The sound of rain on the nylon tent had been soothing earlier. Soft taps on the walls, muddled rhythms, then the occasional heavy splat when the pines overhead finally let go. It lulled Debbie and me to sleep, zipped into our sleeping bag cocoons, nineteen years old and sure the thin fabric between us and the forest was enough.
Later, the same rain sounded different.
It grew louder, sharper, and more insistent, as if it had learned to aim.
Still, we felt safe. We had no reason to feel otherwise.
I woke to wet fingers and an assault of raindrops. When I shifted my hips, a thin sheet of water rippled away from my sleeping bag. The fabric under me was no longer just cool. It was slick. The floor gave a little, as if it had softened.
Water did not need a plan. It kept finding the low spots, spreading in slow, cold increments.
Debbie's sleeping bag had a dark stain at the bottom, spreading slowly, soaking through. She kept sleeping, face turned toward the wall, unaware our shelter had started to fail. If I didn't wake her, the water soon would.
"Debbie," I said, soft enough not to jolt her. "Wake up. There's water coming in. We're getting flooded."
"What time is it?" Her eyes opened halfway, unfocused.
"I have no idea. Late. It's raining harder."
She propped herself on one elbow. Her palm hit the floor and came away wet. Then she touched the wall. "Shit," she said, fully awake now. "Worthless. This thing is worthless."
The campground between us was a mess of puddles, fallen leaves, and twigs. Mud grabbed at my toes. I walked on the balls of my feet, flashlight pinned low, scanning for roots and stones. Trying to hurry.
And then I wasn't okay.
My lungs tight, inflexible. Rapid pounding in my chest. My vision tunneled.
It hit like a fuse finding its end. A mushroom cloud of terror spread through my body.
The ground tilted. The beam of my flashlight wobbled wildly. My stomach dropped as if I were falling, even though I was standing still.
I reached Harold and Arlene's tent and grabbed a guy wire to steady myself. It bowed under my weight, pulling the tent pole. My knees buckled. I landed in the mud with a splash.
Think, I told myself. Stay calm. Do not scream. Do not yell for help. Do not act like a loser.
But the part of me that could follow instructions was gone.
"Help me," I yelled. "Help me."
I could not stop it.
A tent flap opened. Feet splashed. A voice, male, urgent. "Are you okay? Scott, what happened? Are you hurt?"
Debbie's voice, closer now, sharp with fear. "Scott!"
Hands gripped my arms and hauled me up. My body shook hard enough that my teeth clicked. I could not get enough air. I tried to breathe, but the breath kept catching high in my chest, thin and useless.
Walking. To where. The car.
Debbie ran for my keys.
The back seat and the dome light glared yellow in the dark. The windows fogged quickly, turning the world into smeared shapes. Debbie was drenched, water dripping from her hair onto her shoulders. Harold and Arlene sat quietly, staring out at the tents in the headlights, sagging and slumped like something defeated.
It ended.
The terror stopped as abruptly as it began. A switch flipped. My lungs released. My pulse slowed. I could think again.
I was wet, cold, muddy, and shaking, but the electric, unnameable horror was gone.
What was it? Was it over, or was there more coming?
The terror felt over. Something else took its place. Not the same intensity, but steadier, watchful.
Will it happen again? Now. Later.
"Are you okay?" Debbie asked, pressing against me. Her warmth helped. I wanted her to hold me tighter.
"I don't know," I mumbled. My voice sounded like mine again. "A little better. What the hell happened to me? I went to tell them our tent was leaking. All I did was walk over there."
"I don't know either," she said. "You left and then you yelled for help. I came running."
Harold looked at me in the rearview mirror and tried to smile. "You nearly pulled our tent down, man. We were asleep, and the thing started moving like crazy. Then I heard you yelling. When I got out you were on the ground shaking."
"Like a seizure?" I asked. I touched my tongue without meaning to, checking for bite marks.
"No," he said. "More like you were freezing cold or scared. We threw a blanket around you and walked you to the car. You were shaking something fierce."
I tried to piece it together. The mud. The wire in my hand. The yelling. The car. Time felt shredded.
"How long?" I asked.
"About ten minutes in the car," Debbie said. "Maybe five on the ground."
"It's all a blur," I said. "This has never happened to me before."
"The rain's letting up a bit," Debbie said. "Maybe we can fix the tents and go back to sleep."
"No," I said. The word came hard and fast. "No. I can't stay here. I'm not going back out there."
Harold shrugged, still calm in a way I couldn't understand. "You look better already. Let's give it a few minutes."
"You don't understand," I said. "I can't go back. I need four walls and a roof. I'm freaked out."
"No problem," Harold said. "We'll get out of here. I'll drive. But we need to get the gear into the car. I'll be right back."
Harold would never be a close friend, but he was one of the kindest guys I knew. Even now, leaving the warmth of the car to wrestle with wet canvas and guy wires, he moved as if nothing could rattle him. On this night, I owed him for that steadiness.
Outside, he detached the guy wires. The tent collapsed in on itself like a fainting actress. He grabbed towels and dry clothes and rolled the tents into a heavy bundle, hauling everything to the trunk. Then he climbed into the driver's seat, rainwater dripping from his hair onto the floor mat.
"Where are we going?" he asked, to no one in particular.
"Just drive until we find some civilization," Arlene said, finding her voice. "Just drive, honey."
Debbie finally got into her red flannel shirt and wrapped her arms around me again, squeezing as if she could hold me together. "Any better?"
"Better," I said, "but I'm still shaking inside." I swallowed. "I'm sorry. I don't know what went wrong. I feel like an idiot."
"Let it go," she said. "This was so unlike you. We'll figure it out later. Just relax now. It's okay."
We were supposed to be in our sleeping bags, dreaming, then waking to the smell of coffee percolating on a camp stove. I would have made fried eggs in a cast-iron skillet. We would have canoed until dusk, paddled back, exhausted and happy. Instead, everything had collapsed into one wet, humiliating moment.
Harold shifted gears, and we rolled away from the campsite.
We took everything we had brought and left no physical trace behind. But me — some part of me had been left there.
The branches of trees intertwined above us. Our headlights carved a narrow tunnel through the black. Nothing moved in the woods. No eyeshine, no rustle, no animal willing to admit it was out there.
We drove in silence, searching for porch lights, streetlamps, anything that meant people were awake somewhere. The forest smell hung heavy in the damp air. The crackle of the tires on gravel gave way to the hum of pavement. The warm air from the vents eased the sting of the cold and cleared the windows.
After several miles, we emerged from the tree tunnel. Lights flickered in the distance. A small cluster of homes, a development in the middle of nowhere. Harold steered toward it.
A few blocks in, the road curved. Three young men walked along the shoulder carrying hockey sticks and skates. Our headlights startled them. They lifted their hands to shield their eyes.
Harold rolled down his window and called out. "Hey, guys. Anywhere around here, like a motel or hotel? We got washed out at the park and need someplace to sleep."
The tallest one leaned toward the window. I could smell his beery breath from the back seat. "Just a bit of a fix, eh?"
"You could say that," Harold replied, still somehow cheerful. "So what do you say? Anything nearby?"
"Nah," the guy said. "Not for miles. Hey, Kenny, you know anywhere?" He turned to a bearded friend.
"Nope," Kenny said. He looked the most sober. "But you can stay with us. We got a carpeted basement. You have sleeping bags, right?"
Harold hesitated. "You're sure that's okay? Your parents okay with that?"
"It's just us," Kenny said. "Roommates. No parents." He looked at the others. "You guys good with that?"
They nodded. "Sure. Why not?"
Every part of me wanted to lock the doors and keep driving, but the road behind us felt longer than the road ahead. Every instinct said, Don't go in. But we had nowhere else. Four hours back to Buffalo in wet clothes. No sleep.
And what if it happened again?
Debbie leaned toward me. "Is it safe?"
"The house looks decent," I said. "They seem okay. They've had a couple beers but they're not falling down drunk. I think we're alright."
Anything looked safe after the campsite.
"Come with us," Kenny said.
They walked two blocks, and Harold followed slowly. We popped the trunk for sleeping bags and entered through the garage. The basement was dry. Carpeted. Painted a soothing blue. The air felt warm and ordinary, and my body unclenched the tiniest amount.
"Drop your bags there," Kenny said. "Bathroom's around the corner. Good night. We'll see you in the morning."
"Thanks," Harold said. "You're lifesavers."
We took turns in the bathroom, drying off and changing into whatever was dry. Then we unrolled our sleeping bags on the carpet.
I fell asleep within ten minutes.
My brain shut down like a machine losing power. I did not drift. I disappeared.
The next day we woke to sunshine and a four-hour drive back to school in Buffalo. On the surface, nothing looked different. Same car. Same campus. Same girlfriend. But something fundamental had shifted.
Out there in the dark, for no reason anyone could see, my own body had turned on me.
That knowledge came back to school with me.
And it brought a question I could not answer.
Would it happen again.
Was the panic attack a one-time thing? A fluke? Too much rain, too much stress, too much camping?
That's what I told myself.
But my body remembered something my conscious mind had buried. The campground wasn't the first time I'd felt that particular species of terror — the feeling that the world was unsafe and I was powerless to protect myself.