The Troop

by Nick Cutter

The moon hung in its western altar like the last melancholy guest at a dinner party, who was too lonely to leave.

Picking on Newt uncoiled the tension in Max’s chest. It was awfully selfish, yet awfully true.

Maybe the stabber would have stopped after a single stab if that was all it took. But most living things don’t want to die.

“Wha arr ooo loogin aaa?” the boy-thing croaked. What are you looking at? “Almost nothing,” Shelley said in a tone of pure awe.

They’d made a pact to be friends forever, but forever could be so, so brief.

“I’m just saying that sometimes the more you care for something, the more damage you do. Not on purpose, right? You end up hurting the things you love just because you’re trying so hard.

“Do you know how hard it is to kill something? Nothing wants to die. Things cling to their lives against all hope, even when it’s hopeless. It’s like the end is always there, you can’t escape it, but things try so, so hard not to cross that finish line.

If there was one thing he wanted to tell his lost friends, it was that lots of adults didn’t have a goddamn clue.