The excursion, p.12
The Excursion, page 12
“Yes.”
Dad saw Jacob whispering. “Also, I want all of you to promise you’ll play fair.” He shifted his gaze to Amanda. “Do you promise?”
I nodded.
“Yes, Uncle John,” Amanda said.
“Cameron? Jacob?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” He shook his head and raised his hands. “Well? What are you waiting for?”
Amanda bolted for the stairs.
Cam ran after her.
I waited until they’d both made it out of earshot.
Dad stood there, not saying anything. He’d promised to help me, and now was a great time for him to tell me where to find the first clue. Or where he’d hidden the tail.
But he didn’t say anything. He just stood there.
“Are we going?” Jacob asked. “Shouldn’t we go, Charly?”
I winked at my father and took Jacob’s hand. He’d find me later in the forest.
We sprinted toward the woods and crossed the trailhead in stride. The trees’ shade engulfed us, and the temperature dropped. Shadows crisscrossed the trail. Up ahead, Cam’s brown sweatshirt flashed between the branches and bushes. I couldn’t see where Amanda had gone. Jacob ran behind me, and before long, he breathed heavily. I stopped and turned around at every bend in the trail to check on him. To make sure he didn’t fall too far behind.
Cam’s sweatshirt took a sudden turn and disappeared. When I got to where he had changed direction, there was no fork in the trail. He must have bounded off into the trees.
I looked around for a clue. Spotting white pieces of paper against dark green pine needles and bushes should have been easy, but I hadn’t found a single one. Dad had said he left the clues close to the trail, but Cam had run off into the wilderness, leaving the beaten path.
What an idiot.
Jacob caught up with me and stopped. He put his hands on his knees and gasped for air. “Slow down, Charly.”
“No. We have to keep going.”
I took off.
“Wait,” he said.
I ran to the next fork and waited for him. There were no footprints in the hard-packed dirt, so I couldn’t tell which way Amanda had gone. Assuming she’d found a clue and taken it with her, our best option would’ve been to follow her. One clue was supposed to lead to the next.
“Charly.” Jacob panted like a dog. Sweat trickled down his cheek. He shouldn’t have worn that sweater. “Wait. I can’t keep going.”
“Why not?”
He sat on the ground, rubbing his leg. “I have a cramp. Ooh. My shin hurts. I have shin splints. I—”
“Get up. We have to go.”
“I can’t. Shin splints happen when the muscles don’t have room to flex. I can’t go or they’ll flex, Charly. They’ll hurt more.”
I grasped his arm and pulled. “Stand.” He stood on one foot and leaned into me. His breath smelled like wet paper. “We need to find a clue. I’m going to run ahead and look for one, okay?”
“Okay. Run ahead.”
“Follow me.”
“I can’t.”
“You have to. You promised.”
“No. It hurts.”
“At least try. Hop if you have to. I’ll be up ahead.”
“Don’t leave me.”
I ran down the path, scanning the trees for clues. Nothing. The trail forked again, and I went left. I should never have offered to play the game with Jacob tagging along. The trail forked yet again, and I ran back to check on him. I kept doing this, over and over, telling myself it was good to double-check the trees for clues, but each time, Jacob made more excuses. He said he couldn’t run on his leg. He said there were too many rocks on the path to dodge. Too many needles on the trees.
He said his chest hurt.
Of course his chest hurt.
That’s what running does.
I ran ahead again, leaving him farther behind than before.
A high-pitched squee broke over the ridge ahead. It might have been a bird, but it sounded like Amanda. And it sounded happy. I took the next fork toward the sound and sprinted hard. She might have collected all the clues by now. She might have found the prize. I hadn’t seen a single piece of paper yet because of Jacob. Doubling back every few minutes had cut our progress by half. It wasn’t fair. While Amanda followed her map, crossing off the trails as she went, I’d had to babysit Jacob.
I listened, but the squee didn’t come again. The trail emptied into a field that stretched over a hill. Amanda wasn’t there, and I hadn’t seen Cam since the beginning. This was a dead end. I turned back to find Jacob and planned on getting rid of him. I wanted him to go back to the cabin. I couldn’t do it anymore. Until I was certain Amanda had won, I needed to keep trying.
“Jacob?” I called.
He didn’t answer.
The trail branched in three directions, and I didn’t know which way I’d come. The sun hung to the south, so I knew the direction back to the cabin, but I didn’t know where Jacob had gone.
He had promised to keep up, and now he’d gotten lost.
I should never have believed him.
I took a deep breath and hoped Amanda had gotten lost. I hoped she’d misread her map.
All I needed was one good clue.
I turned in a circle, searching the forest for the white papers.
Why hadn’t my dad given me a hint before the game began?
He’d promised to help me, and then he said nothing before the game began.
Nothing.
Why hadn’t he come to me?
And, why had Jacob disappeared? I’d promised to take him with me on the game only so he would come. Dad was counting on me to watch over him, but I wanted to win. I didn’t have time to go chasing after him.
A squee cut through the trees. Amanda, celebrating.
The trail before me branched in three directions.
One toward Amanda’s squee.
One deeper into the forest.
And one toward the cabin.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
RANDALL
Randall sits on the leather couch by the fireplace, suffering from a headache, sipping Scotch and waiting for Miss Highsmith to come back downstairs.
The liquor has a bite. It’s a blend, and it’s not the best.
He wipes his lips.
The fire crackles.
Everyone should be gone by now, but they wouldn’t listen to him. They kept whining, and complaining, and coming up with weak excuses.
Too dark, Barry said.
I’m hungry, Kennedy said.
I’m not leaving until I get my own excursion. Amanda was the worst. Who does she think she is?
Randall takes a sip.
Everything has gone to hell. Everyone should have been following Barry’s Humvee down the mountain by now. Instead, Barry is in the kitchen bickering with his harlot. Miss Highsmith and her brother are hiding upstairs like cockroaches. Amanda sits at the dining table, staring at him. Plotting. Trying to come up with a way to get her own excursion.
Women make the worst clients.
Who does she think she is?
It’s almost too much to bear.
Randall takes another sip of his inferior Scotch.
If only Ronald was here. He could make them all go away. He could convince them to leave. Everyone loved him. They always wanted to do what he said. They all thought he was harmless, but he wasn’t.
He . . .
The pressure builds inside Randall’s head. His temples throb. He must stop thinking about his brother. It never helps. Ronald was weak.
Ronald had to go.
Everyone here must go.
“This isn’t working.” Barry’s voice carries from the kitchen. “It’s not sharp enough.”
“It’s a knife, isn’t it?” Kennedy is unbelievably stupid, even for a woman. “Knives cut, don’t they?”
“I think it’s for cutting butter or something.” Barry isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, either. “Not raw steak.”
Randall stands and faces the fireplace. The flames dance, and the logs pop, but he can still hear Barry and Kennedy’s incessant chatter. He closes his eyes and hears his parents’ incessant chatter. Their arguing. Ronald tried to keep the peace but—Ronald. Always trying, always behaving like a child. Always hopeful. Ronald never understood; you can beg the boars not to fight over slop, but at the end of the day, they’re still boars. They will eventually eat you alive if you let them.
Is that what happened?
Was Ronald eaten alive by boars?
No.
It had to be done.
For the sake of Darwin, it had to be done.
“What’s the water for?” says Barry in the kitchen.
“Pasta,” Kennedy says.
“We’re making steak and pasta?”
“There’s nothing else.”
“I saw lettuce in there. Why don’t you make a salad?”
“I don’t have anything to chop it with. The knife is gone.”
“Are you sure you didn’t move it somewhere? I swear it was here when we arrived.”
“For the last time, I didn’t touch it. I checked the dishwasher, the drawers—everywhere. It’s gone.”
“Mr. Thorne,” Barry yells. “Can you come here a second?”
This must end. They must stop their arguing. They must all leave. Tonight. Whatever their reasons for staying—too dark outside, too snowy, too hungry—it doesn’t matter. One way or another, they must all leave.
“Mr. Thorne?” Barry calls.
Randall’s head throbs.
“We lost the knife. Do you have another one?”
Randall doesn’t have a knife, but he has a gun.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHARLY
“Lie down,” I say.
Jacob lies on the bed, and I cover him with blankets before closing the door. We’re in the first bedroom off the hall. The one I stayed in as a child. The bed frame is constructed of rough-sawed pine and resides next to a matching dresser and desk. There’s a notepad and pen on the desk. It’s more like a hotel room now. All it’s missing is a Bible.
“I’m cold.” Jacob pulls the blanket up to his chin. “I didn’t want to come here, Charly. You made me come here, and it’s too cold in here.”
“You agreed to come, but then you changed your mind halfway up the mountain. We wouldn’t have crashed the car if you hadn’t tried to get out. Then, you ran away. I know coming here has been stressful, with the storm and everything, but what’s really going on? ”
“Cam is evil. That man is evil. The slickhead is evil. Everyone is—”
“No one is ‘evil.’ We’ve all had our problems, and we’ve all acted badly in certain situations. Cam’s not evil, he had a rough childhood, just like us. He just dealt with things differently than we did. His parents’ divorce messed him up too.” I step over to the desk and sit in the office chair. “I’d hoped he would be less strange by now, but we’ve got to give him a chance. Mom said he’s gone to therapy. We haven’t even talked to him yet.”
“He does horrible things, Charly.”
“No, he did some horrible things when he was little, but I’m sure he’s gotten better.” I hope he’s gotten better. We all did bad things growing up, but that’s how we learn. If I’d been held accountable for the mistakes I made as a child and on into adulthood, I’d have never become the person I am today. Cam deserves the same forgiveness.”
“He kills animals, Charly. Animals.”
I rub my hands together to warm them up. “We were kids. We all made mistakes.”
“I’m cold.”
“I know.”
“Cam is mean. He calls me ‘freckles.’”
“What?”
“If I don’t do what he says, I’ll end up like Freckles. Freckles was his cat, Charly.”
“I know. When did he call you ‘freckles?’ Tonight?”
“No.”
“When?”
“Never mind. I’m not staying here. There are too many people. I want to go home.”
“They’re all downstairs. You’re safe.”
“They could come anytime. I want to go to the car. I want to go home.” He pulls out his cell phone. “I want to watch videos.”
“Do you have a signal?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I want to go to the car. I had a signal in the car. I could watch YouTube if we went to the car.”
Jacob might be right. If we went back to the car, we’d be close enough to civilization to get a signal, and I could call a tow truck. Later, we could come back here with all our stuff and find out what’s in the boathouse. This is our cabin, and I want to know what’s going on.
Someone knocks at the door.
“I told you, Charly.” Jacob scoots back against the headboard. Sits up straight. “I told you someone could come.”
“Who is it?” I ask.
“It’s me.” The door opens.
Jacob pulls the covers over his head.
“Hi, Cam.” I follow his eyes to the bed. “Jacob isn’t feeling well. He’s over-sensitized. He doesn’t do well in groups.”
“I understand,” he says. “I’ve been to therapy.”
“Oh.” I meet his gaze. “How have you been, otherwise?”
“Good. Look, I want to catch up, but there’s a lot of confusion downstairs. Randall still wants us to leave tonight. He wants us to follow Barry through the snow, and he wants you to come down so he can talk to you.”
“We’re not going anywhere.”
“I want to go to the car,” Jacob says from beneath the blankets. “I want to go home, Charly.”
“No, this is our cabin. We came to spend New Year’s Eve with Cam and Amanda, and that’s what we’re going to do.”
Jacob jerks the covers off his head. “We didn’t come to spend it with that slickhead or that man. Why can’t we leave?”
The truth is, we could leave, but I’d be haunted by the noises I heard outside the boathouse. Besides, it’s the principle of the thing. Randall doesn’t own this place. He can’t force us to leave. Why is he so determined to push us out into the frozen wilderness? “Cam, I need to talk to Jacob for a minute. Can you tell everyone I’ll be down soon?”
“Sure.” He turns to go, then stops. “Oh, I almost forgot. They’re trying to cook dinner down there, but they’re having problems. Do you remember seeing any knives when you came? That guy swears there was a carving knife on the counter earlier, but it’s gone now. He said he doesn’t have anything to cut with.”
“I want to go to the car,” Jacob says. “I want to go now.”
“I never went into the kitchen.” I stand. “Jacob, did you see a knife?”
“He’s a slickhead, Charly. A slickhead who wants a knife. He could buy a knife if he wanted a knife. I don’t. I want to go home.”
The mention of food has my stomach aching. We haven’t eaten in hours. “Cam, can you ask them to make enough for us?”
“Sure.”
I watch closely as he leaves. His ratty hair and stained shirt scream same-old-Cam, but he’s not as aggressive as I remember. He moves into the hall, taking slow, measured steps, and descends the stairs.
“Jacob, you need to calm down.”
“I need my fidgets.”
“Everything is in the car.”
“I want to go to the—”
“I know, but we’re not going to the car. It’s too cold to spend the night out there. This is our cabin, and we’re staying. We’re spending New Year’s Eve with Amanda and Cam, and that’s final.” He scrunches his face. “Let’s talk about the problem. The real problem. Is it Cam, or is it all the people? If it’s Cam, you need to find a way to forgive him.”
“It’s both. Cam is evil. The people are evil. You’re being evil.”
“No, I’m not. I’ll try to make everyone leave except for Cam and Amanda, but you have to promise to calm down and stop running away.”
“I need my fidgets.” He pulls on his fingers. His eyes dart to the window.
“Okay. I’ll see what I can do. Maybe I can convince Barry to take me to the car, but until then, do you promise to stay in here?”
“Don’t leave me, Charly. You always leave me. Remember when you left me?”
“I left you once.” Heat courses up my neck. It’s been years, but he’ll never let it go. “Only once.” I go to the door. “Promise me you’ll stay this time. No more running away.” I can’t believe I’m asking him to promise again, but I have no choice. It will be okay. There’s only one way out of the cabin from here. He’d have to jump out the second story window to run.
All I have to do is keep an eye on the bottom of the stairs. “Do you promise?”
He nods, then pulls the covers over his head.
I pull the door closed behind me.
No one is going to tell me I have to leave.
Not Jacob.
Not Randall.
Not the noises coming from the boathouse.
I’m staying, and I’m going to find out what is going on.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
RANDALL
Cam comes down the stairs and steps awkwardly off the last step.
What a cretin. His gaze crosses over the dining room, ignoring Amanda who’s seated at the table, past the kitchen entryway, and settles on the french doors leading to the deck. He undoubtedly wants to stand by the burlap curtains and stare out at the forest again.
Randall stops him. “Did you give Miss Highsmith my message?”
“Do you mean Charly?”
“Ah, yes. Charly.” Randall’s throat tightens. “Did you tell Charly she must leave tonight?”
“Yes, I told her, but—I’ll let her tell you herself. She’ll be down in a minute. She wants dinner.” He heads for the french doors. “Hey, are you guys making enough for everyone?”
Amanda looks up from the dining table. “They are.”
Barry calls from the kitchen. “We could if we had a knife.”
He and Kennedy are fumbling around in there, attempting to make dinner when they should be leading everyone down the mountain in his Humvee.
