Sunday Billy Sunday (9 page)

“Twenty is good odds,” George confidently announced to the other counselors who had gathered in the administrator’s cabin. “We can get out at least a text or something, no problem, once we get close to the highway.”

Though it hadn’t been stated officially, the assumption had been that a group would be sent out towards the road, which Father Billy now confirmed, the phones spread out on table in front of him.

“When you face facts and look at all our options, you realize that’s only one clear path to take,” he began, almost sonorously as if from his pulpit. “We’ll send a group of about eight out towards the highway, give them plenty of water and hope they reach a point where they can call the police and paramedics on one of the cells. Unfortunately, given the situation with the Jeep and the phones already taken from the counselor’s cabin, we can figure that whoever this killer is has been watching us and may follow whoever leaves the camp. I imagine a group of eight is a good enough number to dissuade him from an attack. Additionally, it is my hope, that this group might draw him away from the camp and the rest of the campers.”

“You want us to act as bait,” stated George.

“That’s it exactly,” nodded Father Billy. “It’s going to be dangerous, which is why I can’t assign this to anybody, I can only ask for volunteers.”

George considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Count me in.”

Father Billy looked to the other counselors as Cindy, and to Cindy’s surprise, Constance, raised their hands. Judy and Whit made motions to suggest they might, but ultimately kept their own hands down.

George sneered, but Father Billy shook his head.

“Don’t begrudge anyone their decision. Staying behind may turn out to be an even more treacherous choice. We just don’t know.”

But then he turned to Cindy.

“I can’t let you go,” Father Billy said. “The campers trust you more than anybody else, so I need you here look after the camp, start moving campers into the mess hall to eat lunch, try to give them something to do to take their minds off this. If you can, try to make sure everyone stays in groups of ten or more.”

“Wouldn’t it be better for you to do that?” Cindy queried, but then realized the answer.

“I’m not going to send anybody out into harm’s way if I’m not going, too,” Father Billy explained. “We’ll recruit the other five from the campers and, like this morning, the more athletic, the tougher, the better. If there’s a fight, if we have to run, it’d be better if we had a couple of the stronger ones in hopes they make it back alive....”

Father Billy trailed off, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t believe I’m having to even think like this.”

The counselors nodded. George stood up.

“I’ll go pull some of the guys. Won’t be hard to find volunteers.”

“Great – go to,” replied Father Billy, then turned to Constance. “We’ll need water bottles. I think there are some in the equipment shed.”

Constance nodded and headed out. Father Billy then looked over at Cindy.

“You have anybody you think can get the kitchen up and running for lunch?”

“Faith Tanahill and her little friend, Maia,” Cindy replied. “They pretty much handled breakfast single-handedly this morning.”

Father Billy nodded, fighting back a smile. Even he knew how reliable Faith was.

“Okay, tell her what you have to,” Father Billy said. “Make sure everyone eats, but keep your eyes on the woods at all times.”

The campers watched from their windows as George, Constance, Father Billy and a group of larger boys, including Colby Keating, made their way up the road. When they’d emerged from the administrator’s cabin, they’d been carrying plastic bottles filled with water and the campers knew that they weren’t just making a quick jaunt into the woods to look for the bodies again. Word spread quickly about the damaged Jeep, but before anyone could panic over it, Whit and Judy went from cabin to cabin announcing that lunch would be done in shifts and that it would start within the hour, restoring at least some sense of normalcy. Until then, however, everyone was to remain in their cabins.

“Faith?” Cindy said, poking her head into Cabin 6.

Faith looked up, having settled back into reading her book. Maia now sitting on the floor, leaning against Faith’s bunk with her own book (Pelé again) a few inches away.

“Can I see you and Maia a moment?”

Faith nodded, closed her book and headed for the door with Maia in tow. As soon as they were outside and Cindy turned to them, taking a deep breath.

“I know you guys already did breakfast duty this morning, but Father Billy wanted me to see if you’d be willing to come to the kitchen and help me with lunch. We have people assigned, obviously, but I don’t know how reliable they’re going to be right now.”

Faith was a little surprised, but quickly nodded. “Sure, I can do that.”

“Me, too,” Maia agreed.

“Great. We really, really appreciate it.”

The trio made their way to the mess hall, but as they walked across the camp, Faith couldn’t help but keep a nervous eye out towards the trees. She made a move to hold Maia’s hand again, but held back at the last second out of embarrassment. It took them less than thirty steps to get to the kitchen door, but for Faith, it felt like an eternity.

Cindy unlocked the kitchen door, ushered the girls in, then locked the door behind them before placing the key in Faith’s hand.

“I’ll be in and out depending how much the others need me, but when I’m gone, please, please, please keep this door locked and don’t let anyone in except for myself or one of the other counselors,” Cindy said. “We don’t expect any more attacks, but...”

Cindy accidentally made eye contact with Faith when she said this last part and it was obvious that the 14 year-old didn’t really believe her. Cindy was about to qualify her remark when Maia interjected with a question.

“What happened to the knives?”

Cindy turned and saw Maia standing next to the knife block where just about every last one of the large carving knives had been removed, including a cleaver.

“Father Billy and the others took them,” Cindy replied, figuring she had no reason to lie. “I think it just makes them feel less scared. I doubt if they’ll have to stab somebody with them.”

With every word, Cindy knew she was saying things that could only scare the two girls, but could barely keep the words in as she wanted to be honest with someone, at least. Finally, she just forced a smile.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to handle this quite yet.”

“It’s okay, Cindy,” said Maia. “I don’t think we’d know either. It’s just weird.”

“Yes, it is that,” Cindy admitted, then hesitated. “All right. I’m going to head back out for a bit to see what needs to be done, but I’ll be back. If you need anything at all, feel uncomfortable, get scared, whatever – just go out into the mess hall, which is also locked from the inside, and try to get somebody’s attention, okay?”

“Sure thing,” replied Faith.

Cindy nodded and headed for the door. She was just about to close it back when Maia called out to her. “Can we listen to music while we work?”

Cindy thought about this for a moment, but then nodded. “Okay, just keep it really low so you can hear if anyone calls out or we have to leave or something.”

As soon as Cindy closed the door, Faith ram over and locked it from the inside. She then turned back to Maia, who was holding the stack of laminated menus.

“Which ones should we do?”

“I suppose we can make just about anything we want to,” Faith said. “Are you in the mood for anything in particular?”

Maia thumbed through the laminated pages, but then spotted something that looked good.

“How about tacos?” she asked. “They’re festive. Might make people feel a bit better.”

Faith smiled and nodded her approval before Maia pulled her iPod from her pocket and walked it over to the iPod dock where she hunted around for something to play. When she found the right song, she hit “play” and soon the familiar strains of Desi Arnaz singing “Cuban Pete” filled the kitchen.

“Oh, my God – you
have
this?” Faith gasped, heading to the walk-in fridge to retrieve the ground meat.

“It’s my dad’s favorite, or one of them, as least,” Maia replied. “Figured it would set the tone for tacos, no?”

Faith laughed as she walked by Maia, feeling a bit of the morning’s weight lifted. Maia leaned forward as Faith passed, giving her a quick peck on the side of the head, square in the hair.

“Muah!” Maia said, exaggerating the kiss.

Faith giggled and pretended to rub it away. “Oh, come on,
Mom!!”

Out on the road, the hot summer sun was streaming down on George and the others as they made their way to the highway. They’d split the phones out amongst the group, each camper getting two, Constance and Father Billy getting one extra, then George taking four for himself. Rather than run down the fragile batteries with constant checks for a signal, they decided from the outset that they’d only check once every fifteen minutes and together as a group.

The heat had made the walk particularly grueling, but Father Billy had insisted that, even though he was suffering more than most due to his age, that they regiment their water breaks in the same fashion, no one taking water until they’d already been out for at least forty-five minutes.

“I know that seems like a long time, but we don’t know how long the water will have to last us or if it’s all we’ll have for the walk back, too,” he said.

The boys had all agreed, eager to prove their masculinity, though after thirty minutes or so, they were as parched as Father Billy. Constance, unaccustomed to this much physical activity, was also having a rough time of it and had resorted to counting down the minutes until she could take a drink. Colby noticed and looked over.

“Are you going to have the bottle ready at the tip of your tongue at forty-four minutes, fifty-nine seconds?” he chided her, albeit good-naturedly.

Constance rolled her eyes, but couldn’t suppress her grin. “Not making any guarantees, but it could happen.”

She looked over at Colby, who grinned back. He was handsome, sure, but she put his age between fifteen and sixteen at best. Still, given extenuating circumstances (and these certainly qualified), she could see herself lip-locked with the camper on, say, the last night of camp or maybe in the church parking lot “after” once she was technically relieved of her counselor-duties. She didn’t exactly get around, but she certainly had a thing for cute boys.

“If I am, so what?” continued Constance, opening the door to further flirtation. “Are you so sure I won’t waste some of it by pouring it over your head?”

Colby pretended to flinch, but then leaned towards the counselor.

“Don’t joke. I’d be grateful. Any way I can help convince you?”

“Keep talking,” she said coyly. “You’re making progress.”

Colby smiled again, but then checked his watch. “Hey – forty-five minutes. See how I helped you kill a couple of minutes?”

Constance slowed, opened her bottle and took a long drink. “Aaaaah....”

Up ahead, George heard Colby and Constance’s back and forth and checked his own watch. The camper was off by a couple of minutes, but George didn’t care. He was feeling dehydrated, primarily because he’d had more than a few beers the previous night with Humberto before the other counselor had slipped out with Pamela. George had woken up feeling the effects and knew he’d better tank up on water, but then everything just kind of “happened” and he’d gotten sidetracked.

“All right, let’s stop here,” said George, pulling the four cell phones out of his pocket. “Anybody getting lucky?”

Everyone momentarily put their water aside and concentrated on their cell phones, as if willing bars of service to appear. Constance momentarily forgot just how thirsty she was in the anticipation that, this time, maybe they’d be a little closer to rescue, their ordeal over.

“Don’t forget to hydrate,” Father Billy admonished, walking up alongside the campers while pouring a few swallows of water down his throat from his own canteen. “We’ve got a ways to go, but don’t over-conserve.”

Constance nodded and started drinking more, as did the others. A few quick swallows, a glance to the phones, then a few more swallows after that.

Colby shot almost half his water bottle by the time he noticed that it tasted funny. He figured it was because the thermos had been sitting in an equipment shed for a year and probably had needed a real scrubbing instead of just the rinsing out he’d seen Father Billy give them in the administrator’s cabin sink before popping in iodine purification pills. He’d heard in Boy Scouts that the pills had a bad after taste, but this wasn’t that. It was like a flavoring had been added. The water tasted sweet, not bitter.

He looked over and saw that Father Billy was staring right at him, watching him closely. When he caught the priest’s gaze, the older man’s pursed lips unwove into a knowing smile. Colby stared at him for a moment before his vision got a little hazy and Father Billy walked away.

George was raising his canteen to his lips when, suddenly, a single blue bar of service appeared on the phone, lighting up one of four rectangles arranged in ascending order next to a symbol of an antenna. Then, as soon as it appeared, it went away, the “no service” legend returning. But it had been there and if he could get it once, he could get it again.

“Shit, c’mon!” George said, jogging a little ways ahead of the group, holding the phone aloft.

“George? You okay?” he heard Father Billy call from behind him.

“Yeah, yeah,” the counselor replied. “I think I might’ve gotten something, though.”

George kept moving up the road, waving the phone around, trying to replicate whatever condition had just allowed it to get reception. Father Billy jogged up to him and looked at the phone, too.

“How sure are you? Could it be wishful thinking?”

“I’m positive. It lit up. Just one bar, but there it was.”

As the two stared at the phone, they continued moving a few more steps up the road, but still nothing. As they went, George’s frustration grew with every step. He didn’t want Father Billy to think he was lying or, worse, going a little nutty.