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Authors: Steven Whibley
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my head against the wall of the shower and let the water clean the dirt and paint off my skin and soothe the nicks and scratches that must’ve been caused by shrapnel.
Shrapnel. The word made my entire body tense.
I told myself over and over that the land mine couldn’t have been lethal. But there was a rolling in the pit of my stomach that wouldn’t go away. This camp had to be military. No one else would use explosives. There weren’t uniforms, though; no saluting, no people with ranks. I didn’t know a lot about army camps for kids, but I was pretty sure they didn’t look like Camp Friendship. Where were the marching drills and push-ups and KP duty I’d heard about? Camp Friendship didn’t seem to have any of that.
Plus, why had Dalson told everyone to treat this place like a regular camp? I couldn’t think of a single explanation for why anyone would say that. Under what circumstances would a camp want to look like a regular camp, but not be a regular camp?
For a half second, I thought about calling Dad to see if he’d consider bringing me home. But no—he’d be disappointed in me, and I’d probably end up in Alaska. A three-week camp experience was a lot better than a year in Alaska, no matter what happened. Plus, the longer I stood under the shower, the more my curiosity bloomed. Questions piled on top of questions. I cursed myself again for the broken cell phone. If I could call Jason, he would help me figure things out.
It was only Day One, and already I’d been beaten up and nearly blown sky-high.
By the time I’d toweled off and put on clean clothes, I had made two resolutions. First, to do whatever it took to get to the bottom of this place, and second, to devise a plan of escape—a backup plan—just in case this turned out to be a camp of near-death experiences.
Chapter 12
I’d barely taken half a dozen steps out of the shower building when I heard, “Captain Cambridge, sir.”
I turned. A round-faced boy with short blond hair, who was at least six inches shorter than me, stared back. I guessed he was about ten or eleven years old. A boy and a girl, about the same ages, stood a step behind him and had similarly blank expressions.
“It’s, um, Matt,” I said. “You can call me Matt.”
The boy shrugged. “Of course, Captain. I mean Matt.” He gestured to the camp. “I keep forgetting we’re supposed to be getting into the habit of being regular campers. I’ll call you Matt from now on.”
I gave him a look that I hoped said, What do you want?
“Sorry,” he continued. “My name’s Rob Tendres.” He gestured behind him to his friends. “This is Alexis Greenwood and Duncan Brooks.”
The girl had short, inky-black hair and seashell-white skin. The boy beside her had a shaved head and coffee-colored skin. He also had a scar at least an inch long that ran just beneath his left eye. Neither of them spoke.
“We’re on Team Grizzly,” Rob added. He touched the figure of a bear on his T-shirt as if it were a piece of identification. I must’ve looked confused, because he added, “Your team, sir, I mean, Matt.”
“Right,” I said with a sigh. “I know what team I’m on. It’s wonderful to meet you. But I was nearly blown up a few minutes ago, so if you’ll excuse me . . .” I turned and started to walk away.
“Wait, sir, I mean, Matt.” He caught up to me and kept pace. “Could we talk to you for a second?”
I stopped and looked up at the sky. This kid didn’t seem the type to give up. “Fine.” I turned. The trio stood shoulder to shoulder with stiff soldier-like postures. It made my skin crawl to see a bunch of preteens acting with such discipline.
Rob glanced at his two friends, and they gave almost indistinguishable nods. Then he turned back to me and blurted out, “We’d like to be involved in the challenges.”
I thought about almost getting blown up on the soccer field and forced a laugh. “No offense, kid, but you don’t know
Shrapnel. The word made my entire body tense.
I told myself over and over that the land mine couldn’t have been lethal. But there was a rolling in the pit of my stomach that wouldn’t go away. This camp had to be military. No one else would use explosives. There weren’t uniforms, though; no saluting, no people with ranks. I didn’t know a lot about army camps for kids, but I was pretty sure they didn’t look like Camp Friendship. Where were the marching drills and push-ups and KP duty I’d heard about? Camp Friendship didn’t seem to have any of that.
Plus, why had Dalson told everyone to treat this place like a regular camp? I couldn’t think of a single explanation for why anyone would say that. Under what circumstances would a camp want to look like a regular camp, but not be a regular camp?
For a half second, I thought about calling Dad to see if he’d consider bringing me home. But no—he’d be disappointed in me, and I’d probably end up in Alaska. A three-week camp experience was a lot better than a year in Alaska, no matter what happened. Plus, the longer I stood under the shower, the more my curiosity bloomed. Questions piled on top of questions. I cursed myself again for the broken cell phone. If I could call Jason, he would help me figure things out.
It was only Day One, and already I’d been beaten up and nearly blown sky-high.
By the time I’d toweled off and put on clean clothes, I had made two resolutions. First, to do whatever it took to get to the bottom of this place, and second, to devise a plan of escape—a backup plan—just in case this turned out to be a camp of near-death experiences.
Chapter 12
I’d barely taken half a dozen steps out of the shower building when I heard, “Captain Cambridge, sir.”
I turned. A round-faced boy with short blond hair, who was at least six inches shorter than me, stared back. I guessed he was about ten or eleven years old. A boy and a girl, about the same ages, stood a step behind him and had similarly blank expressions.
“It’s, um, Matt,” I said. “You can call me Matt.”
The boy shrugged. “Of course, Captain. I mean Matt.” He gestured to the camp. “I keep forgetting we’re supposed to be getting into the habit of being regular campers. I’ll call you Matt from now on.”
I gave him a look that I hoped said, What do you want?
“Sorry,” he continued. “My name’s Rob Tendres.” He gestured behind him to his friends. “This is Alexis Greenwood and Duncan Brooks.”
The girl had short, inky-black hair and seashell-white skin. The boy beside her had a shaved head and coffee-colored skin. He also had a scar at least an inch long that ran just beneath his left eye. Neither of them spoke.
“We’re on Team Grizzly,” Rob added. He touched the figure of a bear on his T-shirt as if it were a piece of identification. I must’ve looked confused, because he added, “Your team, sir, I mean, Matt.”
“Right,” I said with a sigh. “I know what team I’m on. It’s wonderful to meet you. But I was nearly blown up a few minutes ago, so if you’ll excuse me . . .” I turned and started to walk away.
“Wait, sir, I mean, Matt.” He caught up to me and kept pace. “Could we talk to you for a second?”
I stopped and looked up at the sky. This kid didn’t seem the type to give up. “Fine.” I turned. The trio stood shoulder to shoulder with stiff soldier-like postures. It made my skin crawl to see a bunch of preteens acting with such discipline.
Rob glanced at his two friends, and they gave almost indistinguishable nods. Then he turned back to me and blurted out, “We’d like to be involved in the challenges.”
I thought about almost getting blown up on the soccer field and forced a laugh. “No offense, kid, but you don’t know
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