Chapter 17

“Camp Freedom.” Kyle turned the tablet my way and moved his fingers along the screen. “According to the survivor websites I visited, it's basically a boot camp for teens who've been in trouble with the law or school or something like that, but it also has a program for ‘Relational Correction and Healing.’”

“That sounds euphemistic,” Caitlyn said. She laid her head down on her arm along the table and looked out the kitchen window. “And that makes me uncomfortable.”

Kyle pointed to the screen. “This site has stories from people who have apparently gone, or I guess been sent there, and…” Kyle trailed off, looking past the two of us.

“Tell me,” I said. “We need to know this.”

He sighed. “Abuse. Verbal, physical… even sexual.”

“Fuck,” Cait muttered. “How is this place even allowed to operate?”

Kyle flipped the tablet back to his face and swiped his fingers along it. “Looks like it was all hearsay. There have been government reviews, including one commissioned by a Senator himself, but all they’ve found is that while it’s a place puts the ‘tough’ in tough love, there's nothing illegal about it.”

I leaned forward in my chair and turned to the pre-lawyer. “So, we know where he is. How can we get him out of there?”

She frowned and shook her head. “I went to three different professors to ask about this, and then to two actual lawyers. Short story is, we can't, and even if we could, it would take months. Until Josh ends up in the hospital, our legal hands are tied.”

Now I leaned back. “Of course,” I said. “I mean, none of this has been easy up until now, why on earth would we expect it to suddenly become clear skies for us?” My hand clenched into a fist. “Maybe I should go and find Luke again. There was something immensely therapeutic about beating the shit out of him last night.”

“Trent…” There was worry in Caitlyn’s voice. I unclenched my hand.

“I'm joking. Besides, if I did it to him again it would probably end with him in a body bag, and I don't want that. I promise.” I hadn't heard anything from him since the previous night, which meant either my pouring of vodka down his throat had done enough to knock his memories out of whack (especially if he was a good Christian who never drank in the first place), or he did remember but was too ashamed to admit it—selling the story that his brother’s boyfriend had beaten him up and forced him to drink alcohol would probably not be an easy task, even for his religious parents.

Still, there was the nagging issue in the back of my mind that Luke had known my name and my connection to Josh. While there were plenty of possibilities as to how this had happened—the most likely being that Josh had confessed about it, probably while under duress—but it still made me uncomfortable. What else did he know about me? Could he have known that I was also the one who’d visited his dad earlier in the week? And his comment about the break-in… I should have lowered the ladder. It was such an obvious giveaway.

Bottom line was that they were catching on to me, and with me now knowing where Josh was I had to make my move. It was time to bring this whole mission to the next level. To pull the goalie, so to speak.

“Kyle.” I snapped my head up and looked at him, interrupting whatever conversation he and Cait were having. “Does it say where the camp, or whatever it is, is located?”

“Yeppers. It's a state over, but just along the border. Probably an hour drive from here, maybe a bit less.”

“And there are pictures?” I asked. “I mean, can we know what this place looks like? A layout of the grounds and the buildings?”

“Definitely.” He turned the tablet around to show me.

“Oh boy,” Caitlyn said. “Trent, are you suggesting we drive up there and ask for them to give us Josh back?”

I chuckled. “Of course not. You really think they'd just let us walk out of there with him in our arms?”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Exactly. I thought you—”

“I have a much more fun idea,” I continued. “Get the gang together.”

“Wait, what gang—”

“We're breaking him out.”

***

As Caitlyn called the other USGM exec for a late-afternoon meeting, I poured through as much research on Camp Freedom as I could find. Unfortunately, beyond the accounts from survivors and a few far-off photos of the grounds, there wasn't much of value that I could uncover online. I had the address, but the place was so remote that any satellite maps became pixelated well before I could get any details of where my boyfriend was being held hostage.

Fortunately, my school happened to have the best Geographic Information Systems program in the state—whatever that meant—and just after noon I was in the program's library, looking over detailed maps of the area. They weren't color satellite photos—more technical drawings than anything else—but I now had a to-scale map of the Camp that, combined with the stories I'd found online, allowed me to identify nearly every building and feature in Freedom's reserve. Best of all, I was able to do it without once being stopped and asked what I was up to. The few other students in the library didn't even give me a second look as I went through the broadsheets of paper.

After snapping a bunch of photos with my phone—and, of course, putting everything away as I'd found it—I went back home with a downright spring in my step. This was going to happen. I was going to save Josh. The very thought it of had my heart racing. It was the same sort of feeling, the excited nervous energy, that I had before a championship hockey game.

I spent the rest of the afternoon devising up a plan for breaking Josh out. Once I was satisfied, I headed back to campus, to the windowless USGM room. The rest of the executives were waiting for me. I quickly explained my research and what I thought it would take to rescue Josh. Once I was done, I sat back down, feeling satisfied that I had nailed it.

After a few seconds of silence, Kyle spoke. “This is insane.” He was met with agreement from just about everyone else:

“We can't just break in and—”

“What if we get caught? I can't imagine—”

“Are you even sure that this is where Josh—”

I held my hands up. “Now hear me out,” I said. “I know the plan seems farfetched and given that I've only been working on it for the past few hours, there are probably some changes that are due to be made, but I know this can work. It has to.”

“That's the problem,” Kyle said. “If it has to work, what happens if it doesn't?”

“We'll improvise,” I said. “If we can create enough chaos in the Camp, it won't matter how much of the plan we stick to. We'll just need to find Josh and get out.”

“And you want us to be the ones creating the chaos?” Ashley asked.

“While I sneak in and save him, yes.” My plan, as I had explained it, involved using firecrackers and other explosions to distract everyone while I snuck in. It was doable. I was convinced of it.

“And what happens if any of them spot us?” Tess asked. They looked around at the rest of the group. “This is like a military camp, right? Like, what if they have guns or something?”

“I promise it won't be an issue.” I smiled. None of them seemed reassured. “Look, I know the plan isn't perfect but—”

“It's not the plan, Trent.” Ashley sighed. “It's that you expect us to go along with it. After everything you've put us through, suddenly you come to us for help?”

“Put you through?” I repeated, raising my eyebrows. “What are you talking about? I know these last few weeks have been a bit rough for me, and I'm sorry about that, but you know I'm dedicated to this club.”

“Yeah,” she sneered. “For, what, the next seven months?” My heart dropped. She turned and looked at the rest of the exec members, most of whom sported confusion on their faces. “Right, y'all are new and not aware of this.”

I slowly sat back in my chair. Not this. Not now. “Can we please focus on Josh?” I asked, though I knew it was pointless. We were going down this road.

“Not aware of what?” Tess asked.

“Trent wasn't always so keen to be a part of this group,” Ashley said, her eyes staring right into mine. “In fact, he only joined last year, after he was caught defacing a Pride flag that we had hung up.” There was venom in her voice now. “He had spray painted his favorite word on it. And what word was that, Trent?”

I looked down at the old wooden table, but I could feel everyone's eyes on me. “It was ‘faggot’.” There was an audible gasp in the room. “Look, it was a while ago, I was in a dark place—”

Ashley cut me off. “And so, Trent was ordered to do community service with our group, as a means of opening his eyes. It just so happens that at that time he decided to come out. Very convenient timing if you ask me.”

I looked back at her. She was smirking. This wasn't a spur of the moment accusation. No, this was something that had been building within her for months. And now it was finally exploding, at the worst possible timing. “What are you saying?” I asked slowly. “Are you saying I'm not actually gay?”

“I'm saying that if you are gay, you're the straightest gay I've ever met,” Ashley said. “Every other word out of your mouth is either an assertion of your masculinity or a put down of those who are more effeminate than you, which I bet you think is the entire global population.”

“Oh, come on,” I said. I looked around the room for support. “I'm joking. You all know that. I kid because—”

“Because you care?” Ashley said. “Yeah, I've heard that one before. We all have.”

I took a breath. No sense in digging deeper into this. Not when so much else was on the line. “Okay, look, I understand that some people are upset here, and I'm happy to talk about this later, but can we please keep our attention on Josh? I just want to rescue him from this camp, and then we can—”

“Why, Trent?” Ashley was not letting up on this. She was on her feet, hands leaning on the table, glaring at me. “Why the hell would you want to rescue him, when this camp may be able to give you the one thing you want most: a straight boyfriend.”

“That’s enough!” Caitlyn pounded her hands on the table as she stood up. “This meeting is done. Tensions are way too high right now.”

“But what about Josh?” I asked.

Caitlyn shook her head. “I’ve been happy to help you up until now, I really have, but I can't go along with this sort of operation. What you're suggesting is highly illegal and could get us all suspended, or worse. This can't be done under the UGSM banner, and you gathering us together here like this is doing just that.” She looked at me pleadingly. “Trent, please.”

I felt that brief sear of anger well up inside me once again, but I forced it back down. Any sort of outburst would only make this so much worse. “Fine,” I said. “Then I'll go in without you. And when I save his ass, I’ll make sure he knows all those who chose to do nothing.”

I stormed out of the room and building. Those fuckers. Calling me out on something that had happened months ago, condemning my personality just because I didn't fit into their neat and tidy box of who was and wasn't gay. And after all I'd done for them. If I wasn't obligated to stay, I'd have been ripping up my membership card right then and there.

I stopped and took a deep breath. There were bigger fish to fry. I pulled out my phone and sent Cameron and Travis a message, requesting that we meet as soon as possible. I heard back from both of them within minutes: Travis had a caught a flu bug and was bedridden for at least a week, while Cameron had a project he was racing to finish and wouldn't be free until tomorrow. Great. More delays. Just what I needed.

There was little more I had to do for the rest of the day—no assignments or tests awaiting me for the next few days, and no games or practices until the end of the week. But there was no way I could just go home and sit around for the rest of the day, not when my mind felt like it was on fire.

I ran home, changed into some clean clothes, and headed downtown to the one gay bar in the city. I’d been there a handful of times and knew they never checked for ID. Once in, I ordered a pitcher of the cheapest beer they had and began drinking. Lord almighty did I need it now.