Camp Antler Point

Chapter 10

The closer they got to camp, the more obvious it became that something was wrong. Very wrong.

Even with the rain pattering against the tarps they'd wrapped around themselves, they should have been able to hear something, anything to indicate there were people nearby. The frantic muttering of the kids listening to the distant thunder, the powerful odor of dozens of sloppy joes waiting to give half the camp indigestion, something. Not the stillness, not the silence that rang in Amy's ears.

"Where is everybody?" she asked as the gravelly path they'd been following came to an end.

The moose statue in the center of camp welcomed them back with dented antlers and a cold, copper stare. No children ran out to greet them. Their ears burned not with the sting of Mr. Sterling's reprimands but with the cold quiet that filled the camp.

Fox Cabin's door rattled, refusing to budge as Lucas yanked on the handle. "This one's locked."

Carson tried Bear Cabin. "Same here."

All of the other kids' cabins were locked, too.

"Something's up," Lucas said. "They never lock up the cabins until the end of summer."

Carson let out a shaky breath. "They never have people die either."

Amy brushed her hair out of her eyes and squinted through the rain. "Looks like someone might have picked up some of the kids," she said, pointing to a set of tire tracks snaking through the mud.

"Or dropped something off," Lucas said with a shrug. "Maybe they went to bring stuff to the supply cabin and wanted to make sure nothing got into the cabins while they're out. Raccoons can be nosy little shits."

Carson grinned sheepishly as his stomach let out a low grumble. "Mind if we check the mess hall next?"

They had no objections, especially since all the junk food they had in their stomachs was about as substantial as a match in a blizzard.

It had been mac and cheese day. That much would have been obvious even if it weren't for the half-eaten piles of yellow goop on the trays scattered throughout the mess hall. The smell clogged Amy's nose as flies buzzed from tray to tray.

"Somehow, that still looks more appetizing than the chili," Lucas said.

Amy and Carson managed tired smiles. Neither of them laughed.

A blast of foul air hit their noses the moment they walked into the kitchen. A massive pot of mac and cheese sat on the stove, the ladle still deep in the mush. The freezer door yawned at them from across the room, exposing bags filled with grayish meat marinating in its own watery juices.

Lucas pinched his nose shut and rushed forward to slam the freezer door. "You couldn't pay me to put that shit in my mouth," he said as he gagged on the lingering fumes.

Amy opened the fridge and checked for anything they could use to whip up a quick meal. The cold shelves were more barren than she'd like, definitely overdue for their weekly replenishing from the grocery store in town, but she could make it work. "How do you guys feel about omelettes?"

"You could serve me your shoes right now and I'd still eat 'em," Lucas said.

The boys set to work grating cheese and chopping ham while she focused on the eggs. The end result wouldn't be pretty— cheddar wasn't made for melting— but after a long, wet afternoon all they really cared about was getting something in their stomachs.

After serving the boys their omelettes, Amy ditched all pretense of presentation and scrambled her eggs.

"Feels weird for it to be so quiet," Lucas said. His words fell into the room like stones disturbing a pond's tranquil surface.

Amy nodded. "Especially since we have no clue where they went. Do you think they left us a note anywhere?"

"We'd better check our cabins." Carson glanced outside. "I can't imagine where else they might have done it, and there's no way I'm going back out in that mess more than I have to."

"I just wish I knew where the kids are," Lucas said. "Hope they didn't get stuck out in that."

"Maybe Dad took them over to Camp Maplewood," Amy said. "That's what I think that other camp is called, anyway." Her dad hadn't talked about it much, only mentioning that he and the guy who ran that camp sometimes helped each other out with some of the bigger events they held over the summer.

"The one for babies, yeah." Lucas collected their trays and chucked them in the trash. "Man, I'd rather lick the bathrooms clean than go back there."

"Come on, it can't be that bad," Carson said.

"Trust me, it's worse. They made us wear these stinky old hats any time we played anything as a group 'cause they couldn't be bothered to learn our names. Long story short, 'Wolf Kid' had a very itchy summer." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Those assholes gave me lice. I heard they have a different guy running it now, but still."

"I stand corrected," Carson said. "Now that we all know every camp around here is a hellhole, are you guys ready to check our cabins?"

They pulled their tarps tight around themselves and ventured back into the rain. "Yell if you need anything," Lucas said before the boys disappeared into their cabin.

Amy flipped her cabin's light switch, but the room stayed dark. "Storm must've knocked out the power again," she muttered under her breath. Her shoes stuck to the floor with every step, coming free with a quiet pop each time. She held her hands out in front of her, but not a single piece of furniture met her fingertips.

Instead, her leg collided with something solid and heavy.

"Damn it!" Amy yelled as she lost balance. Wood slammed against her arms as she brought them up to shield her face. The rest of her body was cushioned by something much softer.

"Are you okay?" Carson threw open the cabin door, waving a flashlight around like a weapon.

Amy pushed herself up with a groan. "Just tripped." The flashlight's beam went over to her, lingering on her face as Carson sucked in a breath. "Turn that thing off before you blind someone."

The light trembled as Carson lowered his hand. "Did you see..." He turned his eyes away and gulped. "Don't look down."

Amy's hands pressed against something sticky as she attempted to steady herself enough to get back on her feet. Her eyes widened as the flashlight illuminated the crusty redness covering the body beneath her.

Mr. Sterling's death hadn't been a quick one. Limping footprints gave way to crimson drag marks midway into the cabin. He lay with one of the many sweaters Amy had packed tied haphazardly around his front in an attempt to staunch the bleeding.

His body was cold.

Amy didn't hear the sobs tearing out of her like an animal's death cries, didn't feel Carson's arms awkwardly wrap around her from behind as he whispered in her ear.

All she was aware of was that her dad had been killed, and he'd died thinking he'd lost her.