Authors: Jeff Strand
She knew that setting up camp would involve several trips to and from the car, but she didn't want to start carrying things until she knew for sure where the campsite was. If she was going to get herself hopelessly lost, she didn't want to worry about lugging a tent around.
Actually, she would carry something. She opened the passenger door and retrieved the cardboard box. Hansel and Gretel had breadcrumbs, she had plastic spiders. Worst-case scenario, she could find her way back by following the trail of dead birds that had choked on them.
* * *
The ground was relatively flat and the trees thinned out quickly, so Rebecca was able to keep up a rapid pace. About fifteen minutes later, she emerged from the woods at the edge of a large, beautiful pond.
It looked like it was about a hundred yards wide, though the grass was tall enough at the far end that she couldn't tell for certain where the water stopped. It stretched out about fifty yards to her right, and another hundred yards to her left before curving around some forest area.
She walked out to the edge of the water and bent down to scoop up a double handful. The water was incredibly cold, but looked fresh and tasted fantastic.
She spent a couple minutes surveying the area. There was a circle of rocks with ashes in the center and three logs around it, proving that the guys, or at least
somebody
, had been sitting around a campfire. There was also a small pile of branches that were obviously meant to have been used as firewood, and a couple of beer cans in the ashes, but no other litter.
Though she wanted to investigate more, Rebecca decided that it would be best to get all the camping gear in place first. If they wanted her to camp, she'd camp. She wasn't about to have them decide to kill Gary simply because the tent wasn't set up in time.
* * *
Despite the chill, Rebecca was hot and sweaty by the time she finished dragging the tent bag to the campsite, except for her fingers, which were cold and numb. At least there was no wind. She sat on one of the logs for a few minutes, breathing heavily. Her face still hurt where she'd forced the man to punch her, and her lungs were burning. She just wasn't a manual labor type of person. Nor was she an outdoor person. Nor was she a cold weather person.
But she also wasn't a bloody violence person, and if she was willing to face that, she could certainly handle manual labor, the outdoors, and cold.
It took her two more trips to get the rest of the stuff. At first she considered only taking what she thought she needed, but decided against it. Anyway, when it started to get
really
cold, she'd be glad she had Gary's extra clothes.
She sat back down on the log, absolutely exhausted, and rested for about ten minutes. Now there was a little wind, and her teeth were starting to chatter. But she'd be okay. She'd get a fire started, set up the tent, and then relax as much as she possibly could.
Well, rest maybe. Relaxation wasn't an option.
Something bad was going to happen. Gary and his friends had at least had time to drink a couple of beers and start a fire, so nothing could happen before that, right?
Of course, they'd probably been able to empty the car in a single trip.
But she was only one person. She couldn't be expected to keep up with three men. It wouldn't be fair to replay the events of the weekend before she had a chance to catch up, right?
And why, pray tell, would you assume that these gentlemen are going to play fair
?
She stacked a pile of the branches on the old campfire then doused them with some lighter fluid that had been in one of Gary's sacks. She lit a match and tossed it onto the branches, starting a fire immediately. Thank God she didn't have to rub some sticks together.
Though she wanted to get the tent up as soon as possible, it was more important to keep the fire going, and there weren't many branches left. She went back and started walking along the edge of the woods, gathering up branches from the ground. They were plentiful, so she quickly returned to the campfire and added them to the backup pile. While that would keep her going for a while, she decided it was probably best to stockpile as much as she possibly could. Things were going to get more and more dangerous as time passed, and if she could avoid going near the woods, with all its places for somebody to hide, she'd be much better off.
As she gathered her fourth load, she noticed a speck of red on one of the leaves. She flinched and looked at it more closely.
Just a ladybug.
Finally she had enough firewood to last through the night. Probably enough to last three nights, but she wasn't a camper and didn't know how quickly it would be used up. She sat back down on the log and gazed out at the pond.
Under other circumstances, she might have appreciated its beauty. Sure, she would have spent more time being miserable because of the cold, but still, she would have enjoyed several relaxing minutes just looking at it. A place like this would be a wonderful field trip for her students.
She needed to get the tent up, but she also needed a couple of minutes to soothe herself, collect her thoughts. If she was going to survive this, she had to be fully alert, but also calm and not overwhelmed with paranoia. She got up and began a leisurely walk along the edge of the pond.
They were going to get her while she took her walk.
No, they weren't. She needed this.
She forced herself to breathe deeply, in and out, trying to make the bad thoughts disappear, if only for a few moments. Just look at the pond. Watch the small ripples in the clear water. See the--
She slammed a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream.
The water was still clear in this part of the pond. Still calm. Still beautiful.
But the rocks on the edge were covered with blood.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was a dull brown rather than a ghoulish red, but there was no mistaking the splashes of color for anything but blood. And there was a lot of it. It covered the rocks by her feet, but also the rocks for several feet around those.
She knelt down and looked closely at the rocks, still biting back her scream. Yes, it was absurd to get so freaked out over this when she already
knew
that awful things had happened in this area, but this was proof. Maybe nobody was dead, but a lot of blood had been spilled.
And there was a pair of dried red chunks, about the size of nickels, on one of the rocks.
Of course, it could have been from an animal. Maybe Gary and his buddies had caught a fish and cleaned it here.
Yeah, maybe they'd cleaned a fish and scattered its blood around, just for kicks. Sure.
Though her stomach was churning, she leaned even closer to the rock with the dried flesh or whatever it was. There was a tiny piece of bone, barely more than a sliver, stuck to one of them.
Then a metallic glint in the water caught her attention. She stared at the water for a moment, trying to pinpoint it, and saw something metal poking out from under some small rocks in the water. Trying to disturb the water as little as possible, she reached down to pick it up.
As her hand touched the bottom some dirt swirled up into the water, clouding it momentarily and forcing her to keep her hand perfectly still in the cold water until it cleared up again.
The glint was gone.
She began running her hands over the pebbles, trying to catch another glimpse of it. It took her several attempts, waiting each time for the water to clear again, before she finally got a hold of it and pulled it out of the water.
It was a tooth. A molar. Unquestionably human, unless somebody had decided to give their pet a metal filling.
She had a vision of somebody's face being slammed against the rocks, then the man being dragged into the pond, bleeding all over the other rocks, and then butchered in the icy water.
Absolutely sick to her stomach, Rebecca stood up and hurried back toward the campfire. She could imagine Alan gutting Scott or Doug like a fish, laughing and cracking jokes while he did it, probably asking Stephen if this one was big enough to keep.
She wondered if pieces of Gary's friends were in that pond. Maybe a hand floating on the other side, or a foot waiting to get caught on a fisherman's hook.
She squeezed her eyes shut. These were exactly the kind of thoughts she didn't need. She'd already known that bloody things had happened here. This didn't change anything. Her situation was no worse now than it was before. She needed to calm down and put up the tent.
And, at the very least, be thankful that she knew Gary had never had a cavity in his life.
* * *
Rebecca had always been a strong believer in the power of humor. She rarely attempted to convey it to her students, because as fifth graders they found plenty enough to giggle about without her encouraging them. But she'd heard stories about people making miraculous health recoveries from simply watching comedy videos, essentially laughing themselves healthy, and she believed them
While she still fully believed in the concept, apparently it took more than one's own bumbling slapstick antics trying to set up a tent for the healing power to work. Perhaps a cancer patient watching her would have received some benefit, but for herself there was nothing but frustration. Though the tent still had the instructions with it, this was a two-person job and definitely not a task for somebody who hadn't even
slept
in a tent since she was a little girl.
Still, if she survived this and she got Gary back and the nightmares faded and she was released from the insane asylum, she'd recall her misadventures setting up the tent and laugh. She was Laurel and Hardy, trying to set up a tent. One of them, anyway, though if the stress continued at this level, pretty soon she'd have voices in her head and then she could play the roles of both of them. If nothing else, pretty soon she'd be doing the famous Stan Laurel whimpering.
The tent pole she'd struggled to get into place toppled over, smacking her in the side of the head. Yep, she'd have plenty to laugh about after the bloodbath.
* * *
Finally the tent was up. It looked like crap, but she had no way of knowing that Gary's tent hadn't looked like crap, too. So, she had a tent and she had a fire. She was officially camping.
She was terribly thirsty, and while she loathed the taste of beer, there was nothing else to drink. She wasn't about to drink from the pond again.
She grabbed one of the fake-beers, sat by the fire, cracked it open, and guzzled a third of it in one swallow. It was awful, but she supposed that most of the world's population would be grateful for a cold fake-beer in this situation, so she decided to make the best of it. She finished off the beer, tossed the can in the fire, and prepared for her next task.
Weapons.
The kidnappers hadn't left Gary's pocketknife, which she was sure he'd brought along, so they weren't playing completely fair. Too bad this wasn't a board game where she could debate the rules. She'd gathered some fist-size rocks before she started setting up the tent, along with a pair of branches that were broken off to give them sharp tips, but now was the time to do some more elaborate preparation.