Chapter 20

I burst into one of the cabins to find it looking much more like a military quarters than a camp bunk. Every bed was perfectly made, with no debris or dirt to be seen anywhere. At the foot of each bed was a wooden trunk. I opened the one closest to me and found only several sets of fatigues. Perfect. I quickly took my shoes off, slipped on the pants and shirt, and laced up again. The outfit barely fit over my own clothes, and left me feeling pretty bulky, but at least now I could blend in.

“Back to your cabins!” It was a man’s voice, sounding none-too-pleased. “Now!”

I couldn’t let that happen. If I was going to get to the other side of the camp—a good 500 yards to go around the pond in the middle—I was going to need a bigger distraction than some fireworks. And fortunately, Cameron had packed me one.

Reaching into my backpack, I pulled out a bottle of lighter fluid and yanked off the lid. Then I poured it evenly over three of the closest beds, with a trail along the floor between each one, and fished out a small matchbook. The first flimsy match didn’t light at all, but the second came alive after two strikes. I threw it onto the wet spot on the first bed and turned away.

There was a sudden burst of heat against the back of my neck. I looked back to see the first bed burning, while the flammable trail along the floor was guiding the fire to the other two beds. Seconds later, they were both alight.

Smoke began to fill the cabin. I burst back through the door and headed south, toward the activity area. I was a hundred feet away from the cabin when the smoke alarm—battery operated, I assumed—began to blare. More shouts came from behind me, but none were telling me to stop. As far as I knew, none of the staff had seen me yet. I had to keep it that way.

After about two minutes of running, I reached the rock wall. I ducked behind it and caught my breath while I tried to remember the map I’d gone over so studiously for the past day. From where I was, there was about a thousand feet between me and the administrative building that housed The Font and Josh. It was a long way away, and every step I’d take would be completely out in the open. I’d have to hope that the staff were still distracted by the loss of power and blazing cabin to notice me.

I was about to step out from behind the wall when the screeching sound of microphone feedback filled the air. “Attention all campers. Report in your cabin groups to the Chapel. We are currently investigating deliberate sabotage against Camp Freedom. The Major will be returning within the hour. Any camper who is not in their cabin groups at the Chapel in five minutes will be assumed to be a part of the attacks being carried out against Camp Freedom and will face the most severe of reprimands. All Staff are to take their observation positions on camp property and are to directly engage with anyone who is not a fellow staff member.”

I felt a pit in my stomach. These guys were regrouping and gaining a handle on things much faster than I had anticipated. To make a run for it now could be suicide. I needed another distraction, one I could implement before all of the campers had reached the Chapel. The best thing I had going for me at this point was the fact that they thought all of this was being done by campers and not by an outsider, particularly one who was trying to get to The Font to rescue his boyfriend.

I once again looked through my backpack, though with the lighter fluid now gone I was limited in what I had that could make some noticeable destruction. A few apples and pieces of bread for a snack, a bottle of water, and the tree/wire clippers—I hadn’t exactly brought a full arsenal with me. The clippers were all I really had that could cause any damage… and as I looked around, I realized that it was entirely possible.

The rock wall was artificial, standing on its own, held up by metal cables on either side. These cables were significantly thicker than the fence, or a bunch of tree limbs, but at this point my options were pretty limited, so I at least had to try. I placed the shears around one of the cables and pressed them together. It took a good deal of effort and a few hard chops, but I was able to cut through it all the way. The wire broke, and the wall shifted slightly.

I moved on to the other cable behind the wall and again broke it with a bit of work. Now it was only attached to cables on its front end, and I could see it beginning to lean over. I tossed the clippers to the side, backed up a few steps, and took a run at the wall, slamming into it as hard as I could. I felt it move. Another few steps back, another run, another slam. It creaked loudly and I could see its base beginning to break from the ground.

Shouts came from the North side of the camp. I was running out of time—all of the campers would be in the Chapel in a minute, and my mission would get a lot harder from that point on. I walked twenty steps back and ran at the wall with all my might, slamming into it like it was an opposing player about to shoot on my team's empty net. It gave way, breaking free of the ground and toppling forward. I didn't wait for it to crash. I grabbed my bag and made a run towards the docks, about two hundred feet away.

I'd made it about fifty feet when a deafening boom sounded behind me and echoed all around the camp. I looked back briefly to see the rock wall gone, now replaced by a huge cloud of dirt. I didn't stop running until I reached the dock. I dove into the nearest sailboat and laid on the floor.

I couldn't see a damn thing from my position, but I heard several frantic voices getting nearer and then going past me. Questions about what had just happened and how the rock wall had fallen over were mixed with concerns about cabins catching fire and campers going missing. Someone asked if the camp was under attack, and another wondered that if it was, who was it doing the attacking? I smiled. Me, bitch. That's who.

I had to keep moving. I climbed out of the boat and ran from the docks, along the pond, towards nearest building: the mess hall. I couldn't see any of the staff within the dust cloud, and I hoped that meant they couldn't see me either.

I was within a stone's throw of the hall when I heard a shout behind me. “You there! Stop right now!”

“Fuck.” I curved around the building. The back door was wide open, and I took that as an invitation to enter. I ran into a hot, steamy kitchen, with several rows of metal tables for food preparation and numerous stoves and ovens along the walls. It smelled of food—though not good food—but I didn't see anyone in it manning the appliances. Maybe they were in lockdown. Maybe I'd caused a lockdown.

I moved away from the door to the other end of the kitchen, looking for another way out. In the half-day I'd spent analyzing the maps and diagrams of Camp Freedom, the Mess Hall was one of the buildings I hadn't taken a lot of time to go over. I didn't exactly assume I was going to end up in here in the first place; if everything had gone according to plan, Josh and I would have been in the back of Cameron's speeding car right now.

Behind a column of whisks and ladles, I spotted a set of doors leading out into the hall. They swung open, revealing a giant of a man—at least 6'6, with massive arms and a torso that wouldn't fit in most compact cars. He looked like a heavyweight wrestler who had bulked up to his full weight and then started taking steroids.

He stopped when he saw me. “What are you doing here?” His voice was even deeper and rougher than a man his size should have had. I felt my spine drop right into my shoes. This guy in front of me, the other staff likely just seconds from bursting in. There was no way I could fight him. I could hit him with all my force, and I'd just bounce right off like he was a concrete wall.

Still, I had to do something, and after a second of paralyzing fear, the adrenaline kicked right back in and I remembered that I was in an industrial kitchen, with a ton of makeshift weapons at my disposal. Such as a rack of knives to my right.

I grabbed the largest one within reach and pointed the blade's tip at the human embodiment of King Kong. “I really don't want to hurt you,” I said, trying to lower my voice to match his pitch but in no way succeeding. “I just need to get through.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are… are you threatening me?” He looked to be on the verge of laughter. “Boy, whatever they've been beating y'all with, they haven't been hitting hard enough.” He took two steps toward me. “Funny, actually, I never seen you before. You a new recruit?”

“Totally,” I said, my voice as shaky as my hands. “Got sent here after I killed a guy, for, uh, trying to kill me.”

“Is that so?” Another step. He grabbed something off one of the counters. “Too bad he couldn't finish the job.” His hand suddenly whipped forward, and a metal object flew at me. It hit my face before I could react. In pain, I dropped the knife and grabbed my face, giving Hercules the chance to leap forward and strike the side of my head. Hard.

That hurt. I'd been hit hard before—body checks, of course, as well as the occasional fight that ended with both me and the other guy all bloodied up (him always bloodier)—but this was something entirely different. The entire left side of my head was ringing like a church bell on Easter, and the room spun around me as I fell back and hit the floor.

He was on top of me immediately, fist raised and elbow pulled back, ready to strike again. I wanted to raise my hands up, to block his blow, but what good would it do? He'd just break my hands before he cracked my skull. Instead, I did what made the most sense to my half-destroyed mind: I played dead.

I lay on the floor, eyes barely closed, head tilted to the side, my mouth slightly open, and my arms and legs limp. I braced myself for the impact of another Hulk fist to the head, but it never came. Instead, I heard an “Oh shit” and felt his breath along my neck. He’d bought it. He thought he’d knocked out—or maybe worse—one of the campers. Good. Time to strike.

His massive legs stood over either side of my waist, giving me a perfect target with my feet. “Uh, hey buddy?” he asked. His voice got louder. “Shit. Someone call med—”

I raised my right foot and plunged it into his crotch as hard as I could. He gasped and stumbled back, giving me the chance to get back on my feet. My head was still spinning, but I could focus enough to know that I had all of two seconds before this brute shrugged off his pain and would come at me without mercy. I looked around for a weapon and saw a pot of boiling water a few feet back to my right. To my left was a set of ladles. This could work.

I grabbed the ladle as he pulled his hands away from his groin and looked back up at me. “You mother fucking…” He ran at me. I scooped the water up and threw it at his face. It made perfect contact.

He fell to his knees, clutching his face and screaming. I grabbed another heap and threw it at him again. No sense in giving him a chance to recover.

There was a crash behind me, as the back door swung open, and two staff members burst in. “Stop right there!” the woman shouted. I grabbed the full pot and pushed it to the ground behind me, sending boiling hot water across the floor, and then rushed past the collapsed wrestler, to the kitchen’s entrance. As I burst through the door and into the mess hall, I heard a gunshot behind me. Holy mother of hell, they were shooting at me.

This only made me run faster, down the rows of metal tables and benches and out the hall door, back into the sunlight.

And right in front of another staff member, this one a lean guy with a rifle—a fucking rifle—in his hands.