Camp Valor

by Scott McEwen

  Another all-star on the boys’ side was Ebbie. Ebbie grew up in Detroit and had been recruited to play football for a fancy suburban boarding school. Ebbie brought a unique combination of street cred and high-end social polish to Valor, not to mention brute strength. He was fifteen years old, five-ten, and 250 pounds of muscle. His sports were football, where he was virtually unstoppable, and swimming, where he caused a wave across the lanes when he swam the butterfly.

  Ebbie’s brain was even more powerful than his body. He was an engineering genius with a liberal streak. Ebbie was sent to Valor after he was found guilty of misappropriating school funds—a lot of funds. When a wealthy parent at the school donated thirteen million dollars to build a state-of-the-art equestrian center for only five of four hundred students (two of which were the children of the donor), Ebbie hacked into the school’s financial system and diverted the funds to purchase a tablet for every single one of the Detroit public school system’s nearly 48,000 students. The tablets came preloaded with all of the courses taught at the prep school and a My Little Pony app. Ebbie would neither confirm nor deny the allegations.

  And of course Rory was another star. Not physically. Not even mentally—though she was wicked smart. Simply by dint of determination, she was one of the best. And like a few of the younger campers, Rory kept a stuffed animal to comfort her. It was a blue elephant, made by Rory herself, using a blanket, pillow stuffing, suture thread, and buttons for eyes. She kept it in the bottom of her sleeping bag, nuzzling it at night after flying drones, playing war games, and “killing the enemy.” Wyatt had to respect the little badass.

  While the boys were, on average, faster and stronger, the girls at Valor were hardcore. And Dolly was by far the hardest of all, and the prettiest girl Wyatt had seen in real life. She was five seconds faster than Wyatt on the obstacle course, could beat him in long runs (but lost in sprints), and half the time she was faster in the water as well. Wyatt had yet to grapple with Dolly, who had trained in Brazilian-style jujitsu. Dolly had soundly beaten Samy in a wrestling match, and the beating had nothing to do with size or strength, but skill, pain points, and quickness. She actually made Samy tap out—screaming—simply by applying the right leverage to one of his fingers. Samy told Wyatt, “Brother, it was humiliating to lose to a girl … but man oh man, it was well worth it.”

  “What do you mean, ‘worth it’?” Wyatt asked.

  “Her hair. It smelled so good, my friend. It was worth losing to her to get to smell it. Just to get my beak inside her locks. Heaven.”

  The image of Samy’s nose buried in Dolly’s hair disturbed Wyatt. He tried to force it from his thoughts. Still, he had to ask, “What did it smell like?”

  Samy scratched the thin teenage beard on his chin. “A little soapy. Little sweaty. And I think there was a spritz of perfume in there too.”

  “What kind of perfume?”

  “Chanel No. 9,” Samy said, poker-faced.

  “What? What is Chanel No. 9? And how do you know what it smells like?”

  Samy’s face broke into a smile. “I have no idea, dude. I’m kidding. I seen Chanel No. 9 in commercials, you think I know what it smells like—”

  “Never mind,” Wyatt cut Samy off and jogged on, regretting that he’d opened his big mouth.

  “Why you asking?” Samy called after Wyatt. “Hold up.” Samy hustled after him. “Why you care what her hair smells like? What kind of perfume she got? Brother, you in the big time. Big time got you.”

  “What’s the big time?”

  “Love is what it is. Trouble is what it gets you,” Samy said.

  “No way. Dolly’s with Hud … I think.”

  “You think? You mean you been thinking about that, too. You crackin’ me up, man.” Samy jogged on, half–doubled over in fits of laughter. “But in all seriousness here, man, you gotta get that sorted out in your head.”

  “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Samy eyed Wyatt. “You fallin’. And Valor does not want that to happen. But I’ll tell you what. If I learned anything in my life, and I’m not saying I have, it’s that people are the only thing that matters in the end.”

  “Yeah,” Wyatt said, teasing. “How’d you figure that out at all of fifteen years of age?”

  “When you and your family are all refugees and those who are home are either killed or hiding, you learn pretty quick.” Samy gritted his teeth and jogged ahead.

  “Sorry…” Wyatt said, recalling that Samy’s father was an interpreter who worked with U.S. special forces. “I shouldn’t have asked. None of my business.”

  “I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t want you to know.”

  * * *

  Wyatt couldn’t figure Dolly out. And it was driving him nuts. And it wasn’t that Wyatt wondered—does she like me? He knew emphatically she didn’t. What Wyatt wondered was—does she totally hate me?

  His tooth was the perfect example of that. It hadn’t healed very much since the first day. The gums were still soft and he was beginning to think he’d need to have it pulled. In fact, everyone in the group was telling him to pull it, including Dolly.

  “Wyatt,” Dolly said. “I’m sick of looking at you playing with your tooth, moving it around and blood seeping from your mouth. Go to Hallsy, or Mum if you want someone gentler, and have it taken care of.”

  “Yeah, Dolly. Thanks, but I think I’ll keep it.”

  She shook her head. “You’ll be happier without it. What are you worried about? How you’ll look?”

  In fact, Wyatt was a little worried about how he’d look with a huge missing front tooth. He’d look like the kind of cracker rednecks he grew up with and tried really hard to not totally become. Wyatt could only imagine how much Dolly would despise him if he sported the crazy, toothless redneck look.

  One afternoon when they were in the Mess Hall eating lunch, covered in dirt, tired as heck, trying to keep their eyes open as they shoveled food into their mouths, the conversation at the table turned to Hell Week—when it would start and who would finish. At this point, the twelve remaining candidates felt they could handle whatever Valor threw at them, so long as it didn’t change too drastically.

  “Hell Week is the X-factor,” Ebbie said. “It’s the thing we just don’t evaluate. It could be a factor of five times harder, or a hundred times. We don’t know.”

  “All I know,” Samy said, “is that I’m ready to learn some spy tricks. I’m getting tired of this routine.”

  “Be careful what you wish for,” Rory joined in. She was sitting at the other table with Hud and Dolly. Wyatt listened to the rest of them, poking at his tooth.

  “I was here last year,” Rory went on. “And I saw the guys who are now Group-As come back from Hell Week. They were like … refugees. Or worse. They looked like roadkill that was not quite dead.”

  “Wyatt!” Dolly snapped from the other table.

  Wyatt jerked up.

  “Your mouth.” Dolly stared at him.

  Wyatt hadn’t even realized it, but blood was trickling down his chin. Dolly rose, tossed down her napkin and walked around the table to him. “Watching you play with your tooth is making me squirm. Follow me.”

  “If it falls out it falls out. I’m not going to have my tooth pulled.”

  “Just follow me,” she said, then, softening her voice a little: “Trust me.”

  Wyatt stood and followed Dolly out of the Mess Hall into the hot sun.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Mum’s garden.”

  Wyatt stopped, “I’m not letting—”

  “Trust me,” she repeated. “I don’t want to help you, but I am going to help you.”

  “Okay.” Wyatt followed her around behind the lodge to the bluff where Mum had her garden and grew many of the vegetables they ate. The days were long and provided much sunlight, so the garden produced a bounty of fruits and vegetables. Mum had also built a tiny greenhouse for spec
ies that needed a more humid and hot climate. This is where Dolly took Hud.

  Dolly opened the door. “Is it ready?” she said to Mum, who was inside tending plants.

  “Hello, Dolly,” Mum said. “I thought we were going to wait a little longer before sharing your surprise with Wyatt.”

  Surprise? Wyatt thought.

  “I can’t stand looking at his tooth anymore. Let’s just try now.”

  “What’s going on?” Wyatt asked. “What surprise?”

  “Oh,” said Mum. “You haven’t told him?”

  “Told me what?” asked Wyatt.

  Dolly thought for a second. “I know how to help your tooth. Or I know how to try. As a Blue, I am able to request some special food. I didn’t want to waste it on you, but to be honest, after your thinking helped us get past the Log Challenge, I decided to order you something.” Dolly motioned to a succulent flower in the greenhouse.

  “A plant? That’s not food.”

  “The root is food. Well, technically it’s a spice. Turmeric. If you put fresh turmeric on your gums, it’ll help tighten them.” Dolly dug up a root and, not asking for Wyatt’s permission, grabbed his knife out of its sheath and cut off a slice. She held it out. “Try it.”

  “How do you know it’ll work?”

  “You don’t have to trust me,” Dolly said, putting down the slice of root. “Don’t try it.” She stepped past Wyatt and headed back to the Mess Hall. “Go toothless.”

  Wyatt watched her go, picked up the slice of root, and turned to Mum. “Does it really work?”

  Mum smiled. “I have no idea. Dolly ordered it for you. Not me.”

  Wyatt slipped the root into his mouth. It tasted sour and bitter and made his mouth pucker.

  * * *

  Two days later, the students attended a class Cass was teaching on how to use gasoline as an accelerant. A gallon of gas, Wyatt had learned, was as powerful as a stick of dynamite. Cass taught them how to make two types of bombs—a car bomb booby trap and a SoBe bomb. The car bomb was simple: Cass rigged a grenade inside the gas tank door.

  “Tigger the grenade, you also trigger twenty gallons of gas. It’ll kill anyone inside or within ten feet of the car.”

  The SoBe bomb was more interesting, though harder to figure out how to use. “Fill a SoBe bottle with gas, screw on the top, and place it in a fire. What do you expect will happen? It’ll explode, right?”

  Wrong. Wyatt and the candidates watched as the lid burnt off the bottle and the boiling gas inside the glass exploded out and ignited, creating a blowtorch effect. “The SoBe bomb,” Cass said, “is kind of like a Molotov cocktail with style.”

  The class was on the range in the Caldera. On the way to the next event, Wyatt tried to catch up to Dolly, speed walking next to her on the narrow path. It had only been two days, but his gums had firmed up and he wanted to thank her.

  “Hey, Dolly, that was a cool class your sister taught. I’d like to talk to her about how to try to deploy the SoBe bomb. I had a few ideas just now.”

  Dolly didn’t look back, just spoke over her shoulder. “Why don’t you tell her and not me?”

  Okay. This was not going as planned, Wyatt thought. “Sure. I will. Listen, I just wanted to tell you, the turmeric. It worked. Thank you. I know there was a sacrifice from you and everyone else to get the root. I appreciate it.”

  She glanced back and nodded.

  * * *

  As much time as Group-C spent together, they still didn’t open up personally. They didn’t share much about their respective histories. They knew a little about where each person was from, a few scant details about how each got to Valor, but not much beyond that. Part of the reason for this lack of information sharing was simply that they were so busy they didn’t have time for the kinds of conversations in which guarded people open up. On the other hand, if they wanted to talk about their personal lives, they would have found the time. There were other factors, aside from practical ones, that kept them tight-lipped.

  The twelve Group-C candidates who remained from the original twenty-five were by nature guarded and secretive. Even a big talker like Samy was slow to share anything meaningful or private. In fact, Wyatt was not sure if most of what Samy said—and he said a lot—was true or not or just made up on the spot to keep him and the rest of Group-C entertained.

  In those spare moments, they almost dared each other to talk about their personal lives. No one wanted to. Least of all Wyatt. “C’mon, Wy,” Ebbie said on a long paddle back from a trip, canoes lined up side by side. “Tell us about your family. Where you from? You gotta girl out there waitin’ for you to come home?”

  “Next,” Wyatt said.

  “No, man, I’m serious,” Ebbie pressed. “I’ve told y’all where I’m from and how I got here. Why not just start with hometown … Where is that?”

  Wyatt deflected. “What I want to know is not where are we from, but where are we now?”

  “Like where is the camp?”

  “Yeah. Where are we?”

  “That you don’t need to know,” Hud said, cutting into the conversation. “They don’t tell us where we are to keep us safe. End of the summer or maybe during Phase Three, the RIP phase, we’re operating live. Until then, all you need to know is we’re far north. We’re far from everywhere.”

  “I think we’re in Montana,” Annika said, pulling against icy blue water with her paddle. “Or Alaska.”

  “Nice dodge, Wyatt,” Ebbie said. “Way to steer the conversation from real life to geography.”

  “I just don’t want to talk about my life. I don’t think anyone here does.”

  They all nodded. “Right,” said Samy. “Everyone but me and Ebbie!” Laughter echoed across the bay.

  “Know what’s the craziest thing?” Rory said solemnly from the bow of Hud’s boat. “We’re twelve now. And we’re all close. But we’re still like strangers. It’s like you guys are the closest strangers I’ve ever known.”

  “After Hell Week,” Hud said, “half of us will be total strangers again…”

  “Yeah, man,” Ebbie said. “Take pill, shut your eyes. And forget. Ain’t gonna be me.”

  * * *

  Close strangers. Wyatt understood how you could be close to a total stranger. As time wore on the closest stranger Wyatt encountered at Valor was the one reflected back at him as he dove off the end of the dock and in the tinted lenses of the staff’s wrap-around sunglasses. In his own reflection, Wyatt saw a boy he didn’t recognize: face chiseled, eyes very blue, crisp, and serious, with muscles … real muscles. Before arriving at Valor, Wyatt had what might be generously described as a comfortable physique. Now he had ribs, abs, and biceps. And his long hair was now short, crudely chopped, and dyed by the sun.

  Wyatt surprised everyone when he agreed to the haircut. His mane of mangy blond hair had grown completely unruly and wild.

  “I can’t stand looking at that anymore,” Dolly said one day as they crowded around the fire.

  “What?” said Wyatt.

  “Your hair. When you’re on the obstacle course, it gets in your face. It’s driving me nuts. And it smells.” Dolly nodded. “Sorry to be the one to tell you, but it’s true.”

  Wyatt grabbed the locks by his shoulder and sniffed. He made a face. “You’re right.”

  “I know I am,” Dolly said. “Question is…” She grinned. “Are you ready?”

  “For what?”

  “Pass me your knife, and I’ll show you.”

  Wyatt looked down at the heel of his buck knife, sticking out of the sheath.

  “No, dog!” Samy said. “You can’t really be thinking about letting Dolly cut your hair with a knife!”

  Wyatt drew it out and felt the blade. Razor sharp. Wyatt thought of his dad. The balding trucker with a scruffy goatee and hatred of authority. His dad had always encouraged Wyatt to grow his hair long, to be a rebel, to not be a suit.

  “Have at it,” Wyatt said. He handed the knife to Dolly.

  The Group
-C candidates around the fire exploded in cheers and hoots. Dolly lopped Wyatt’s hair off in long sections, tossing fistfuls into the fire, causing flare-ups that smoked and smelled horrible. “Incoming,” Dolly said as a few campers scattered, pinching their noses. Samy doubled over laughing so hard he shook. Hud sulked at the flickering edge of the circle.

  As the smell of Wyatt’s burning hair dissipated and the fire returned to its regular pleasant crackle, Wyatt’s thoughts tripped back to his father. Wyatt had become a rebel and now here he was, being transformed into a weapon for the U.S. government. Wyatt wondered what his dad, the free-lovin’ deadbeat, would think of him now.

  The Old Man and Hallsy had come down to watch. They snickered and joked about the “shearing,” but in their humor, Wyatt sensed sadness. Something was amiss. Their smiles were phony, hiding their inner thoughts. And Wyatt knew this because of some eavesdropping.

  Earlier that day, Wyatt left the Cave Complex and passed the Old Man’s office. The door was open and Wyatt heard arguing.

  “I was there for the intercept … this group is not playing around. If the DOD comes in at forty-five million, they’re going to be too low. You gotta get your contacts to press for more money. We’ll lose him. Outbid.”

  “You think I don’t know that! He’s like a son to me,” the Old Man shouted back. “I’m pressing as hard as I can, but you know damn well upfront you’re going in without a leash.” The Old Man’s voice stopped, and Wyatt heard footsteps approaching the door. He tried to hustle away but the door swung open and the Old Man didn’t exactly catch Wyatt snooping but something close to it. He turned back to Hallsy. “Let’s talk about this downstairs.” And then shut the door.

  Now fireside, Wyatt watched the Old Man and Hallsy, both hunched over in a warlike crouch, smiling, but weighed down. Neither had looked him in the eye that night. Wyatt did not know if he was being paranoid but he felt they had been arguing about something related to him.