Operation: Survival Read online

  I shrugged.

  Smiley pointed his finger in my face—giving me a good look at his hairy knuckles. “Boys like you disgust me,” he said. “Line Saunders has created a place where you can turn your life around. He’s keeping you out of a juvenile detention center. And you don’t appreciate it.”

  He pushed himself to his feet. “If dinner’s late, the whole team will be giving me push-ups. I’m thinking at least five hundred,” he called over his shoulder as he walked away. “And that’s after our KP duty.”

  “Oh, nice, Neemy. I hope you had fun acting like The Rock or whoever it was you were channeling,” Andrew burst out. “Now he’s going to be dying to hand out the punishments.”

  “He already was,” I answered. “We made him look bad in front of his god. What did Saunders do to make Smiley worship him like that?”

  “Smiley has no spine of his own,” James said, joining the group. “He needs a guy like Saunders to give him one. If he was out in the real world, and not a counselor in here, no one would ever listen to him.”

  James’s theory kind of made sense.

  “But in here, in Saunders’s world, what he says goes. And Neemy just mouthed off to him,” Andrew said. “So be prepared for push-ups if anything goes wrong.”

  “I’m not worried about Neemy right now,” James told Andrew. “I want to know what we’re going to do about Moya. We’re not letting him get away with landing us that extra trip on the mountain without punishment.”

  “It’s not like the guy messed us up on purpose. If you’re not in shape, getting up the mountain is practically impossible,” Andrew protested.

  It’s what I would have said. If I was Frank Hardy and not Steve Neemy. I was glad Joe had somebody sticking up for him.

  “We can’t let Moya think what happened today is acceptable,” James insisted.

  Ken nodded. He didn’t look eager to dole out punishment, but he was with James.

  “The next time, Saunders might not just assign us another trip up and down the mountain,” James continued. “He might decide to boot us all. And I’m not ending up in jail because some kid can’t cut it out here.”

  James turned to Andrew. “So are you in? Or are you part of my problem too?”

  Andrew hesitated. Then he said, “I’m in.”

  “What about you, Neemy?” James asked.

  There was only one answer to give. Joe had set this situation up. Now I had to let it play out.

  “I’m in,” I told him.

  7 A LESSON IN PAIN

  I struggled to swallow a bite of my fish. It’s not that it was bad. Somebody on my team could actually cook.

  It’s just that I was getting all these looks from the guys in my bunk. Looks that let me know something bad was going to happen. To me. And soon.

  Well, it’s not like I hadn’t practically begged for it. But that didn’t make this part of the plan any easier.

  I tossed my paper plate—and most of the fish—into the campfire. The flames popped and crackled with the new fuel. Then I got up to use one of those holes I’d blistered my hands digging.

  I heard a twig snap behind me. Was this it? Was I about to be ambushed on the way to the so-called toilet?

  A second later I felt a hand on my arm. I jerked free and spun around.

  And saw Frank.

  “Your plan worked, little brother,” he told me. “James has organized a ‘lesson’ for you. I’m not sure exactly what’s supposed to happen. But it’s happening tonight.”

  “Yeah, he pretty much told me that when I got you guys assigned that second hike,” I answered.

  “I think we need a signal. I’m not going to let things get too intense. But if you need help and I haven’t moved in yet, just say—”

  “Mommy?” I suggested. I forced a laugh.

  “Do you always have to try and make a joke out of everything?” Frank burst out. “James could be the guy who killed Zack. And you’ve put yourself in his hands.”

  “But I have you for backup,” I reminded Frank. And myself. It made me feel a little less twitchy. “We have to let James go far enough to see how far he’s gonna go. Does that make sense?”

  “Yeah.” Frank rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t like it. But it makes sense.”

  “If I want you to come to the rescue, I’ll just find a way to say ‘Zack,’” I told him. “Now, do you mind? I need to be alone with a hole.”

  Frank disappeared into the darkness without another word. I did what I had to do. Which, just so you know, involved leaves instead of nice, soft, quilted paper. Then I returned to the group.

  The sight of all the guys around the campfire made the saliva in my mouth dry up. It could almost have been that photo in the newspaper article. That picture where Zack was grinning. Thinking everything was okay.

  Not knowing he had almost no time left to live.

  I returned to my spot next to Andrew. He didn’t look at me when I sat down. Nobody wants to look at the next dead guy. Was that the deal?

  You won’t believe this. But while I was waiting to get pummeled into the ground—or whatever was going to happen—I had to sing.

  I didn’t see Saunders as the kind of guy who would promote singing around the campfire. But he did. He strode around the group, booming out corndog favorites like “Home on the Range.” Expecting everyone to join in. Probably ready to make us all stumble up and down the mountain in the dark if we didn’t. Loudly. With smiles on our faces.

  At least I wasn’t sitting close enough to Frank to hear his tonally challenged mooing.

  Aw, who am I kidding? I wanted to be as close to Frank as possible tonight. But I was Brian Moya. And Brian Moya had no reason to think Steve Neemy would be any kind of friend.

  Finally, the torment was over. We were allowed to hit the sleeping bags. Someone had thoughtfully put all the rocks that I’d removed back under the square of plastic ground cover my bag was lying on.

  Hey, if that’s the best James could come up with, I’d have to take him off the suspect list. It was more of a fourth-grade maneuver. Ha-ha—you have to sleep on rocks.

  I closed my eyes. Even though there was no way I would be able to fall asleep.

  Except I did. A day of hiking and hole-digging will do that to you.

  I was dreaming that I was a dog. And these dog-catchers were after me. I knew they were going to take me to the pound and gas me.

  You don’t need to have studied dream interpretation to figure that one out, right?

  Anyway, the two dogcatchers kept whispering to each other. Then I kind of half woke up and realized the whispering was still going on. I think my brain had worked the whispers into my dream.

  “I’ll pull him out of the bag. You put the blindfold on.”

  I recognized the voice. James.

  I figured I might as well pretend to still be asleep. My job tonight was to do nothing. And see what got done to me.

  A moment later hands grabbed me by the shoulders and yanked. I slid right out of my sleeping bag. Then I was hauled to my feet.

  Someone wrapped a blindfold around my eyes. From the smell, I think the blindfold was a couple of wool socks—socks that had been worn during a long hike—tied together.

  “We have to gag him,” someone said. Not sure who. “If he yells, we’ll all be dead.”

  “Like Saunders didn’t pretty much, tell us to do this,” James whispered.

  But another sock found its way into my mouth. Bile rose up in my throat, and I had to swallow hard to get it back down.

  I guess they figured Saunders wanted this to happen—but he didn’t want to see it happen. So they gagged me to keep me from bringing him to the party.

  Someone grabbed my arm. Somebody else put their hand on the back of my neck—but lightly.

  Frank, I decided. Seemed like something he would do. Get in the middle of the action so he would be there fast if I needed him.

  I was jerked forward. I couldn’t stop myself from stumbling a little
. Blindfolds will do that to you.

  “Move!” a voice I couldn’t identify ordered.

  “Will you shut it,” Frank said. “Smiley is about four feet away from us.” He was talking pretty loud for someone telling other people to be quiet.

  I got another jerk on the arm. I walked as quickly as I could. I didn’t want us to get stopped. Frank and I needed to see what these guys would do.

  You know how they say your other senses get stronger if you lose one? Well, it’s true. With the blindfold on, I could really taste the flavors of grunge on the sock in my mouth. I could really smell those toilet holes we were passing, too.

  I hoped James hadn’t decided to stuff me down one. That would be cruel and unusual. At least if you get a swirly at school, the water is somewhat clean. The holes out here had no water.

  A tree branch slapped me in the face. We were clearly moving deeper into the woods.

  Out of earshot.

  The ground under my feet turned from hard and crunchy with twigs to smooth and sort of slick. I figured dewy grass. A clearing.

  My arm was released. The hand disappeared from the back of my neck.

  The silence was … it was loud. If you know what I mean. And the air felt charged. Like a storm was coming.

  Somebody must have given a signal. Because a fist slammed into my stomach. Twice. Fast and hard.

  I’d known this was coming for hours. But knowing doesn’t really do anything to prepare you for the pain.

  “This is what happens when you screw the team,” James told me. “I am not taking a fall for you.”

  He must have been about to throw a punch, because Andrew said, “Don’t touch his face. We don’t want any questions.”

  I got another punch. In the kidneys. But it was a Frank punch. No pain. I gave an ooof anyway. To make Frank look good.

  “Think of that when you get tired,” Frank told me.

  Something heavy—a tree branch?—slammed into my legs. Just behind the knees. I went down.

  “Next time, you keep up. Or this is nothing,” somebody said, and followed it up with a kick.

  The kick shoved me across the grass. I felt a rock slice into my forehead. Hot blood began to drip down my cheek.

  8 KNOCKED OUT

  Joe was bleeding. He hadn’t given the code word for me to stop this. But he was bleeding.

  James pointed at Andrew, then nodded at Joe. I saw a flash of uncertainty cross Andrew’s face. But he pulled back his foot and aimed a kick at Joe’s back.

  “Wait!” I cried before the kick could connect. “I think I heard something.”

  “Saunders likes it when we handle things ourselves. He’s not going to come out here,” James said.

  “But what about Smiley? He could have heard us. He could have followed us,” Andrew answered. He looked anxiously over his shoulder.

  I was almost positive Smiley had heard us. I’d said his name as loudly as I could when we moved past him. But it looked to me like he was going to pretend to be asleep and let whatever would happen happen.

  * * *

  SUSPECT PROFILE

  Name: Will Smiley

  Hometown: Billings, Montana

  Physical description: 6′2″, approximately 230 lbs., age 22, brown hair, green eyes.

  Occupation: Camp Wilderness Counselor

  Background: Raised by single mom who never told him who his father was; no siblings; attended two years at Montana Tech, but didn’t graduate.

  Suspicious behavior: Handed out the gear the day of the mountain climb.

  Suspected of: The murder of Zack Maguire.

  Possible motives: Wanted to impress Saunders by having a perfect team-and that didn’t include Zack. or Saunders wanted Zack dead and Smiley did the dirty work.

  * * *

  “Smiley wants to be Saunders,” James protested. “He’s not going to do anything he thinks Saunders won’t like. And, like I said, Saunders wants this. That’s what his whole speech today was saying.”

  I didn’t know if that was true or not. But I did know that if Saunders was a murder suspect, then Smiley should be too. Because I had the feeling that James was right. Smiley wanted to be Saunders. And that made him dangerous.

  “No, I didn’t mean I heard a person. It sounded more like a bear,” I said.

  “A bear?” Andrew backed away from Joe. He looked ready to run straight to his sleeping bag and cover his head.

  “Yeah. Maine is full of black bears. But they don’t usually attack,” I said.

  “Wait. Not usually?” Charlie asked. He sounded a little freaked. Good.

  “A friend gave me the scoop on what to do when she found out I had to come here,” I went on with a silent thanks, Mom. “If you see a bear, you’re supposed to put your hands over your head and say something like, “‘Oh, sweet brother bear, I didn’t see you. I apologize for coming to your home and I will leave now.’”

  “Huh?” James asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know anything about bears. I’m from Brooklyn. But that’s what she told me.”

  “I see a bear, I’m shooting it,” James announced.

  “Oh, they let you bring a gun in here?” Andrew asked. “I figured with this being basically prison—”

  “Shut it,” James said.

  “See, there it is again,” I said. I shot a look at Joe. He was really still. Was he badly hurt? Or had he decided to be smart and lie low?

  “Did you hear that? Something moving through the trees,” I continued.

  Ken stared down at Joe. “I think he’s probably figured out we’re serious.”

  Russell nodded. He probably didn’t think he could say anything. That guy on the ground was almost him. He’d been almost as slow as Joe had.

  “Okay, let’s get back,” James said. “He can find his own way.”

  “His head’s bleeding,” Dylan pointed out.

  Thank you, Dylan.

  “He’s fine. It’s just a trickle. Now, come on,” James ordered.

  And the group started moving out. Maybe some of them were afraid of what James would do to them if they didn’t leave Joe.

  I hesitated. Could Joe make it back okay on his own? He could pull the blindfold off as soon as we left. But how bad was his injury?

  As I tried to decide what to do, Joe opened his eyes. And winked at me.

  I let out a breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding. “I’m in no hurry to see a bear. If I get the urge, I’d rather go to the zoo,” I said. And I followed James and the others back to camp.

  But I couldn’t stop thinking about how sure James was that Saunders would be all hunky-dory about what we’d done to Joe. I figured it was time for me to do a little more investigating of the guy we’d come here to investigate.

  So the next day, instead of going to the mess hall with everyone else, I went to Saunders’s office. He seemed surprised to see me. I guess not many guys show up there voluntarily.

  “Mr. Neemy. I hope you enjoyed your first day here,” Saunders greeted me. “I’m sure it was a challenge for you to take the mountain twice. But I have to say, you did admirably.”

  “Thanks.”

  He stepped back so I could enter his office. His body was big enough to block the whole doorway.

  Wait. I was supposed to be the guy with attitude. And I’d just given Saunders a thank-you.

  “You know what, though? I don’t think surviving blisters on my feet has anything to do with the rest of my life.”

  Saunders’s dimples disappeared along with his smile. “And that’s what you came in here to say to me?”

  “No.” I sat down without being invited. Saunders stayed on his feet, all six-four of him towering over me. He raised an eyebrow.

  “The guys in my bunk—me included—gave Brian Moya a beating last night,” I blurted out. I wasn’t sure how else to say it.

  “Pretty much everyone thought that was what you’d want. But I wanted to ask you myself,” I continued. “If you think that’s
the way things should be handled, then I think you should have the guts to say so.”

  My words came out pretty forceful. Probably because I really believed what I was saying. It was wrong for Saunders to let a bunch of teenagers do his dirty work. If that’s what the deal was.

  “And why would pretty much everyone have thought that’s what I’d want?” Saunders asked. His face and his voice were expressionless.

  “Duh. Did you listen to yourself?” I asked. “If someone on our team isn’t doing enough laps or moving fast enough, then we’re supposed to fix it.”

  Saunders crossed his arms over his chest. “And when did I talk about the beating?”

  “How else are you supposed to get someone to do what you want them to do?” I asked.

  “Inspiration. Motivation. Leading by example. Humor. Bribery.” Saunders seemed to be enjoying his own words again.

  I stood up. “I figured you wouldn’t care. This was a waste. Who cares about Moya anyway?”

  “Sit back down. You’ll leave when you’re excused,” Saunders told me.

  “You forgot to put ‘court order’ on your list of ways to get people to do what you want,” I muttered. But I sat.

  Saunders picked up his walkie-talkie. “Smiley. To the office. Now.”

  Less than a minute later, Smiley came through the door. “Neemy. I was looking for you. Why aren’t you at chow?”

  “Tell him,” Saunders said. “Tell him what you told me.”

  “The guys and I took Moya into the woods last night. Taught him a lesson for making us do the mountain twice,” I said. “Pretty much everybody thought it was what Saunders would want.”

  I gave the Steve Neemy trademarked shrug. “I decided to be sure. It wasn’t exactly my style.

  Whaling on some guy because he’s too out of shape to climb a hill without practically stroking out.”

  “So you’re not just a pathetic little tattletale. That’s what you’re saying?” Smiley asked.