He walked, paying no attention to the path, not knowing where to go, but feeling that he had to move forward. Only one thought remained in his head: "Must. Keep. Going." Step by step. Sooner or later, all paths lead somewhere. The main thing is not to stumble.
"I found him!" shouted one of the teenagers, noticing Ethan. Rustling and snapping branches echoed from different parts of the forest. Several police patrols, a group of teenage volunteers, and the entire staff of the summer camp rushed to the cry.
"Where?" gasped the exhausted counselor, who had spent the last twelve hours contemplating suitable methods of suicide. He couldn't imagine how to go on living, knowing that a child had disappeared because of his carelessness.
"There," the boy said, fear evident in his voice, not taking his eyes off the figure of his naked, mutilated friend, who, like a blind man, mechanically continued forward.
"Don't stumble, don't stumble," Ethan muttered. Or rather, he thought he was muttering; only incoherent gasps came from his throat.
People started emerging from the forest. Several patrols, the local sheriff with his deputy, other volunteers... They all froze at the edge of the clearing, seeing Ethan, who struggled to keep moving. The boy's face and body were covered in bruises and scratches. He was littered with leaves, twigs, and dirt. But the most horrifying sight was the deep, gaping red gash on his neck. Snapping out of the initial shock, Smith decisively approached the teenager, grabbed him by the shoulders, and began to shake him.
"Name! Who did this?! Name, kid! Do you know?"
"Don't stumble, don't stumble," Ethan croaked, but no one could make out his words.