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Internal organs were another matter.
    Kevin moved quickly, despite the mud and roots beneath him and the heavy external frame pack perched on his back. As soon as he’d gone a few yards into the clearing, a finger of lightning sliced deep into the patch of forest ahead of them, almost as if uttering a warning. They heard the crackling of the electricity sucking the air around them, and they both froze. A smell like burning rubber floated in their nostrils.
    Jude saw Kevin look back over his shoulder at him. Jude hadn’t yet gone into the clearing, wanting to keep some distance between them. He nodded, and Kevin began moving again.
    After a few more moments, Jude dropped to his hands and knees, then started into the clearing. He traveled about twenty yards before everything went to white static: the whiteness swam in his eyes, and the static buzzed in his ears.
    And then, nothing.
    Jude hated hospitals. True, he hadn’t been in a hospital many times in his life—couldn’t think of any trips there after drowning at age eight, in fact—but he hated hospitals all the same. Everything was drab, gray, lifeless. No, not just passively lifeless, but dead. Hospitals even smelled like death.
    When Jude awoke, he knew he was in a hospital. That much was certain from the sounds and smells. He didn’t want to open his eyes yet. Even eight years later, memories of the morgue hounded him, forcing him to keep them shut. To put off the inevitable a bit longer.
    ‘‘Are . . . are you awake, Jude?’’
    It was Mom’s voice. Jude willed his lungs to breathe deeply, and when the air hit his mouth, the taste of burning copper overcame him. A memory, like a broken, interrupted dream, danced at the edge of his consciousness, leaving behind the bitter aftertaste.
    He swallowed, trying to clear the metallic residue, then slitted open his eyes and saw his mother at the side of his bed. She was a thin woman, but her face was a mismatched round circle with chubby cheeks. Jude recalled many nights from his childhood when his mother’s smiling face, topped by warm coffee-colored eyes, bent down to kiss him after a bedtime story.
    She smiled as she stood beside his hospital bed, although it wasn’t the smile of joy he knew from his younger days. It was forced, difficult, a smile that said more about pain than happiness.
    ‘‘Feel okay?’’ she ventured.
    He nodded his head, moved his hand toward her. She seemed grateful for the distraction and made a show of taking his hand tightly, then grasping it between both of hers like a sacred offering. She ran one of her hands up his forearm briefly, as if to confirm the arm was in fact there. When she looked back to his face, Jude saw a small tear trickling down her cheek.
    ‘‘Remember much?’’ she asked.
    ‘‘No,’’ he said.
    ‘‘You and Kevin—’’
    At the mention of Kevin’s name, he did remember. The door of his mind opened, and the whole afternoon came rushing in.
    ‘‘Is Kevin. . . ?’’ he asked, not wanting to ask the whole question.
    ‘‘He’s fine. A little scared, but perfectly fine. He carried you out.’’
    Kevin carried him out? That had to be five miles or so, with one hundred sixty pounds of dead weight. Newfound respect for Kevin started forming in his mind.
    ‘‘So Kevin saved me.’’
    He wasn’t looking at his mom, so when no answer came, he glanced back her direction. Her face seemed a bit whiter, nervous.
    ‘‘What’s the matter?’’ Jude asked.
    She looked down at their hands, still tightly clasped. ‘‘Well, you had another . . . episode.’’
    Episode? For a moment, he thought she might be talking about some strange television program. But then he realized what episode meant.
    ‘‘Do you remember anything?’’ she asked again. But this time she wasn’t just asking about the death; she was asking about the Other Side. Even his mother needed to voice the question.
    ‘‘It’s a bit fuzzy, but I think it will come back,’’ he