Chapter Three: Revenge Is Sweet

David flicked the flashlight on and listened to the chatter around him. His bunkmates he knew, but the only person from the other bunk he knew was Ian, from his dinner table. There were a few conversations going on, mostly people getting caught up on what people had done since the last summer. Finally, Racetrack tapped some skinny kid from the other bunk on the shoulder and asked where they were meeting the girls.

"Boat beach," he answered.

"How creative."

"You gotta better idea? The waterfront's too easy to get caught, tennis is in the middle of anything, you can hear archery from Senior Girls, and horses smell."

"They do not."

"Do so," he answered emphatically.

"I've really got a bad feeling about this," David said, mostly to himself, sweeping the flashlight around nervously.

"Aw, don't worry about it, Dave," said a kid with a nasal voice who was walking with a crutch.

"Gee, it's so nice to be where everybody knows my name," he answered, hoping the fake cheeriness in his voice would be taken as sarcasm, the way he meant it.

"Ain't it, though? Hey, my name's Crutchy."

Guess not, David thought to himself, but decided to at least pretend to be polite. His mother was constantly telling him if he would just open up, he'd make friends so much more easily. And that's why I'm here. To make friends. Because I'm a social failure.

At least here, surrounded by total strangers, Sarah would likely be as miserable as he was. Then again, she makes friends easily. That's why she's the normal one, and I'm the loser.

*

"Are you sure we should be doing this?" Sarah asked nervously, as they tromped out of the bunk.

"If you don't like it, don't come," one of her bunkmates said flatly, walking past her and elbowing her out of the way as she went.

Sarah narrowed her eyes at the girl's back.

"Hotshot, be nice," scolded one of the other girls.

"Was I being mean?" Hotshot asked innocently. "If she doesn't want to come, she doesn't have to. No one's forcing her." She looked back at Sarah and smirked through the dim light.

Shakes, the girl who'd been scolding Hotshot, rolled her eyes and dropped back to talk to Sarah. "Don't mind her, she's just... Difficult to get to know."

"Whatever," Sarah answered. Most of the girls in her bunk hadn't seemed so bad; already set into their cliques, but not actively hostile. But somehow, Sarah had found herself taking an instant disliking to Hotshot, a feeling that was totally mutual.

There was a sound up ahead, and whoever was in the lead hissed at everyone to be quiet. The group froze and waited a moment; a flashlight skipped along the grass near them, not quite catching the feet of the front girls. It clicked back off and the footsteps moved on.

"Close call," one of the girls—the vaguely gothy one wearing the Rocky Horror T-shirt—murmured.

"Shhh," hissed one of the other girls. "Who's on patrol on our side of camp tonight?"

"Paint, that's how we got out so easy," the gothy girl answered. She was from the other bunk, Murphy Two, and Paint was their bunk counselor. "Who's on the boys' side?"

"I think Jack," one of the other girls supplied.

"I'm glad the boys are dealing with him, then, not us."

"But we'll have to get past him to get to the beach!"

"Oh, it won't be that hard..."

*

Jack reached for a cigarette and contemplated having patrol duty on the first night. On the one hand, it meant being up all night, and bored; on the other hand, it was a chance to smoke unobserved. He shifted the cigarette to the same hand as his flashlight and dug around in his pocket for a lighter with his now free hand. Cigarette to lips, flick of the lighter, and some of the annoyance slipped away.

A summer of forced nonsmoking, or nearly nonsmoking, was going to be the death of him. He kicked an innocent rock.

But patrol was actually fairly calming. The camp was blissfully quiet at night, aside from the sounds of nature, and the view of the moonlight over the lake was gorgeous. It would almost have been romantic, if he'd had someone to share it with, but that bitter thought was one he tried his best not to entertain. No point in dwelling on the many ways he'd screwed up his love life. My whole life, he added mentally, and exhaled a plume of smoke.

But he wasn't at camp to think about what waited for him at home, he was at camp to... Well, mostly to avoid what waited for him at home. He kicked another rock and paused to shine his flashlight over the silent, deserted dining hall. Nothing. Of course nothing; it was too early in the summer for people to be sneaking out.

He nearly smiled at that. The hell it is, he reminded himself, thinking of past years and successful pranks. The counselors had hated him... Actually, most of the counselors had loved him; he was one of the camp's shining golden boys. As far as the Higgins family was concerned, he could do no wrong. So the rare occasions he'd been caught pulling a prank, sneaking out of his bunk, sneaking in to the girls' bunks, had been cheerfully forgiven, and the only counselor he really annoyed was Sneakers, who'd spent the past two summers trying to prevent Jack's pranks with little success.

And any campers who think they can outdo me obviously forgotten who they're dealing with. Takes one to know one. He almost grinned. I'd like to see someone try and sneak out while I'm on patrol.

No one at this end of camp. He flicked some ash off of the end of his cigarette and started back uphill, taking the path closer to the inside of camp this time. He glanced through the small lining of trees that separated the various bunks from the rest of camp and saw the first unit was still, calm. Good. He continued up the hill, a relatively gentle incline at this point, and passed the unit where he was staying, the second youngest group. Nothing.

Maybe it would be just a calm night. Nothing in the junior unit, either, and not a voice heard in the senior unit. He checked his watch; it was a bit after midnight. Something felt off. He frowned and headed closer to the Senior cabins, but still not a sound. So they weren't up and out... Or at least, not in that area. He shut his flashlight off and glanced inside one of the cabins.

At first glance, nothing; he squinted and looked closer. He was right: nothing. No one except the counselor, who was asleep. I knew it. I knew it! he congratulated himself.

Now the question was, where were they?

He started back down hill quickly, then paused to drop and extinguish his cigarette. He had a radio with him, in case something came up. "Hey, Paint?" he asked into the void.

There was the sound of static for a moment. "Yeah?" she asked finally.

"Boys unit is empty."

"What?"

"The seniors snuck out. Haven't heard 'em, are the girls still there?"

"Should be. I'll kill 'em otherwise."

"I thought we were forbidden to kill campers."

"You have no idea how many times we had to tie down Sneakers to keep him from strangling you, Jack."

"Yeah, I bet you had fun tying him up." He hoped the smirk was audible through the radio.

"Shut up. Hang on, I'll check my bunk." There was another bit of static, and a long pause. He was in the main part of camp now and turned his flashlight back on, scanned the field. Nothing, of course they weren't out in the open. He headed down towards the tennis court, but saw and heard nothing.

"Hey, Jack, we've got a problem."

"No girls?"

"No girls in Senior, but a really sick little girl in the Middles. I'm gonna have to stay here with her. Can you handle this on your own?"

"Catching thirty kids sneaking around in the dark? Yeah, no problem."

"Okay, I'll radio in when Tammy's done throwing up," Paint agreed, either missing or simply ignoring the sarcasm in Jack's comment.

"You want me to get Triage?"

"Not yet, I'll radio for her once Tammy's stable. Okay?"

"Yeah, sure. I'm out." He pocketed the radio again, and checked the tennis courts. No one on them; a glance in the window showed there was no one in the sports shed, either, and there wasn't enough room inside anyway.

Think, Jacky boy, he told himself. If I was in charge of this, where would we go?

There were a handful of places that were popular for sneaking out. Archery was one of them, but close enough to Senior Girls that Paint would have heard people talking, so he ruled that out. The rest were all downhill.

He paused in the main section of camp to flick his flashlight around the playing fields. Not a soul. He flicked it off again and started down towards the dining hall, keeping his eyes and ears as alert as possible. Nothing for awhile, then a quiet voice, then a "Shhh!" that was very distinct and clearly not just the wind.

He squinted in the general direction of the voices and could see a group of people, hunched over behind some bushes. One, he noted, was particularly dumb; he had a flashlight on. Amateurs. Shoulda come in smaller groups, Jack scoffed and turned his flashlight on and over the group like a police spotlight.

"Okay, fellas; back to your bunks," he called.

There was a tense silence, and then a voice with a distinct Brooklyn accent yelled, "Scatter!"

Fourteen boys sprang to their feet almost as one and began to dash in various directions.

Jack stared for a second, then took off after the closest ones. It was like a mad game of tag where he was It; everyone scrambling like made to avoid him, and no way for him to make anyone else It.

The group he was chasing slipped off into the woods and most of them blended in fairly well; he kept going and looked around for a more obvious target, and found one. There, someone with a flashlight, panting and out of breath behind a tree. He slowed to a jog and caught the kid's wrist.

The kid yelped as he turned around. It was David, and judging by the look on his face, he was close to petrified. "Come on," Jack said, glancing around, but everyone else was gone now. Which meant he'd have to find them again, and probably would only be able to bring them in a few at a time. It wasn't tag anymore, it was hide and seek.

Jack lead David back to the main path and they started uphill. "So where's everyone else going?" Jack asked as they walked.

"Uh," David said. "I don't know," he answered, his mind racing to try and remember what he'd overheard.

"If you tell me, you won't get in trouble. Promise," Jack tried.

David shook his head. "I really don't know," he answered. "I was just following everyone else—"

"Ouch, never do that," Jack interrupted. "Not with those guys. They're good guys an' all, but they get in trouble a lot."

"Yeah. I noticed that."

Jack laughed a little. "Don't worry; no one really gets in trouble for sneaking out, 'specially not the first night, but you didn't hear that from me. Just don't do it again, okay?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." They were approaching the Senior Boys bunks, and Jack walked David all they way up to Pentland, then leant inside. "Sneeeeeakers," he called in a singsongish voice, then reached for the nearest thing that came to hand—someone's bug spray—and hurled it at the sleeping counselor.

"What?" Sneakers asked, sitting upright, startled out of his slumber. Jack had been aiming for his head, but it was dark and he'd only managed to connect with Sneakers's torso.

"Your kids are missing." Jack nudged David into the cabin, towards his bunk. "Most of 'em, anyway."

"Huh. Imagine that." Sneakers didn't sound terribly surprised.

"You wanna help me find 'em, or what?"

Sneakers paused, watching David scramble up into his bunkbed. "Better not. I mean, what if David needs me? There's supposed to be a counselor in every cabin. Just in case." He sounded downright smarmy.

"Yeah, sure." Jack sighed and leant against the doorframe. "Why do I get the feeling I'm being set up?"

Sneakers grinned. "Revenge is sweet, Cowboy. Have fun."

Jack nodded a little and straightened up, then said to David, "I mean it, where were they going?"

David shrugged in the darkness, then said aloud, "I really couldn't say." It wasn't until Jack let himself out that David remembered and started to say something.

Sneakers cut him off. "Let him go looking himself," he yawned. "But I'm going back to sleep."

David frowned a little. "Why let him?" he asked, then, "And what did he mean about being set up?"

Sneakers chuckled to himself. "Jack was a camper here for years," he explained. "And campers aren't the only ones who get hazed."

"Oh."

"Besides, he was the ringleader for Senior Boys the last two years, and his favorite thing to do was to sneak out and lead all the counselors looking for him on a wild goose chase. And because he was in my cabin, he was always nice enough to wait for me to be on patrol, and... He deserves it. It's for his own good, anyway."

"How?" David asked.

"Because if he gets to bust campers, they'll actually realize he's a counselor. They made me do it my first year. It's only fair."

"Oh." David turned the thought over in his mind for awhile, but the only conclusion he came to was that he had somehow ended up at the strangest camp in the country.

*

Jack flipped the radio on. "How's Tammy?" he asked.

"Still sick."

"Uh huh."

"Hey, she is."

"Don't bother. I talked to Sneakers; I know this is a setup."

A chuckle came across the radio. "Yeah, you should have seen him cackling about it last week when he asked Race to arrange it."

"You mean he actually—he really set this up?"

"Of course. He spent two summers chasing you down; you think he'd miss the chance to get back at you for it?"

"Guess not."

"Nope. Well, have fun."

"Yeah, whatever. And next time you see Sneakers, tell him he's got too much free time, okay?"

"Yep. I'm out." He heard the radio static come up on her end, sighed, and put his on standby. Almost thirty kids to find, and acres of land covered with good hiding spaces. He might as well get started.

[End Chapter Three]
Chapter Four: The Midnight (And After) Society
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