stacy opens her eyes. she lies there, struggling to orient herself, with eric on her shoulder. she starts to roll onto her side, then stops, looking confused. she reaches under the sleeping bag, toward her leg, her confusion changing to alarm. she site up, jarring eric awake, and throws back the sleeping bag.
eric is beside stacy, trying to calm her; she's started to cry. her hands and wrists have turned a dark red, and the tendril is inside her leg, just to the left of her shin, running parallel to it. jeff steps. toward them.
jeff is leaning forward, pressing the balled-up t-shirt against stacy's wound, the blood darkening the fabric. stacy is lying there, her eyes shut, fists clenched.
mathias's screams fill the tent. amy and stacy are sitting together, clutching each other; stacy is crying. amy is staring toward the flap with a look of horror.
sunlight filters through the orange nylon; all four of them lie sleeping in a row, sweating. the vine has shredded their clothes to tatters; they look like castaways. the tent's flap hangs open, billowing gently in a slight breeze.
jeff, eric, and amy, still sleeping. the tent's flap continues to billow in the breeze. very faintly, from the clearing, we hear a moan. then the sound of whimpering. eric opens his eyes, listening. an instant later, very abruptly, there comes a sharp, rending scream of pure pain. eric jumps up, starts for the flap; jeff is right behind him.