But, in this case, it worked to his advantage; he moved through the barn quietly and was pretty sure he knew who he was looking for. Skittery at least would be there, for the same reason Jack had hid there so many times; there were a lot of good hiding places and he knew his way around. Sure enough, Skittery had dozed off in one of the corners of the equipment shed. Ian had been in the barn proper, sharing a stall with a horse. Jack delivered them back to their bunks and moved on.

*

Jack didn't find anyone as he worked his way downhill, which wasn't surprising. Not many people hid on or near the well traveled paths right by the bunks, and the path downhill from riding lead straight past the whole boys' half of camp. He checked his watch. Almost two. He groaned and began to listen carefully.

The path past the youngest boys' cabin split, one side went to the dining hall and the other off towards the boat beach. He couldn't hear anyone from where he was, but figured the boat beach was another spot where people liked to hide, and he clicked off his flashlight as he moved close. He could hear people now.

*

"What the hell are you doing here?" Smurf demanded, from the doorway of the boat shed.

"Hiding, same as you," Blink snapped back.

"Too bad. This is my area, I've already been here for an hour, you can just get lost."

"Your area?" Blink asked indignantly. "Last I knew it was a free country. I don't see your name on it nowhere."

"The word is anywhere, idiot, and if you don't shut up you'll get us both caught."

"I'll get us caught? You're the one who won't shut up!"

"Hey! I was here first, I don't need to–"

"Yeah yeah yeah." Blink glared at her for a second before he crouched down on the sand and rolled his way under one of the canoes. It was dark but dry, and not too hard to get comfortable. And now that he was hidden, it was even easier to ignore Smurf. Ignoring Smurf was one of his favorite hobbies, anyway, and he knew that being ignored would just make her more angry. Which would make getting back at her, when he got around to it, even more fun. He thought of the summer of racing yet to come, and smiled, then froze when he heard footsteps crunching on the sand.

Probably it was just Smurf, getting comfortable somewhere else. He made himself relax, until a boot hooked itself under his canoe and propped it up. A flashlight shone in his eyes and he squinted and turned away.

"Come on," Jack half-yawned.

"Aw, man," Blink whined, and stood up before Jack could lean down and grab him. He had no doubt that Jack would drag him off by the collar given half a chance; he didn't look like he was in a very good mood.

Smurf was standing next to Jack, smirking, of course. He glared at her again. "I'll so get you for this," he hissed, realizing she had either been caught first, or maybe even given herself up; either way as soon as she was caught she must have told Jack which canoe he was under. Yet another reason he was going to have to come up with an elaborate revenge scheme.

He contemplated that as Jack dragged him back uphill.

*

According to Jack's mental calculations, assuming he hadn't forgotten anyone, there were sixteen campers still at large. It was a quarter after two. Sailing was in the far left corner of camp, so he started back towards the right, figuring he'd do the perimeter before he started on the inside. He passed the dining hall and checked the inside, knowing he wasn't the only one who knew how to get in past the lock, but it was deserted.

He followed the path to the only other major area on the lake end of camp, the waterfront. Hiding there was difficult; it meant finding the way down in the dark–no easy task, given the state of the path–and there was no where to run if you got caught. But on the other hand, most counselors skipped it when searching as it was an equal pain for counselors. There was no way to get down the cliff face without making noise, and that meant the campers would be in the best hiding spots they could find.

Jack he the pros and cons from the campers' points of view, and had used the waterfront himself more than once. He'd actually been there until the first morning bell once, when Sneakers had been utterly unable to find him. And since he'd been able to do it, that meant that other people would probably try. Sighing a little, tired, Jack turned his light back on (no point in hiding so long as he'd be making noise anyway) and skidded down the path as carefully as he could manage.

A quick shine with his flashlight didn't turn anyone up. He hadn't figured it would. Tiredly, he began searching the tree-covered cliff face. "One," he murmured to himself, not pausing as he spotted the body huddled behind a bush, "two," he added, seeing someone lying on the ground behind a fallen tree, and "three," when he saw someone else trying desperately to concentrate on being thinner, trapped behind a too-skinny tree, and "four," when someone else was up in a tree. Once he was satisfied they were the only ones on the waterfront, he called them on it. He wished he could call them by name, but couldn't make out who was who from a distance.

Annoyed at being caught, Snoddy, Grammar, Sparker and Sureshot separated themselves from the scenery. They seemed like an odd collection to be in one place, but he figured it was probably just coincidence, and the three of them were just as glad to have the light of his flashlight to help them back up the hill.

*

Mush was beginning to regret not going with Blink to the waterfront after all. They'd wandered around the camp for a bit, avoiding Jack easily, before Blink decided where he wanted to go, but no, Mush had to go hide in the theater instead. Now he was almost wishing he'd just be found already.

In fact, he'd already been found. Three times. But not by Jack, was the problem. Instead, his nice quiet hiding place, amongst giant costume rack in the back of the theater, had been invaded. Which would have been so bad, but the three girls–he pretended to himself that he didn't recognize their voices–kept bickering with each other.

Over him.

Which, he realized, most boys his age wouldn't complain about. Three girls who wanted him, gee, what a horrible problem… Except he couldn't help feel like a hunted animal. Maybe it was just paranoia, but he could only see the problem getting worse as the summer wore on.

Specifically because it had gotten so bad the summer before. They would jump out at him–or on him–every time he turned around. He was afraid of his own shadow by the end of the summer, convinced it would tackle him. That was the problem with being a theater boy. Theater girls were weird.

There was the sound of footsteps outside and everyone fell quiet. He hoped he was far enough back in the costume rack not to be found easily, and held his breath.

"Trixie," he could hear Jack say. "And…" Pause. "Smartass. And, uh, you–uh, the quiet one."

Her name was Mouse, Mush thought to himself, but didn't dare say aloud. She didn't say anything, either, but he could hear her disentangling herself from wherever she'd been hiding and cross the floor.

There was another long pause, then Jack started laughing. "It's safe to come out, Mush," he said.

"Shut up," Mush answered. In fact, it wasn't safe to come out, and as soon as he did so, Trixie attached herself to one of his arms and Smartass to the other. He gave Jack a pained look. Jack laughed some more and herded them out through the main theater doorway.

They only paused at the sound of a sneeze. The porch out in front of the theater was old and covered in dust, and had gaps between the boards–and was a bit off the muddy ground. Jack shone his flashlight through the gaps and they found the source of the sneeze; Polecat–one of the girls from Murphy One who didn't stalk Mush–was underneath, and reluctantly scurried out at Jack's orders. She was covered in mud, but if it hadn't been for the dust that made her sneeze, would probably never have been found.

Jack dropped the girls off with Paint and as soon as they were out of earshot, started laughing again. "Ya know, most boys don't mind having a harem," he said.

Mush didn't grace him with a reply.

*

When it hit three AM, there were only six campers still missing. Thanks to another stroke of luck–Jack figured he deserved good luck, since he'd been set up and all–he'd caught Itey on his way from the boys' cabins back towards the theater where he'd left off, and now was on his way back again.

Once again, the soft voices of people not really paying attention to the fact that he could be approaching any second did him a favor. He paused as he cut through the fields in the middle of the camp, and headed silently and without flashlight towards the sports shack, where all of the game equipment was stored.

A boy and a girl were talking. He listened for a second, and found himself utterly confused. He wasn't the only one, though.

*

"Swinger." Snitch sighed and shut his eyes. It was late, they'd be getting up in a few hours, and he was tired. "I'm sorry. I've got no idea what you said."

"I've gotta catch some cups. It's brightnin soon," Swinger replied, frustrated.

"What?"

"I've gotta catch some cups. It's brightnin soon."

"What?"

"I've got to catch. Some. Cups," she said again, slowly and loudly, as though that would help. "It's brightnin soon." But it was no use; it was like she was talking in a foreign language.

Snitch wondered where this had come from, or if he should have seen it coming. He knew she liked swing music and swing dancing. Anyone who knew her knew that, it was where her name came from, after all. And through the past few years she'd exposed him to a decent amount of the stuff; he knew a lot of Glen Miller songs now, and actually liked a lot of the more modern stuff. He'd even gone to a Big Bad Voodoo Daddy concert without her even suggesting it to him.

But this, her utter refusal to speak English in favor of whatever the heck she called her new dialect, was ridiculous.

"I'm tired," he sulked after a minute.

"Let's cop a final."

"What?" he asked again.

"Let's cop a final."

"Let's cop a final."

"I'm sorry, I–"

The door to the hut swung open. Jack turned on his flashlight and rolled his eyes. "She said, 'let's cop a final,'" he repeated.

"Yeah?" Snitch asked. "So what's it mean, Cowboy?"

"You got me. Come on."

*

Sarah hadn't meant to follow them. Well, not the second time. The second time was a coincidence. An unpleasant one, but still not intentional.

And the first time, she hadn't been following Hotshot, she'd been following whoever the boy was. He had shown up as they were on their way to go meet the boys and informed everyone that the meeting was off and they were all hiding. Which everyone else seemed to think was fun, but Sarah disagreed. She didn't know anything about where to hide. She barely knew where anything was.

So she'd followed him. But unfortunately, so had Hotshot, and when they realized a few minutes later that they were still walking almost next to each other, they had gotten into a bit of an argument.

Luckily, the counselor must have been busy elsewhere, because it had gotten a little loud.

So, incredibly annoyed, Sarah had slunk off to find her own hiding spot, determined to find somewhere better than anywhere Hotshot could think of. Despite the fact that Hotshot probably had something of an advantage, as it was her fourth year at camp.

But apparently, Sarah had done a good job. She'd wandered into the woods and hadn't seen anyone since. Except now it felt really late at night, and she was tired, and realized she had just about no idea where she was. Scared, she'd started back the way she'd come, as close as she could tell, and after what felt like an eternity of floundering through the trees, had finally come back into the camp proper. She'd cut through the main fields, no longer even caring if she was caught, just wanting to go home and go to sleep, but wasn't sure exactly where her bunk was.

She really only remembered that it was just past the archery range, and so she'd headed that way, and had practically tripped over them.

Well, not "practically," exactly. And not "them." She had, literally, tripped over him; the boy she'd been following earlier, whose name she'd learned was Spot. And he hadn't exactly been thrilled at being tripped over, but Hotshot seemed even more angry about it.

"I was not," Sarah repeated again, as if to a small, stupid child, "following you."

"Yeah? Then what they hell are you doing back here?"

"I was heading to bed."

"Uh huh."

"You don't believe me?" Sarah challenged.

"I don't believe you didn't get caught," Spot muttered, rubbing his side where she'd inadvertently kicked him when she tripped.

"Yeah, klutz. I'm surprised you didn't trip over Jack and get caught."

"Jack–" she answered, not really knowing or caring who he was, "doesn't appear to be stupid enough to be lying in my way, does he?"

Spot frowned. "Was she insulting me?" he asked Hotshot.

"Yeah, I think so."

"That's not a good idea."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to be on my way now."

"What if we won't?" Hotshot demanded.

Sarah ignored her and started to walk past them. Hotshot stepped in her way. She ducked around to the side. Hotshot followed and stepped back, still in her way, smirking. Sarah glared at her. "Look," she said, trying to be reasonable. Well, she thought it was reasonable. "If you don't get your fat ass out of my way–"

"My what?" Hotshot demanded, then, "Like you should talk about having a fat ass."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Real mature," she muttered.

"Real mature," Hotshot echoed in the universal voice of obnoxious copying.

"Shut up."

"Shut up."

"I mean it! Get out of my way."

Hotshot must have realized she'd found something, because she repeated, "I mean it! Get out of my way."

Sarah tried to walk past her again, and Hotshot blocked her way again. She clenched a fist. "I swear to God–" she started.

"Try it," Hotshot offered. "Go on. Take a swing at me." She grinned. "I'll kill you."

And she probably would have, except that a flashlight beam swept over the three of them. Sarah followed it and found herself staring into the face of an angel wearing a red bandanna.

*

It was almost four AM. Jack was glad he was in good shape, otherwise he'd have been sore from all the walking, and was glad his boots had already been broken in so his feet wouldn't be covered in blisters. Four in the morning, and one camper left to find. And Jack already knew how much of a pain finding Racetrack was going to be.

He was certain, by four AM, that Race was nowhere in the main camp, which meant he'd either made up for the Higgins's house, which he naturally had a key to, as he lived there and all, or was hiding somewhere in the woods which were used only for hiking purposes. And since his mother would be annoyed if she caught him in the house, Jack knew, probably he'd struck out for the woods.

Jack almost groaned aloud when he realized that. The woods where thick, hard to find the way through, easy to hide in if that was your goal, and Race would know his way through them better than anyone else. Sure, this was Jack's tenth summer at camp and he knew most of the trails, but Race lived there. He'd spent every summer of his life getting to know those woods.

Jack wondered if it would be wrong to just let him go. People would understand. Race would walk into breakfast the next morning, smug, and gloat at Jack for days, but of course people would understand. And rounding up everyone else by himself was pretty impressive, he figured.

But a nagging fear began to grow in the back of his mind. Sure, Race knew his way around, but what if he'd gotten hurt, or lost, or eaten by a bear or something? Jack was a counselor now, and he was supposed to be responsible. And he'd lose his job if Racetrack disappeared somehow, and that meant he'd have to spend the summer back at home, a fate worse than death.

So he'd keep looking.

Jack turned his flashlight on; it would make it impossible to sneak through the woods, but getting through the woods without it was impossible, too. And even Race would make a lot of noise if he tried to move around, and Jack could catch him that way, so it didn't matter. He hoped.

But as soon as he started down the first trail, his light began to flicker on and off. He whacked it against his other hand a few times, which helped for a few seconds, then it began to flicker again. It sputtered and died out completely.

Jack checked his watch. Five after four in the morning. It was late enough that the few minutes he'd lose if he went back to his bunk for new batteries wouldn't matter much one way or the other, and he really didn't want to tackle the woods without light. Annoyed, he went back the way he came.

He was spending his summer living in the Matheson cabin, one of the three that made up the Middle Boys unit. It was a good setup, he figured, because the cabins were large and had a surplus of counselors, and the only ones required to stay there were the actual middle boys' counselors. As a riding instructor, he had the freedom to take off during the evening, so long as he didn't leave camp.

The door to the side room that housed the excess counselors creaked when he opened it, and he made his way over to his bed and tossed the flashlight down on it to go searching for batteries. The flashlight made a slight oof noise when it landed.

He spun around and squinted through the dark, realizing that was a human noise, and sure enough, Racetrack Higgins was lying in Jack's bunk, comfortable and warm inside Jack's sleeping bag, barely awake. He'd actually been asleep until the flashlight had landed on him.

Jack glared.

"Took ya long enough," Race yawned.

"Shut up. Get out."

"Yeah, yeah. Anyone else left?"

"Nope."
Race grinned as he crawled out from Jack's sleeping bag. "Damn, I'm good."

"Uh huh. I caught you, didn't I?"

"Well, yeah. But still, it's–" he glanced over at Jack's clock, "after four in the morning. Not too shabby."

Jack rolled his eyes and dragged Race out of the bunk. They walked in silence for a minute, then Jack commented, "Race, you wanna do me a favor?"

"Maybe?"

"Don't mess with me this summer." He cracked his knuckles.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean Sneakers has had his fun, and I know you set this up. Rigged the patrol roster wheel, right?"

"Of course."

"Yeah, so don't do it again."

"Or else?"

"Or else you'll share in whatever revenge I come up with for Sneakers."

"Oooh, revenge?"

"You think I'm gonna let him get away with this?"

"Well, it's only fair. I mean, you got away with murder for years."

"That's different, I was a camper. He's supposed to be an adult."

"So are you. You're plotting revenge."

"Well, yeah, but I'm doing it as an adult to an adult, so that's okay. So just stay out of it, if you want to live."

Race laughed at that. "You sound mad."

"I'm not mad, I just want my three hours of sleep back."

"Yeah, your bunk's real comfy."

"Shut up."

"Make me," Race challenged.

"I'll tell your mom," Jack answered smugly, which shut Race up fairly effectively. Sure, it was a juvenile threat, but they both knew what happened to Race when he managed to incur his mother's wrath, and Jack was willing to take full advantage of it.

They arrived at Pentland and Jack added, "I mean it. Stay out of my way."

"No problem," Race agreed, then loudly enough to wake everyone else in the room, "Hey guys! Miss me?"

"Shut up," Sneakers groaned. "Some of us are trying to sleep."

"OH, YOU ARE?" Jack asked loudly from the doorway. "I'M SORRY. BE QUIET, RACE."

Race started laughing again as he climbed into his own bed. "OKAY. GOODNIGHT, COWBOY."

"'NIGHT, RACE."

And on that loud note, Jack headed back to his own bed for a few hard earned but richly deserved hours of sleep.

[End Chapter Four]
Chapter Five: A Typical Day
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