09 - Welcome to Camp Nightmare (10 page)

Larry and I rested for a bit. Then we walked back to camp,
following the river upstream.

We were soaked clear through and drenched with mud, but I didn’t care. We
were alive. We were okay. I had saved Larry’s life.

We didn’t talk much on the way back. It was taking every ounce of strength we
had just to walk.

I asked Larry if he thought Tommy and Chris would be okay.

“Hope so,” he muttered, breathing hard. “They’ll probably ride to shore and
walk back like us.”

I took this opportunity to ask him again about Jay and Colin. I thought maybe
Larry would tell me the truth since we were completely alone and since I had
just saved his life.

But he insisted he didn’t know anything about my two bunk mates. As we
walked, he raised one hand and swore he didn’t know anything at all.

“So many frightening things have happened,” I muttered.

He nodded, keeping his eyes straight ahead. “It’s been strange,” he agreed.

I waited for him to say more. But he walked on in silence.

It took three hours to walk back. We hadn’t traveled downriver as far as I
had thought, but the muddy shore kept twisting and turning, making our journey
longer.

As the camp came into view, my knees buckled and my legs nearly collapsed
under me.

Breathing hard, drenched in perspiration, our clothes still damp and covered
in mud, we trudged wearily onto the waterfront.

“Hey!” a voice called from the swim area. Uncle Al, dressed in baggy green
sweats, came hurrying across the dirt to us. “What happened?” he asked Larry.

“We had an accident!” I cried, before Larry had a chance to reply.

“I fell in,” Larry admitted, his face reddening beneath the splattered mud.
“Billy jumped in and saved me. We walked back.”

“But Tommy and Chris couldn’t stop the canoe. They drifted away!” I cried.

“We both nearly drowned,” Larry told the frowning camp director. “But
Billy—he saved my life.”

“Can you send someone to find Tommy and Chris?” I asked, suddenly starting to
shake all over, from exhaustion, I guess.

“The two boys floated on downriver?” Uncle Al asked, staring hard at Larry,
scratching the back of his fringe of yellow hair.

Larry nodded.

“We have to find them!” I insisted, trembling harder.

Uncle Al continued to glare at Larry. “What about my canoe?” he demanded
angrily. “That’s our best canoe! How am I supposed to replace it?”

Larry shrugged unhappily.

“We’ll have to go look for that canoe tomorrow,” Uncle Al snapped.

He doesn’t care about the two boys,
I realized.
He doesn’t care
about them at all.

“Go get into dry clothes,” Uncle Al instructed Larry and me. He stormed off
toward the lodge, shaking his head.

I turned and started for the cabin, feeling chilled, my entire body still
trembling. I could feel a strong wave of anger sweep over me.

I had just saved Larry’s life, but Uncle Al didn’t care about that.

And he didn’t care that two campers were lost on the river.

He didn’t care that two campers and a counselor never returned from their
hike.

He didn’t care that boys were attacked by
creatures!

He didn’t care that kids disappeared and were never mentioned again.

He didn’t care about any of us.

He only cared about his canoe.

My anger quickly turned to fear.

Of course, I had no way of knowing that the
scariest
part of my summer
was still to come.

I was all alone in the bunk that night.

I pulled an extra blanket onto my bed and slid into a tight ball beneath the
covers. I wondered if I’d be able to fall asleep. Or if my frightened, angry
thoughts would keep me tossing and turning for another night.

But I was so weary and exhausted, even the eerie, mournful howls from the
Forbidden Bunk couldn’t keep me awake.

I fell into deep blackness and didn’t wake up until I felt someone shaking my
shoulders.

Startled alert, I sat straight up. “Larry!” I cried, my voice still clogged
with sleep. “What’s happening?”

I squinted across the room. Larry’s bed was rumpled, the blanket balled up at
the end. He had obviously come in late and slept in the bunk.

But Tommy’s and Chris’ beds were still untouched from the day before.

“Special hike,” Larry said, walking over to his bunk. “Hurry. Get dressed.”

“Huh?” I stretched and yawned. Outside the window, it was still gray. The sun
hadn’t risen. “What kind of hike?”

“Uncle Al called a special hike,” Larry replied, his back to me. He grabbed
the sheet and started to make his bed.

With a groan, I lowered myself to the cabin floor. It felt cold beneath my
bare feet. “Don’t we get to rest? I mean, after what happened yesterday?” I
glanced once again at Tommy’s and Chris’ unused beds.

“It’s not just us,” Larry replied, smoothing the sheet. “It’s the whole camp.
Everyone’s going. Uncle Al is leading it.”

I pulled on a pair of jeans, stumbling across the cabin with one leg in. A
sudden feeling of dread fell over me. “It wasn’t scheduled,” I said darkly.
“Where is Uncle Al taking us?”

Larry didn’t reply.

“Where?” I repeated shrilly.

He pretended he didn’t hear me.

“Tommy and Chris—they didn’t come back?” I asked glumly, pulling on my
sneakers. Luckily, I had brought two pairs. My shoes from yesterday sat in the
corner, still soaked through and mud-covered.

“They’ll turn up,” Larry replied finally. But he didn’t sound as if he meant
it.

I finished getting dressed, then ran up the hill to get breakfast. It was a
warm, gray morning. It must have rained during the night. The tall grass
glistened wetly.

Yawning and blinking against the harsh gray light, campers headed quietly up
the hill. I saw that most of them had the same confused expression I had.

Why were we going on this unscheduled hike so early in the morning? How long
was it going to be? Where were we going?

I hoped that Uncle Al or one of the counselors would explain everything to us
at breakfast, but none of them appeared in the mess hall.

We ate quietly, without the usual joking around.

I found myself thinking about the terrifying canoe trip yesterday. I could
almost taste the brackish water again. I saw Larry coming toward me, facedown,
floating on the churning water like a clump of seaweed.

I pictured myself trying to get to him, struggling to swim, struggling to go
against the current, to keep afloat in the swirls of white water.

And I saw a blur of the canoe as the strong river current carried it out of
sight.

Suddenly, Dawn and Dori burst into my thoughts. I wondered if they were okay.
I wondered if they were going to try to meet me again by the waterfront.

Breakfast was French toast with syrup. It was usually my favorite. But this
morning, I just poked at it with my fork.

“Line up outside!” a counselor cried from the doorway.

Chairs scraped loudly. We all obediently climbed to our feet and began making
our way outside.

Where are they taking us?

Why doesn’t anyone tell us what this is about?

The sky had brightened to pink, but the sun still hadn’t risen over the
horizon.

We formed a single line along the side wall of the lodge. I was near the end
of the line toward the bottom of the hill.

Some kids were cracking jokes and playfully shoving each other. But most were
standing quietly or leaning against the wall, waiting to see what was going to
happen.

Once the line was formed, one of the counselors walked the length of it,
pointing his finger and moving his lips in concentration as he counted us. He
counted us twice to make sure he had the right number.

Then Uncle Al appeared at the front of the line. He wore a brown-and-green
camouflage outfit, the kind soldiers wear. He had on very black sunglasses, even
though the sun wasn’t up yet.

He didn’t say a word. He signaled to Larry and another counselor, who were
both carrying very large, heavy-looking brown bags over their shoulders. Then
Uncle Al strode quickly down the hill, his eyes hidden behind the dark glasses,
his features set in a tight frown.

He stopped in front of the last camper. “This way!” he announced loudly,
pointing toward the waterfront.

Those were his only words. “This way!”

And we began to follow, walking at a pretty fast clip. Our sneakers slid
against the wet grass. A few kids were giggling about something behind me.

To my surprise, I realized I was now nearly at the front of the line. I was
close enough to call out to Uncle Al. So I did. “Where are we going?” I shouted.

He quickened his pace and didn’t reply.

“Uncle Al—is this a long hike?” I called.

He pretended he hadn’t heard.

I decided to give up.

He led us toward the waterfront, then turned right. Thick clumps of trees
stood a short way up ahead where the river narrowed.

Glancing back to the end of the line, I saw Larry and the other counselor,
bags on their shoulders, hurrying to catch up to Uncle Al.

What is this about?
I wondered.

And as I stared at the clumps of low, tangled trees up ahead, a thought
pushed its way into my head.

I can escape.

The thought was so frightening—but suddenly so real—it took a long time to
form.

I can escape into these trees.

I can run away from Uncle Al and this frightening camp.

The idea was so exciting, I nearly stumbled over my own feet. I bumped into
the kid ahead of me, a big bruiser of a guy named Tyler, and he turned and
glared at me.

Whoa,
I told myself, feeling my heart start to pound in my chest.
Think about this. Think carefully….

I kept my eyes locked on the woods. As we drew closer, I could see that the
thick trees, so close together that their branches were all intertwined, seemed
to stretch on forever.

They’d never find me in there,
I told myself.
It would be really
easy to hide in those woods.

But then what?

I couldn’t stay in the woods forever.

Then what?

Staring at the trees, I forced myself to concentrate, forced myself to think
clearly.

I could follow the river. Yes. Stay on the shore.

Follow the river. It was bound to come to a town eventually. It
had
to
come to a town.

I’d walk to the first town. Then I’d call my parents.

I can do it,
I thought, so excited I could barely stay in line.

I just have to run. Make a dash for it. When no one is looking. Into the
woods. Deep into the woods.

We were at the edge of the trees now. The sun had pulled itself up,
brightening the rose-colored morning sky. We stood in the shadows of the trees.

I can do it,
I told myself.

Soon.

My heart thudded loudly. I was sweating even though the air was still cool.

Calm down, Billy,
I warned myself.
Just calm down.

Wait for your chance.

Wait till the time is right.

Then leave Camp Nightmare behind. Forever.

Standing in the shade, I studied the trees. I spotted a narrow path into the
woods a few yards up head.

I tried to calculate how long it would take me to reach the path. Probably
ten seconds at most. And then in another five seconds, I could be into the
protection of the trees.

I can do it,
I thought.

I can be gone in less than ten seconds.

I took a deep breath. I braced myself. I tensed my leg muscles, preparing to
run.

Then I glanced to the front of the line.

To my horror, Uncle Al was staring directly at me. And he held a rifle in his
hands.

I cried out when I saw the rifle in his hands.

Had he read my thoughts? Did he know I was about to make a run for it?

A cold chill slid down my back as I gaped at the rifle. As I raised my eyes
to Uncle Al’s face, I realized he wasn’t looking at me.

He had turned his attention to the two counselors. They had lowered the bags
to the ground and were bending over them, trying to get them open.

“Why did we stop?” Tyler, the kid ahead of me, asked.

“Is the hike over?” another kid joked. A few kids laughed.

“Guess we can go back now,” another kid said.

I stood watching in disbelief as Larry and the other counselor began
unloading rifles from the two bags.

“Line up and get one,” Uncle Al instructed us, tapping the handle of his own
rifle against the ground. “One rifle per boy. Come on—hurry!”

No one moved. I think everyone thought Uncle Al was kidding or something.

“What’s
wrong
with you boys? I said
hurry!”
he snapped angrily.
He grabbed up an armload of rifles and began moving down the line, pushing one
into each boy’s hands.

He pushed a rifle against my chest so hard, I staggered back a few steps. I
grabbed it by the barrel before it fell to the ground.

“What’s going on?” Tyler asked me.

I shrugged, studying the rifle with horror. I’d never held any kind of real
gun before. My parents were both opposed to firearms of all kinds.

A few minutes later, we were all lined up in the shadow of the trees, each
holding a rifle. Uncle Al stood near the middle of the line and motioned us into
a tight circle so we could hear him.

“What’s going on? Is this target practice?” one boy asked.

Larry and the other counselor snickered at that. Uncle Al’s features remained
hard and serious.

“Listen up,” he barked. “No more jokes. This is serious business.”