?"

"Go check on him, then. You two already swapped spit yesterday. You heard Caroline, it's passed along through body fluids. So if anyone is going to endanger their health it should be you since you're screwed already."

 Vivi sighs but gets up and walks to Max's tent, calling his name as she goes. When he doesn't answer, she nervously looks back at me once before unzipping his tent door and peering in.

"I can see you're breathing. Answer me already. This isn't funny anymore, Max," Vivi snaps.

When there's no movement, she steps cautiously inside. I can't really see what's happening from this angle. I finally stand, move closer by a few steps. Finally, there's the sound of Max's voice. But he sounds raspy and quiet.  

"He's fine," Vivi calls hesitantly to me.

But then Max coughs. One of those wracking, full body coughs. The kind you can't fake.

Instinctively, I back away a few steps. Sure, this is all an act, but that cough isn't. It's a coincidence, surely. But I don’t want what he has either way. Just in case.

Vivi emerges from Max's tent, and I snap at her to stay back. It's what I would do if this wasn't all fake. She narrows her eyes, but stops moving towards me. We're both tossing around the same thoughts and doubts silently, I'm sure of it.

"He can't make the trip back to the cabin like this," Vivi says.

"We could go back, bring Hugh-"

 "We can't just leave him here alone," Vivi interrupts, "Plus Hugh won't want to get near Max, either."

"I'll take the walkie talkie and hike up the ridge. Maybe there'll be a better chance of getting through to the others up there," I say.

I collect everything I need for a couple of hours of hiking, trying not to touch anything on Vivi's side of the tent. Probably an unnecessary precaution. None of this is real. It can't be. Max has a cold and is using it to add to the weeks play. My apprehension is just unconscious method acting, that's all.

Vivi doesn't even wave as I leave camp. The hike up the ridge is a familiar one. We go every year. But it's not an easy one and usually I have company. It hits me how isolated it is out here when I slip on some loose leaf litter and scrape my arm on some branches as I catch myself. I'm not badly injured, but if I were, I'd be in trouble out here alone.

The higher vantage point doesn't help the walkie talkies at all. Probably a stupid idea in the first place, but I wanted to get away from camp. I try switching the battery for the walkie talkie with the spare from my pack. Maybe it does some good because finally I hear Caroline's voice again. The first thing that registers is her flat tone. She sounds robotic almost, like she's been repeating herself over and over and over again, desperate for someone to hear her but hopeless that we will. A sharp thrill of foreboding washes down my spine as I register the words she's repeating.

"-but so are lies. The truth is out there, but so are lies. The truth is out there, but so are lies. Please, please, pick up. Vivi, Max, Wells, this is a real emergency. Over."

Finally she pauses and I frantically radio back, "What's going on? Is everyone ok at the cabin?"

"Wells! I've been trying to reach you for hours, I-"

The walkie cuts out again and I swear angrily.

"You's cutting out! Tell me just essentials, as fast as possible." I hope she can hear me well enough.

"Josie is sick, at the hospital in town-" She's interrupted by another long stretch of silence.

"-back to the cabin. Josie's dying, she’s so sick, meet-" And that's all I get. I try for what feels like forever to get more from Caroline. Nothing.

My heart is racing as fast as my thoughts. Adrenaline courses through me and I make it back to camp with Vivi in half the time it took me to hike up the ridge. But while I race down the slope, I have time to think.

Caroline said the phrase. The hypothetical emergency glass is broken. This is real. Josie is sick. Josie is dying. That's all I know. Max is sick too. Vivi has been exposed. I might have been too, for all I know. It's passed through body fluids; I think that's what Caroline said. She didn't say anything about airborne or surface transmission. I struggle to remember what else Caroline said that first time we spoke, last night. Didn't she say this virus is 100% fatal? But wasn't that the game? She would have said the code phrase then. But the walkies were cutting out. My blood runs cold as I remember. She said "out there" at one point, didn't she? And I thought she was trying to ask something else, if we were out there, a call for us to pick up the walkie, something like that. I didn’t think anything of it. Max heard it too. He was going to ask me last night and then thought better of it.

My mind is still spinning as I approach the tents. I wish I knew more. How easily can we pass this to each other? Is Max as good as dead? How fast does it move? Josie wasn't feeling well Wednesday; enough that she said something and went to bed for most of the day. By today, she's in the hospital, dying, apparently. It's Friday. That's so fast. Vivi is nowhere to be seen at first. I can hear Max coughing from his tent. He sounds much worse than when I left.

It comes to me then; there might be more information on Vivi and Max's scripts. I don't hesitate; I have no idea where Vivi went or when she'll be back. Information is worth the risk of exposure from digging through Vivi's bag. The manila folder is there, with the paper. I was hoping for something like, "Pretend there's an outbreak of deadly illness," that would tell me this is all a misunderstanding. Or at the very least, some other script that would confirm this illness isn't a part of this week's act and we're in a worst-case scenario here. Instead, there's only a single phrase that's equally as cryptic as my paper was, "Wells wrote this one."

What does that even mean? I didn't. I definitely didn't write this. Why write that I wrote this? I can't work out any way that it’s a clue for a different script. Maybe if I had more time I could work out the convoluted reason one of my friends wrote this. If this is true, then I have to keep Vivi and Max away from me at all costs, or I'm as good as dead. Vivi is calling from outside, as I hastily shove everything back into her pack. The all-purpose knife Vivi carries when we camp slips from the pack and without thinking I grab it, sliding the sheath off as I hurl myself out of the tent. I don't know why I do it, but I feel more protected, even if the enemy here is microscopic.

Vivi's walking out of the woods. "You're back. I just had to go to the bathroom- What's wrong?" She's noticed the look on my face then, or the knife. She covers a cough with her hand as she keeps coming closer.

"Don't come closer!" It comes out a snarl in my panic.

She stops looking hurt. "I think I'm getting a cold but-"

"Max!" I scream, but he's already heard the commotion and is stumbling his way out of the tent.

"I was trying to nap, what the fuck, Wells?" he says hoarsely. He doesn't exactly look like he's about to die, but he doesn’t look great either.

"The truth is out there, but so are the lies," I spit out. Vivi and Max share a glance I can't read before looking back at me.

"Are you serious?" Max asks.

"Ok, what did they say over the walkie-" Vivi begins, moving toward me again.

"Stop!" I scream.

"Wells, tell us what the fuck is going on," Vivi says.

"I didn't write this, I didn't write anything for this week, this sickness is real," I say, not sure where else to start.

"You read my script?" she asks slowly.

"Yep, just now, and mine says some random cryptic shit too, and nothing about this illness Max has. And Josie is dying and-"

"Josie is dying? You talked to Caroline? What-" Max starts to say.

"Caroline said the emergency phrase, she was trying to say it the first time we talked. Josie is in the hospital, this is all actually real-" the words are tumbling out.

"What? What? Josie is dying? Max?" Vivi says with wide eyes flicking to him, hands outstretched towards me like it will stop the information from reaching her. And then she coughs again and looks at me in horror.

"They said 100% fatal and spread by body fluids, remember?" I say sharply.

"There's no way. This is impossible. There's got to be another explanation. Max and I have a cold!" Vivi pleads.

I'm watching Max though, and he looks terrified.

"What does your script say?" I ask him.

"Wells wrote this." He pulls the script out of his pocket, offering it as proof.

"What does that even mean-" Vivi starts to ask.

"Does it matter?" I cut her off. "The illness clearly wasn't part of whatever the point of this week was supposed to be and you're both sick. You're both dying too!"

I can't deny how melodramatic it sounds when I hear it out loud. Especially when Vivi scoffs in disbelief.

"Max sounds awful. He's clearly very sick!" I say, gesturing at him.

"Vivi, I do feel awful. What if Wells is right? And Caroline said Josie is dying, I think-" Max says.

"Yeah, because you have the fucking flu or something, not the black plague or rabies or some mystery killer virus. Calm the hell down," Vivi snaps.

"You didn't hear Caroline!" I say.

"Call the cabin, then," Vivi demands.

I try, but the walkie talkie isn't working. Or maybe Caroline is back in town with Josie and Hugh at the hospital.

"I can't reach them, but I swear Caroline wasn't lying. She said the phrase, she said Josie is dying."

"If it was an emergency, they would have reached us somehow or sent rescue or answered the walkie," Vivi says in a matter-of-fact tone.

Relief is starting to creep over Max's features.

"I have a cold. No way there's some fatal disease killing everyone in hours. You had to have misunderstood." Vivi continues.

"I didn't," I insist. If I back down now, I'll get this illness because I let Vivi talk me out of what I've heard with my own two ears.

"Max, back me up here," Vivi looks at him.

"Seriously, Wells, this is too much. Vivi's right," Max says. He and Vivi are both inching closer to me now.

"Stop! I mean it!" I say, brandishing the knife for real this time.

"What are you thinking, Wells?" Vivi snaps, sounding exasperated but not frightened.

Max lunges at me, to take the knife.

It all moves so fast after that. I don’t ever remember exactly how things happen. There's yelling, and a lot of blood. I lose hold of the knife and then I find it again, sticking out of Max's chest. Max is on the ground. Vivi is crouching by him, trying to stop the bleeding. She's screaming Max's name and crying. Max is coughing up blood and then he's not breathing at all.

I don't know what to do, so I just stand there in shock at what I've done. But Max was going to die. I know he was. And Vivi will, too. Caroline said as much. And then I remember to be concerned about myself, too. I have to get away from them, wash off. And that might not be enough. There's every chance I'll get sick now, too. I should be panicking, distraught. But all I feel is numb. None of it feels real. It still feels like summer camp somehow. It's Friday. We reset on Saturdays. Tomorrow. I can make it to tomorrow. But Vivi. She's still crying in the background.

Vivi, she's going to die too. The ax for cutting firewood is still laying by the fire. Vivi doesn't even hear me walk up behind her. I don't do it to be cruel. But I think of Max, coughing all night, and I can't bear to leave Vivi here like that to die alone in the night. Even after Vivi is as gone as Max, it doesn’t feel real. Surely they’ll get up and be healthy again, it’s all supposed to be a play after all.

I bolt from the camp, heading for the cabin on autopilot. I don't know how I make it back to the cabin. It's nearly dark by the time I get there, and I can tell at once that no one is there. But I check just in case. I'm not sure what I should do. The numbness wears off around dinnertime when gnawing hunger sets in. I scream and rage and destroy the cabin. Maybe I should go back to town. Really, I should clean myself off. I think I might feel a tickle in the back of my throat. My first goal should be a good night's sleep to clear my head, but I'm awake all night. I still feel like I'm waiting for the next week, for everything to turn over and start again. The numbness sets in again with the creeping chill of the evening.

Not a single reasonable path forward appears overnight. Despite my hours of thinking, walking through everything another time, and reliving all my decisions, everything that led here. It's early morning still when I hear someone walking outside. I rush to see who it is. I know the implications when I grab the ax this time and wait in the open doorway.

Caroline is only yards away. She drops her pack when she sees me and speaks in a rush, "Wells! Thank goodness you're here this time."

All I can think about is how raspy her voice sounds. She sounds sick. The uncontrollable feeling of impending disaster is rising inside me again. She keeps walking toward me and talking.

"Where are the others? If we hurry, we can make it back before lunch-" A strange look crosses her face and I realize how I must look, in yesterday's bloody clothes and an ax in my hand. I really should have changed. She starts to come towards me and I swing the ax up.

"Stop! Were you exposed?" As if it matters, I've surely got whatever it is by now, covered in Vivi and Max's blood as I am.

"What are you talking about? This isn't a game anymore, Wells."

"I know that."

"The truth is out there, but so are the lies. You heard me, right? You heard that part?"

I simply nod.

"Josie is really sick, Wells," Caroline says. I can almost see the gears turning in her skull. I should just spit it out, but I can't bring myself to say the words.

"Where are Max and Vivi, Wells?" Caroline asks eyeing me like she’s afraid of me.

"They got sick, like Josie," I say numbly.

"And? Why didn't they come back with you?"

Exhaustion rolls over me. "They're dead. You said it was 100% fatal. They both got sick and I- I left them there," I should be less blunt. But I should also be more blunt and tell her I killed them before the virus did.

Caroline reels back, but then something like a smile flickers over her features, “Oh they’ll be fine then.” And she sounds almost relieved. She's acting like there's a serious problem with Josie, but also acting like she's worried about a contagious disease. She’s not worried for Max and Vivi. It's like she thinks I'm playing a part still. My stomach twists. Something isn't adding up.

"Wells, no. That part was the script. That part wasn't real. I think we picked up some virus last time we went for groceries. Weird coincidence, but I don't think it's anything serious for anyone but Josie. You know her health issues. She's on a ventilator. I don't know if she'll make it this time. We need to go back to her. Vivi, Max, where are they?" She sound genuinely panicked again, thinking about Josie.

"No, no, no, no-" I can't bring myself to drop the ax, but I'm lowering it as Caroline slowly walks toward me, her hands raised placatingly.

"Wells, please, what's going on?" But I see in her eyes she has an idea.

"Vivi and Max aren't here. You said it was 100% fatal, and Max and Vivi were both coughing. So I-” I pause looking at the ax, the blood on my clothes.

“I did something. It was an accident. They were both sick-" My voice cracks. And I can tell from the look in Caroline’s eyes that the truth of what I’ve done is dawning on her.

"It was supposed to be like War of the Worlds." Caroline's voice quivers. "That's what I meant, the hints about Wells writing it. H. G. Wells. Your name was just a plot device for the script."

I drop the ax and Caroline rushes forward to meet me. She's holding me, but she keeps asking me what I've done.

"It was like War of the Worlds," I finally manage, "When it played on the radio, and everyone thought it was real." Caroline pulls away and meets my eyes.

"When I heard it on the walkie talkie, I thought it was real. I got confused."