I Have a Bad Feeling About This (15 page)

“How do you think Henry is doing at survival camp?” asked Henry's mother, dropping some sliced carrots into the stew she was preparing for dinner.

“I think he's doing pretty well,” said Henry's father, who had spent the last fifteen minutes trying to think of something clever to tweet. It was a lot of pressure. He didn't want his eleven followers to think he didn't care about his messages.

“Do you think he's getting enough to eat?”

“Yeah, I think they're probably feeding him pretty well.”

“Do you think he's getting enough rest? He needs his rest.”

“I suppose he's getting enough rest. I don't know. He stays up all night playing those video games, so he doesn't need all that much rest. He's doing fine.”

“Do you think he's making friends?”

Henry's father shrugged. “I guess so. Not lifelong friends like he'd make in the army, but he's probably getting along with the other boys there, I assume.”

Henry's mother walked over to him with a spoonful of stew. “Here, try this.”

Henry's father slurped down the spoonful. “It's good.”

“Does it need salt?”

“No, I think it's fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I think it needs salt.”

“Then you can add salt. That's not a problem. It wouldn't be bad if it was a little bit saltier, but if it's not saltier, then it's fine too.”

“I'm going to add the salt.”

“That's fine.”

Henry's mom added a few shakes of salt.

“Not
that
much,” said Henry's dad. “I thought you were going to add a couple of shakes.”

“Oh, sorry. No, I thought it needed more salt than that.”

“That's okay. I'm sure it's still fine.”

Henry's mom stirred the stew. “Have you heard from Tom and Nancy lately?”

“Not really. I saw Tom when he was walking his dog a couple of nights ago. Maybe it was three nights.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Just hi. Why? Is something wrong?”

“Oh, no, no. Nancy had said that we should get together some evening and we never really finalized any plans, so I was wondering if Tom had said something—that's all.”

“He didn't say anything about it.”

“Okay.”

“If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not have us take the initiative on this. If they invite us and we can't get out of it, that's fine, but there's no reason for us to make the push for it to happen.”

“Don't you like Tom and Nancy?”

Henry's dad shrugged. “They're okay. Nothing special about them. I don't like the way Tom dribbles when he drinks. He thinks you don't notice, but there's always that one little dribble down his chin.”

“Are you sure it wasn't the glass?”

“It might have been the glass once. But I've seen the man drink from at least three different glasses, and there's always a dribble. No, four, because he was at the Barkers' cookout, and this little line of Diet Coke went all the way down his neck.”

“What if it's a medical condition?”

“Well, if it's a medical condition, then I apologize for holding that against him. But I don't think it is. I think the man just never mastered the art of beverage drinking.”

“Do you want me to ask Nancy about it?”

“No! Are you kidding me? Whether it's a medical condition or not, that's a lose-lose conversation. Don't ask her.”

“I won't.”

“Good.”

“I think I put too much salt in the stew.”

“I'm sure it's fine.”

“No, I wish you'd stopped me. It's too salty. It's not ruined, but it's not as good as it would have been. I'm sorry.”

“Eh, no big deal.”

“I know, but I feel bad. At least we're not having company over. Then I'd be really disappointed.”

“It's really no big deal. It's just stew.”

“You didn't want stew?”

“No, I like stew. I'm just saying that it's no big deal.”

“We didn't have to have stew. When I asked if you wanted stew for dinner, you said that sounded fine, but I could have made something else.”

“That's not what I'm saying at all. I'm just saying that if it's oversalted, it's not a big deal because it's just stew and not something special.” Henry's father quickly realized that this was not the wisest comment he'd made that evening and tried to figure out how to backpedal in the most efficient and safest manner. “Not that your stew isn't special,” he said, hoping it would smooth things over but strongly suspecting that it would not.

“Okay,” Henry's mother said, by which she meant, “Not okay.”

“I think we should invite Tom and Nancy over for lunch tomorrow,” said Henry's father. “Maybe even brunch. I really feel bad about judging him for something that might not be his fault and they're good people. What do you say?”

“Whatever you want,” Henry's mother said, by which she meant “The stew situation is not resolved.”

“Mmmmmm, stew,” said Henry's father. “Nothing better than a nice bowl of special stew.” This was a truly desperate effort and he knew it. And he knew that she knew it. But this ship was sinking fast and he needed to grab for the nearest life preserver.

Henry's mother said nothing, which was far worse than “Okay” and “Whatever you want.”

Henry's father sighed, wishing he were a teenager at survival camp.

***

—right.

“Monica!” Henry said, rushing over to her and giving her a great big hug. She clearly hadn't expected him to do such a thing, but she didn't pull away in revulsion.

“Hi,” she said after he broke the hug. “I swear I'm not here to mess with your survival games. But I heard the gunshots and it sounded like you guys were having way more fun than I was, so I snuck out to see how it was going. Are you three in an alliance?”

“No,” said Henry. “I'm already dead.”

“Me too,” said Randy.

“Do you have your cell phone?” asked Henry.

“Yeah.”

“I need it!”

“Game withdrawal again?”

“I don't have time to explain,” said Henry. “Actually, I do have time to explain because then you'll give me the cell phone quicker. There are three men. I don't know who they are, but they killed our counselor. Shot him dead. I know you think I'm just saying this because I'm too into the Survival Games and I'm having trouble separating fantasy from reality, but I'm not. They were going to kill me. I barely got away.”

“He saved us,” said Randy.

“We weren't kidnapped or anything,” Stu explained, “but apparently, we could have been if Henry hadn't acted.”

“He tackled a guy with a gun,” said Randy.

“The guy didn't have the gun out when Henry tackled him, but he might have been able to get to it. I didn't see exactly what happened,” said Stu.

“Only one of you talk,” said Monica. She pointed at Henry. “You talk.”

“Anyway, there are three killers out here and they don't want us to rat them out to the police, so they're trying to kill us too. And we're pretty sure our friend Erik got away, but we don't know that for sure. So if you'd let me borrow your phone, I wouldn't use it for gaming, I'd use it to call 911.”

Monica handed him the phone. “I would've been okay with just ‘people are trying to kill us.' You're too sweaty for somebody who's not in real danger.”

“Thanks.” Henry tapped 911 onto the phone display and then held it to his ear.

“What are you going to tell them?” asked Stu. “Should we get our story straight?”

“Why would we have to get our story straight if we're telling the truth?”

“Oh, sorry. I wasn't thinking. It's usually different circumstances when I call the police.”

Henry listened for a moment, but the phone didn't seem to be ringing. He glanced at the display. No bars.

“You're not getting a signal,” he said, shaking the phone as if that would help. “Why aren't you getting a signal?”

“We're in the middle of the woods.”

“But you had a signal last time. You got a text from your boyfriend. I mean, not from your boyfriend, but it was about your boyfriend. Not that I was looking at your texts. We have more important things to discuss right now. A man is dead.”

“Don't worry,” said Monica. “You're not going to get perfect coverage out here. All we have to do is walk until we get a signal again. No big deal.”

They began to walk. Monica didn't acknowledge his comment about her boyfriend. It was possible she agreed that escaping mortal danger took a higher priority than reassuring Henry that he had misunderstood the text and that she had no man in her life and in fact was actively seeking one, somebody skinny who nevertheless could save his friends from ghastly fates, but of course, that wasn't important right now. Escape danger first. Love life second.

“Still no bars,” said Henry.

“It's been ten seconds.”

“Is there a setting I need to mess with?”

“The phone is on, Henry. You're no good to anybody if you panic.”

“I'm not panicking. I'm really not,” said Henry, panicking a little. He wasn't sure why. Before Monica showed up, their plan had been to stumble around the woods until they stumbled upon a sign of civilization, so they were much better off now, even if her cell phone signal wasn't immediately working.

“Hello,” said a voice, amplified by a megaphone.

It was not the last person Henry wanted to hear saying “Hello,” (that would be Satan), but it was the last person Henry wanted to hear from who could realistically be saying “Hello” through a megaphone at that moment.

“We've got your friend Erik,” said Mr. Grand. “Show yourself in the next ten minutes or he's dead.”

In retrospect, if he'd known then what he knew now, Erik would not have volunteered to create a distraction. Oh, he couldn't argue that they'd achieved their goal. (Randy and Stu were not currently dead as far as he knew.) But now he was standing outside with a gun about six inches from his face. From his perspective, this hadn't been a good trade-off.

Mr. Grand held the megaphone in front of Erik's mouth. “Tell them,” he said. Erik wanted to make a sarcastic comment about germs on the mouthpiece but decided that this wasn't the best time to give the man attitude.

“They've got me,” said Erik. There was a momentary instinct to shout “Leave me! Save yourselves!” However, all things considered, he would prefer that his friends actually return to rescue him. So he left that part out.

“You have ten minutes…starting now,” Mr. Grand said into the megaphone. “At ten minutes and one second, your friend takes a bullet in the back of the head. Don't be late.”

He lowered the megaphone. Chad kept the gun pointed at Erik's head.

“Are you really going to kill me?” Erik asked.

“If we have to,” said Mr. Grand.

“Because diplomacy, that's pretty sweet too.”

“That's what I've heard.”

“Look, I don't know what kinds of things you guys do on a regular basis, but murdering a bunch of teenagers seems really extreme. That's Freddy or Jason stuff. My feeling is that it's not a good solution to your problem.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, I didn't even witness your crimes. I honestly don't know what you guys did here.”

The door opened and Ethan walked out, dragging Max's dead body.

“Sure, don't help me or anything,” Ethan muttered, leaving a trail of blood in the dirt as he dragged the corpse to the car.

“I didn't see any of that,” said Erik.

“Where some people see challenges, I see opportunity,” said Mr. Grand. “There aren't many times in your daily life where you have a legitimate reason to kill teenagers, and you can't just go killing them for no reason. That would be absurd. So this is like a little gift from the heavens.”

Erik looked Mr. Grand in the eyes, trying to figure out if he was a deranged whack-job or if he was just pretending to be a deranged whack-job to scare him.

He decided that it didn't matter.

***

“What do we do?” asked Randy.

Henry handed the cell phone back to Monica. “I need you to head back to your camp. Call the cops as soon as you get a signal. We're going back.”

“We are?” asked Stu.

Monica shook her head. “If these guys are that dangerous, then you'll need me.”

“What are you going to do? Take them out one by one?”

“Maybe.”

It frightened Henry a little that he totally believed her. “It's more important to call the cops.”

Monica gave the phone to Stu. She pointed back the way she came. “Music camp is directly that way. Keep going straight for about three miles. If you don't get a signal by the time you get there, they've got a landline.”

“I can't let you do this,” said Henry.

“No, she looks pretty strong,” Stu noted. “She's a definite asset. Three miles that way. Got it.”

“What happens when we show up and we're missing a person? They might kill Erik.”

“Was your plan just to hand yourselves over?” asked Monica. “That's a terrible plan.”

“Sucky plan,” said Stu.

“I wasn't going to just—I don't know what we're going to do yet. But we can't leave Erik there.”

“Hey, I like Erik,” said Stu. “Nice guy. Good attitude about things. Best hair of any of us except Jackie. But we shouldn't all die for him. He wouldn't die for all of us.”

“If he dies, he'll have died for you and Randy.”

“Okay, true, but that's not
all
of us.”

“No, he'd die for only two of us. That's even nobler.”

Stu considered that. “Yes, I'll concede that, but he thought he was going to get away. So he wasn't sacrificing himself for us. He was just putting himself in danger for us, which is still admirable. I'm certainly not trying to take that away from him, but what we're doing is suicide, which is worse than putting yourself in danger. But I do like that idea of walking to music camp.”

“It's not suicide,” said Henry. “I'm not saying that we should just walk out there and say, ‘Here are our heads. Shoot 'em.' But do you really think we should leave Erik without trying to talk to them?”

“I've made my admiration for Erik very clear. If you think that not going back there is the same as leaving him to die, then that's your own issue.”

“It's not my issue! That's exactly what it is! Not going back equals dead Erik. Do you want that on your conscience?”

“I have gifts to give to the world and that requires me to be alive. Are you okay with stealing the world's gifts?”

“You're a coward.”

“Gift stealer!”

“Stop it!” said Monica. “There's nothing wrong with Stu's cowardice as long as he's serving the greater good.”

“Yeah!”

“Now I'm not trying to be insulting about you or egotistical about myself, but you guys need me. Big time. Not trying to toot my own horn here. I just think that I'm the only thing that stands between you guys and this camp being renamed Strongwoods Massacre Camp.”

Everybody murmured in agreement. It was sad but true.

“Stu, go find the camp. Don't read any of my texts.”

Stu nodded and hurriedly ran off before any further guilt trips could be placed upon him.

“As for the rest of you,” said Monica in a tone of voice suggesting that if a movie camera were present, it would be doing a slow, dramatic zoom on her face, “let's go save your friend.”

***

Jackie grinned as he sat in the tree. He couldn't believe they thought they could draw him out with a fake voice over the megaphone. He was finally starting to get bored with the comic book, so he decided to take a nap.

***

Henry and Randy found what they hoped was a safe spot. They were close enough to see the side of the building but had enough tree coverage that the bad guys couldn't get an accurate shot. Hopefully.

“You now have sixty seconds,” Mr. Grand said into the megaphone from the front of the building. “Fifty-nine…fifty-eight—”

“We're here!” Henry called out.

“Fifty-seven…fifty-six—”

Mr. Grand couldn't hear them over his own voice. This had the potential of creating a wacky, bloodstained mishap.

“We're here!” Henry and Randy shouted together.

“Good,” said Mr. Grand. “Very good.”

He walked into view alongside the building only about thirty feet away. Erik followed, hands in the air. Chad had a gun to Erik's back.

“I know that you have no way of calling for help,” said Mr. Grand, no longer using the megaphone. “The only weapons you have are toys. Your best bet to survive this is to give yourselves up and let us all talk this out like adults.”

“That doesn't really work for us,” Henry called out, using his most
Eh, I'm not all that worried that you're gonna kill me
tone of voice. “What else have you got?”

“How about this? Come out or we shoot your friend.”

“You're bluffing,” said Henry. “You know that if you kill him, you'll never see us again. So make a better offer.”

Mr. Grand chuckled. “You're very clever.”

“That wasn't clever at all. Don't patronize me.”

“We seem to have ourselves an impasse.”

“Looks like it.”

“How do you propose we resolve it?”

“Let Erik go.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You might spend less time in jail.”

“Was that a joke?” asked Mr. Grand. “Do you really think that
you're
intimidating
me
in this situation with threats of jail time?”

“Dunno.”

“Let me explain how this is actually going to work. Come out now, all of you, or we're going to break your friend. Do you know what a bone sounds like when it snaps in half?”

“Like a snap?” Henry asked.

“So this is all a big joke now? Are you all going to sit out there and giggle while we rip his arms out of their sockets? How about I move things forward for us? Come out now or we're going to shoot a hole through his right palm.”

Henry took a deep breath. This was the part of the plan that truly bit.

A really great plan at this point would be based on the following theory:

a) Mr. Grand would not actually harm Erik because

b) If he did, the other kids would flee.

Unfortunately, Henry was nowhere near confident enough about this theory to test it. If they refused to show themselves at all, Mr. Grant and his cronies would most likely make the assumption that:

a) The boys were never going to come out of the woods and therefore

b) They might as well kill Erik.

This was not a desirable outcome, and in fact, it would possibly lead to:

c) Mr. Grand, Chad, and Ethan, assuming that the other boys were close, would recklessly open fire into the woods, figuring that they'd get at least one more of them.

Based on this analysis, the plan of not doing anything was a poor one. So they had to work with a backup theory:

a) If Henry showed himself, Mr. Grand would not necessarily immediately blow him away.

This was a very risky theory since it assumed that a man who wanted very badly to kill Henry would not take the opportunity to do so. In fact, it assumed that all three men would behave in that manner, including one whom Henry had recently kicked in the crotch and whose mind might not be working correctly yet.

However, playing the odds, Henry felt that his immediate status after stepping out of the woods would
not
be to be dead. So he had to do it to save Erik based on his theory that:

a) Monica could actually do what she said she was going to do.

It was insane to think that she could. And Henry wasn't going to lie to himself. If he didn't have a crush on her, his reaction would've been “Are you
kidding
?” Not that he didn't believe girls could accomplish amazing things, but when one of them assured him that she could sneak into the building, find Max's stash of weaponry, and turn it to their advantage…well, he had to be a bit skeptical.

But it was too late now.

Actually, no, it wasn't. There was still time for a wuss-out. Still time to decide that noble behavior was way overrated. Still time to tell his grandchildren “Yep, I was there on that dark day, and though Grampy Henry beat a quick retreat, that's why he's still got a lap for you to sit on.”

Henry gave Randy a look that he hoped was meaningful enough if it turned out to be his last one (a brave face yet with a touch of sorrow) and then stepped out of the woods.

“What a complete dumbass,” said Chad, incredulous.

“Shut up,” Mr. Grand told him. To Henry, he said, “Where are the others?”

“They're watching.”

“Tell them to come out.”

“No, you wanted to talk like adults, so let's do it. Here's how we're going to solve our problem: We want to get paid. A hundred grand each. We will keep quiet for forty-eight hours after you get out of here, and if we get our hundred grand, then we'll stay quiet for another thousand a month.”

“Each?”

“Yes.”

“That price seems a bit steep.”

“To conceal a murder?” Henry honestly didn't have any idea what the standard blackmail rates for this kind of thing were.

“Why not a make it simple? A flat payment of a hundred and fifty grand each?”

Henry pretended to think that over. “We can do that.”

“Then how would I know you wouldn't turn me in as soon as you got your money?”

“Well…that's why I suggested the ongoing payment plan.”

“Hmmmm.”

Hmmmm
was the last comment for a few moments. Henry hoped that his sheen of perspiration wasn't blinding anybody.

“Now, you understand that if you take the money, this makes you an accessory, right? If you take my cash and turn me in, you'll be in the cell next to me. And then my men will find your family and they will die glacially slow deaths. Do you understand this?”

“I do.”

“Hmmmm. You know what, Henry? We may just have a deal,” said Mr. Grand in what was one of the most transparent lies Henry had ever heard.

“Awesome,” said Henry.