Operation: Survival Read online

  But he was big. Probably six four. With slabs of muscle everyplace it’s possible to get muscle.

  Weirdly, he had dimples. I know it’s not logical, but to me, dimples didn’t belong on a guy like Saunders. Yet there they were.

  “Camp Wilderness philosophy. My philosophy.” Saunders said the words slowly. Like they tasted good in his mouth. “I believe that your generation has not been tested. You’ve had soft lives. You’ve been given too much. And so you have tried to test yourselves in other ways.”

  Saunders nailed me with a look. “You, Mr. Neemy, tried to test yourself by joining a gang. I’m sure that made you feel like a man. I’m sure you think you’ve proven your strength and bravery.”

  “Hell, yeah,” I answered. Trying to be 100 percent Steve. A guy with zero percent interest in Saunders or his philosophy or his camp.

  Saunders let the front legs of his chair fall back to the ground with a thud. “There is no profanity at Camp Wilderness. If you use it, you and your bunkmates will run the hill with full packs. And trust me, Mr. Neemy, your bunkmates won’t thank you for the opportunity to challenge themselves.”

  He turned to the girl. “And you, Miss Hanks, you probably feel that you’ve tested your cleverness by creating computer viruses that take time and money from hardworking people.” She kept her eyes on the bear.

  “Mr. Moya, you might think that you’ve shown the world how great you are by walking out of stores with thousands of dollars of merchandise,” Saunders continued. “But all of you are wrong. You haven’t proven anything except your weakness.”

  Saunders stood up. He walked in front of his desk and began to pace. His heavy hiking boots made tracks in the fur of the rug.

  “My philosophy is that children like you have been crying for a place to really test yourselves. To really see what you’re made of. Camp Wilderness is that place. You’ll have to push yourselves hard here. Harder than you would have believed was possible. I’ll make you see the potential in yourselves. And when you see it, when you realize the strength inside you, you won’t have to resort to gangs or stealing to show the world how important you think you are.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Joe said.

  “I’m sure you don’t, Mr. Moya,” Saunders answered. “But you will. I promise you that.”

  An image of Zack Maguire exploded into my head. Body twisted. Eyes vacant.

  How hard had Saunders pushed him? Had he pushed Zack so hard that Zack was at the point of exhaustion that day on the mountain? Had Saunders basically caused Zack’s accident?

  * * *

  SUSPECT PROFILE

  Name: Linc Saunders

  Hometown: Hannibal, Missouri

  Physical description: 6′4″, approximately 270 lbs,-most or it muscle, age 42, black hair, green eyes, full beard.

  occupation: Director of Camp Wilderness

  Background: Worked as a guard at the Chillicothe Prison in Missouri before opening Camp Character and Camp Wilderness; never married, one son; B.A. in theater arts from the Rocky Mountain College in Montana.

  Suspicious Behavior: Camp Character had to be closed because a teenager died there-one worker at the camp claimed Saunders was responsible.

  Suspected of: The murder of Zack Maguire.

  Possible motives: Zack wasn’t athletic enough to make it through the program, so Saunders wanted him gone. Zack wasn’t going to be one of Saunders’s success stories, so Saunders wanted him dead.

  * * *

  Or was it clear that Zack wasn’t going to be one of Saunders’s success stories? Did Saunders think Zack would go back to robbing or hacking or whatever his thing was? Had that made Saunders so furious that he made sure Zack fell to his death?

  Or did Saunders just hate the fact that Zack wasn’t a hiking, canoeing, camping kind of guy? Did that equal a lack of steel in Saunders’s book? Did he decide to off Zack just because Zack wasn’t at all athletic or outdoorsy?

  I watched Saunders as he moved on to listing the rules. Way too many rules.

  Maybe Saunders didn’t do anything at all, I reminded myself Joe and I were here to figure out what happened to Zack. We would need a lot more facts before we could make that call.

  Saunders finally wrapped up his list of rules. He picked up a walkie-talkie from his desk. “Smiley to the office,” he said.

  “Over,” the answer came back. Along with that walkie-talkie crackle.

  Less than a minute later, a guy who looked about twenty-one or twenty-two came into the office. He wore a plaid shirt that was nearly identical to the one Saunders was wearing. Except the guy’s was blue and black plaid, and Saunders’s was green and black plaid.

  “Gentlemen, this is Will Smiley,” Saunders said. “He’s the commander of your bunk. When I’m not around, you should think of Smiley as me. Obey him the way you would me.”

  I smirked. It seemed like a moment where Steve would smirk, because he wasn’t planning on obeying anybody. Smiley narrowed his eyes at me. “On your feet, gentlemen,” he ordered.

  Smiley led Joe and me to one of the bunks behind the cabin. Six guys were inside. “New meat. Steve Neemy.” He pointed at me. “Brian Moya.” He jerked his thumb toward Joe. “Where’s Ken Purcell?”

  “Still on latrine-cleaning duty,” a short guy with wire-framed glasses answered.

  Smiley shot a glance at his watch and frowned. “Unacceptable. There’s not much time until lights out,” he muttered. “You men fill these two in on what’s expected of them. I’m going to go check on Mr. Purcell.” He left, slamming the door of the cabin behind him.

  I spotted my gear on one of the beds lined up across the room. I headed over and flopped down next to my gym bag. Joe stayed near the door.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” a guy with a blond buzz cut demanded.

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” I kicked my gym bag onto the floor so I could stretch out.

  “You need to be stowing your gear in your footlocker. And you need to be doing it now,” Buzzcut said.

  All the guys were watching me to see what I’d do. I didn’t bother to sit up. “What’s your name?” I asked. “I like to know who I’m talking to.”

  “It doesn’t matter what my name is,” Buzzcut answered. “Just do it.”

  “His name is James Riboli. I’m Andrew Cooper,” the guy in the wire-frames said. He did a fast introduction of the rest of the guys—Russell, Tim, Charlie, Dylan.

  “The deal is—if one of us screws up, we all get punished,” Andrew said after he’d finished playing host. “Saunders is all about teamwork.”

  He picked up my gym bag. “Since there are forty thousand rules, you might not remember that one of them is keeping your personal space clean and neat. That means whatever’s in here”—he gave the bag a shake—“goes in there.” He nodded at the footlocker.

  I fluffed my pillow and stayed where I was.

  “Why aren’t you getting up?” James demanded. “First day. First minute. And you’re causing problems. You aren’t going to like the way we deal with guys who let down the team.”

  I might not like it. But I did want to find out what it was.

  “Let me give you my philosophy on James. M-y-y-y-y philosophy.” Andrew did a decent impression of Saunders. He also did a decent job of pulling James’s attention off me.

  “See, James had a birthday a few months ago,” Andrew continued. “His second birthday at our little camp. And you know how many candles there were on his cake? Well, he didn’t have a cake. But if he did, how many?” Andrew turned to the other guys.

  “Eighteen,” Tim, Charlie, Dylan, and Russell all answered.

  “Eighteen. That’s right. And eighteen is a very bad age to be in here. Because if you screw up—or your team screws up—you could get booted from this place. And for James, that means prison. So it’s very important to James that we all do everything perfectly.”

  Interesting. James had been here for more than a year. That m
eant he was definitely at the camp at the same time Zack was. And according to Andrew, James was terrified of getting kicked out of Camp Wilderness and ending up in prison.

  Could he have wanted Zack dead? Was Zack somehow messing things up for the team?

  * * *

  SUSPECT PROFILE

  Name: James Riboli

  Hometown: El Paso, Texas

  Physical description: 5′7″, approximately 155 lbs., age 18, blond hair, brown eyes.

  Occupation: sentenced to Camp Wilderness

  Background: One arrest, one conviction for assault; three older sisters; wrestling state champ.

  Suspicious behavior: Was responsible for the mountain climbing equipment the day Zack died.

  Suspected of: Murdering Zack Maguire.

  Possible motives: Zack wasn’t a team member James could count on.

  * * *

  Joe and I had to consider every possibility. Saunders wasn’t the only one at Camp Wilderness with a motive for murdering Zack.

  Joe spoke up for the first time. “I thought when you screwed up here, you got the death penalty.”

  “ What’s that supposed to mean?” Russell asked.

  I knew exactly what that was supposed to mean. Joe was getting ready to bring up Zack.

  “And I’m Russell Barbour, in case you also like to know who you’re talking to. First and last name,” he added. I saw flashes of purple when he talked. Colored braces.

  “Hey, I’m from around here,” Joe answered. “Everyone knows Saunders helped that guy Zeke off that mountain.”

  “Zack,” Andrew corrected.

  “Whatever. What I want to know is what he did to make Saunders so angry. I don’t want to leave here in a body bag,” Joe said.

  “Zack didn’t tick Saunders off,” Russell said. “Zack was Saunders’s little pet monkey. Saunders loved Zack, because Zack reported back on everything that went on in this bunk. I, for one, am glad he’s dead.”

  “Harsh,” Tim said.

  “You weren’t even at the camp when Zack was here. You never had to deal with him as part of your team. Only James, Ken, and I did. So shut it,” Russell snapped.

  Okay, so Russell, James, and Ken—who was out cleaning toilets—were the only ones who knew Zack. Important info. I didn’t really need to pay attention to Tim, Dylan, or Charlie.

  “Zack died because he didn’t have the guts for this program,” James said. “He was always slowing us down. Getting us punishments. A guy like him should never have been allowed into the woods. He should have been sentenced to the library. Except he would have enjoyed that too much.”

  Russell looked from me to Joe. “Saunders is going to need a new pet monkey with Zack gone. I wouldn’t put it past him to put a mole in the bunk.”

  “Monkey. Mole. Make up your mind,” Andrew joked.

  Russell walked over to Joe. “You started asking questions pretty fast. Does Saunders want to know if we think he killed Zack? Is that why you’re so curious about a guy you never met?”

  “Can we spell ‘paranoid’?” Andrew muttered.

  “I can,” Dylan offered.

  “I’m curious because, like I said, I want to leave this place alive. I don’t want to be like Zack,” Joe answered.

  “I think you want to be exactly like Zack. I think you’re Saunders’s new snitch.” Russell was right in Joe’s face now.

  Could Russell be Zack’s murderer? Would Russell be willing to kill a guy James thought was a snitch?

  * * *

  SUSPECT PROFILE

  Name: Russell Barbour

  Hometown: North Adams, Massachusetts

  Physical description: 5′9″. 140 lbs., age 16, red hair, blue eyes, freckles.

  occupation: Sentenced to Camp Wilderness

  Background: Five arrests for arson, three Convictions; only Child; plays the drums.

  Suspicious behavior: Gave Zack a bloody nose.

  Suspected of: The murder of Zack Maguire.

  Possible motives: Believed Zack was a snitch.

  * * *

  “I’m a snitch because I asked a question? Are you off your meds?” Joe asked.

  Dylan and Andrew snickered.

  “What did you do to get in here?” Russell demanded. Spittle flew out of his mouth with every word.

  Joe stared at him.

  Russell turned to the rest of the group. “See? He has to think about it. He’s not one of us. He’s Saunders’s new monkey.” Russell’s hands tightened into fists as he faced Joe again.

  “Wait. What are you doing?” Andrew said. “You’re the arsonist, remember? Five arrests. Three convictions. James is the one who is in here for assault: We all have to stick to our specialties, or it’ll be chaos. Chaos, I tell you!”

  It was cool of Andrew to try and keep the peace. But it didn’t work. Russell didn’t even glance in Andrew’s direction. His attention was completely focused on Joe.

  All I wanted to do was get up and jam myself between Russell and my brother. But I had to be Steve. Steve didn’t have a brother in this bunk. Steve didn’t care about anyone but himself.

  I had to let Joe handle this on his own.

  5 MORE SUSPECTS

  Russell’s hot breath blasted into my face. Not a good feeling. Or smell. Part rubber from his purple braces. Part bad breath. Part vanilla toothpaste. Which somehow made the odor so much worse.

  One more second and he’s gonna start punching, I told myself. So possibly, you should stop analyzing the components of his breath.

  And do—what?

  Why had I lost that coin toss? Now I had to be Spud Boy. And Spuddy couldn’t punch back. Or if he did, he’d have to punch like Chet. Which is pretty lame punching. No offense to the C man.

  I decided my only shot was to try to outcrazy crazy, freaky, paranoid Russell. Which would take some big-time craziness. I started out by scratching my sides with both hands. Then I added in the sound effects. “Ooo-ooo! Eeee-eee! Eeee! Eeee! Eeee!”

  Good thing I played a monkey in the second-grade school pageant, right?

  Russell stared at me like I was deranged. Excellent.

  I turned up the volume. I ooo-oooed so loud I thought Saunders might be able to hear me all the way in his office. I just wished someone was eating a banana so I could grab it.

  “He’s as crazy as you are, Russell,” Andrew said.

  Nice! My plan was working.

  “No, he’s just a good actor,” Charlie disagreed.

  James threw a pillow at my head. “Knock it off.”

  I loped over to Frank and started pulling invisible nits out of his hair. Or wait. Nits might just be the eggs. Anyway, I pretended to eat the what-chamacallits. The little bugs that live in monkey fur. I could tell Frank was trying not to laugh.

  Andrew, Tim, Dylan, and Charlie were laughing. Even James, a guy who should be in Rage Anonymous with my friend Russell, smiled.

  Russell scowled at me. But he hadn’t followed me across the room. So I’d managed to escape being pummeled. For now, at least.

  I patted my stomach to show I was full. Then I headed over to the bed with my junk on it and started unloading the million pairs of boxers Aunt Trudy had packed into my footlocker.

  “He didn’t answer my question about what he did to get in here,” Russell said. “Did anybody else notice that?”

  “Why should he?” James asked. “And just so you don’t burst a blood vessel, I saw him get out of a cop car. The cops brought him and Steve here.”

  “The cops could have been doing Saunders a favor. Making the monkey look like a nonmonkey,” Russell muttered.

  But he didn’t have time to work himself back up into the spitting-all-over-my-face mad stage. Because unsmiling Smiley came in the door with a guy I figured was Ken Purcell. Ken was a guy Frank and I needed to get to know. He was at the camp when Zack died.

  “Five minutes to lights out,” Smiley announced. He jerked his head toward Andrew. “Why are you unpacking for Neemy?”

  “
Just bein’ neighborly. I like to see myself as the Welcome Wagon.” Andrew upended Frank’s gym bag to show it was empty. “Yee-haw. Teamwork and everything.”

  “I didn’t see teamwork here. I saw someone working. And someone sitting on his behind,” Smiley answered. “I don’t want to see it again. Now everybody in the sack. Lights out in four.”

  I stowed the rest of my gear, since Andrew wasn’t welcome-wagoning me. Then I got into bed. Thirty seconds later, the lights went out.

  What felt like another thirty seconds later, the lights were back on. “Out of the rack. Chow in thirty minutes,” Smiley barked.

  Was he serious? I checked the closest window. It was still dark outside.

  I guess bad boys get up before the sun. Because everyone else climbed out of bed.

  “And get your packs ready. We’re hiking today, camping tonight,” Smiley added.

  Along with my bunkmates, I grabbed a shower (cold water only); brushed my teeth (I could smell Russell’s vanilla paste from the opposite end of the long row of sinks); and loaded my backpack with water, food, and camping supplies. Then we hit the mess hall.

  The good news? There were girls in the big open room. The bad news? The guys and girls ate at separate tables. I got to sit with the guys in my bunk. More of the team stuff. I guess they thought we’d bond if we never got out of one another’s sight.

  And it’s working already. I’d say three, four more decades of eating, showering, and sleeping on the same schedule, and Russell and I would be BFF. Best friends forever.

  For now, I decided to try to make nice with Ken Purcell. I wanted to get his take on what had happened to Zack.

  I took a bite of my oatmeal. It tasted like wet sawdust. Not that I’ve tasted wet sawdust. But it tasted the way I imagine wet sawdust would taste. “Is the food always this good?” I asked Ken.

  Yeah, I know I wanted to find out about Zack, not the cuisine. But when you’re undercover, you usually can’t just ask what you want to ask. You have to kind of dance around it. Let the other guy think they’ve brought up the topic on their own.