Survive or Die

by Catherine Dilts

  “Isn’t this what Bender wanted? To stir everyone up?” Aubrey attempted to fluff the flat pillow. She wore a silk nightgown, but only because she hadn’t packed the flannel pajamas that more closely matched her mood. “Making people play a game to keep their jobs. You should refuse to participate. It’s humiliating and disgusting.”

  Grant sat on the mattress and leaned close, whispering so softly she could barely hear.

  “I’ve been looking for another job. There’s not much out there right now. Honestly Aubrey, I didn’t know Bender was going to spring that on us. After my earlier deception, I suppose that’s a hard one to swallow, but it’s true. And I know this will sound silly, but I wanted to come to Survive or Die partly because I miss our family camping vacations.”

  “Then let’s go camping,” Aubrey said. “We can go home, pick up the kids from your parents’ house, and head for the other side of the mountains. Because the romantic getaway I had imagined is definitely not working out.”

  Grant shook his head. “Dad and Mom were excited about having the kids over. Your Mom and Bernie will be disappointed if they don’t get their turn later this week. We can’t take that away from the grandparents.”

  Aubrey wasn’t convinced their parents would be wounded at the lost opportunity to babysit their unruly teenaged grandkids, but she let Grant continue.

  “Let’s plan a trip before summer’s over.” He sighed. “Time passes so fast. The kids are growing up. I thought we’d be in a different place by now. Not just financially, but as a family.”

  His words hit Aubrey like a slap. Grant sounded suspiciously like a man vulnerable to the lure of greener pastures. Whether he was aware of it or not, Veronica Prevost seemed ready to offer him a patch of her lush grassland. A little piece of panic lodged in Aubrey’s throat.

  “Is it anything I’ve done?” Her voice squeaked.

  Grant seemed to realize the impact of his words. He reached for her hand. “I’m happy with our marriage. Our kids are great. We have a nice house. Mortgaged to the hilt, but we’ll get it paid off before we retire.”

  The picture he was painting didn’t soothe Aubrey any. It was a portrait of boring, and dug in for the long haul.

  “But?” She let the one word hang like an open door.

  “Honestly?” He shrugged. “I’m hoping this camp will help me decide what’s missing.”

  Although the conversation was taking a painful turn, at least they were having an honest discussion. The one that the busyness of day-to-day life prevented. She squeezed Grant’s hand.

  “We’ll make it.”

  While admittedly lame, it was all Aubrey could come up with. Thankfully, it was enough. He leaned over and kissed her cheek, then seemed to remember she had lips. Soon they were snuggling under the comforter. Aubrey couldn’t remember the last time they’d gotten romantic in a strange bed. She could barely remember the last time they’d gotten romantic.

  Just as things were getting interesting, a scream pierced the thin wall, shattering the mood. Grant scrambled for the clothes he’d just discarded. Aubrey grabbed Grant’s bathrobe, covering her silk nightie. She started to knock on Madison’s door, thinking the woman’s scream might have been hers. This was her first camping trip. Maybe she’d heard a coyote or seen a spider. Madison nearly knocked Aubrey down as she rushed into the narrow hallway.

  “What was that?”

  Frank had one hand tucked inside the outfitter’s vest he wore over his moose-print pajamas. Aubrey was willing to bet money Frank was gripping a handgun. Edna stood behind her husband, her flannel bathrobe cinched tight around her thick waist.

  “The scream came from outdoors,” Frank said.

  Aubrey squeezed her eyes shut for an instant, remembering the death threat posted on Jack Bender’s windshield. If he had been hurt, or worse yet killed, she would never forgive herself for not insisting they call the police. Even if Bender was a first-class wretch.

  Frank led the occupants of Otter Creek through the common room, past the fireplace with its threadbare snarling otter, and onto the porch. The doors of every cabin slammed open, spilling light into the night. Dozens of feet thudded down wooden steps. Then, as if everyone noticed in the same instant, all heads turned toward Brown Bear cabin.

  Stewart Neamly sprawled face down on the steps, one arm beneath him, the other stretched out as though grasping for something just out of reach. Nel knelt at his side, her thin shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

  The door of Brown Bear cabin creaked open as Jack Bender stuck his head outside.

  “What’s all the racket?”

  “My husband,” Nel shrieked. “He’s dead!”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Monday

  Sotheara was tempted to escape to her cabin, but it didn’t seem right to leave the scene of such abrupt tragedy. Even though there was nothing she could do for Stewart, she huddled in the semicircle in front of Brown Bear cabin with other campers. The interrupted sleep and chilly air combined with the horror of the scene, sending Sotheara into painful shivers.

  The sky in the east was devoid of stars, the horizon growing light, by the time the coroner loaded Stewart’s body into a hearse from the Pine County Mortuary.

  “I told him he shouldn’t come to this stupid camp with me.” Nel sniffed, then wiped a wad of tissues across her red, puffy eyes. “Stewart has a severe allergy to bees. But no, he wouldn’t listen to me. Now see what’s happened.” She stared at the back of the hearse. “I told you so. I told you—” She choked on a sob.

  Althea, a tag-along spouse, pulled newly widowed Nel into a hug. Sotheara was grateful she stepped up to the task. Althea had probably dealt with the bereaved, since her husband, Omari Olufemi, was a pastor in his off-hours. Nel’s body went stiff in the younger woman’s arms. She didn’t seem like a person accustomed to either giving or receiving comfort.

  “Bees,” Nel whimpered. “They were flying all around our room. A swarm.” Nel pushed away from Althea and scanned the huddle of people surrounding her. “Where’s Bender?”

  He had disappeared after the paramedics realized the futility of reviving their patient and before the coroner confirmed Stewart was dead. Damon, the company lawyer, was missing too. Probably scheming on how Bender Clips could avoid a lawsuit, before Stewart was even cold.

  Bees. There was an old black and white movie where birds went on the attack, driven to madness by human destruction of the environment. Sotheara listened for the buzz of avenging insects, but the air was still.

  Nel shook a fist in the air. “Someone is going to pay!”

  Althea worked Nel’s arm down gently and grasped her hand. She led Nel away from the cabin, following the hearse toward the parking lot.

  As Sotheara watched the red taillights disappear, tears spilled down her cheeks. She wished she had let Sage stay.

  Aubrey clung to Grant’s arm and leaned her head against his shoulder. The last words she had heard Nel say to Stewart were belittling. She silently vowed never to humiliate her husband. One slip of the tongue in a moment of anger could haunt a person for the rest of her life. Although Nel didn’t seem like a woman who would carry a burden of regret for long.

  Sleep was impossible, and Frank had reminded everyone they’d be getting up soon. Still, Grant and Aubrey crawled back into bed, clinging to each other with a quiet desperation, shivering in spite of the comforter.

  Jeremiah tossed and turned on the narrow mattress in Chipmunk cabin. The .22 Winchester leaning against the chair next to his bed was small comfort.

  How the heck was a man supposed to defend himself against bees?

  He couldn’t banish the image of Stewart sprawled down the cabin steps. Jeremiah hadn’t even liked the guy, but that was no way to go. And why Stewart Neamly? If there was such a thing as karma, it had goofed up big time. Sure, Stewart upset everyone with those bad photos,
but that was hardly worth dying over.

  Jeremiah finally drifted into a fitful slumber, but not before one more thought crossed his troubled mind.

  It should have been Bender.

  Frank dragged Grant away for a pre-breakfast strategy meeting before he even had a chance to shave. Aubrey waited for her turn in the bathroom, then headed to the campfire circle.

  A table in front of the chuck wagon food trailer bowed under the weight of slow-cookers and buffet warmers steaming with breakfast selections. Extension cords trailed through the open window. No one knew whether the camp would be closed and everyone sent home, but if they were staying, Aubrey wanted to make her appeal for segregated vegetarian meals. She stood on tiptoes and peered inside. Millie the cook wasn’t in the trailer.

  “Look.” Madison elbowed Aubrey. “That picture.”

  Inside the chuck wagon, framed photos of Survive or Die personalities hung on the wall. The hunky wrangler Chance’s photo could have graced the cover of a steamy cowboy-themed romance novel. Of course there was a photo of Rowdy. A half dozen women, all pretty enough to be models, were dressed like rodeo queens.

  “I think that’s the cook.” Madison pointed. “The one on the right.”

  Even squinting, and trying to add on a hard dozen years, Aubrey couldn’t see it.

  Fingers jabbed against her shoulder.

  “Can you ladies please move along?” Tight white curls and an outdated polyester sweat suit gave Lavelle Johnston a grandmotherly look, but her smooth dark skin showed fewer wrinkles than most women her age. “I need something in my tummy so I can take my pills.”

  The blue vinyl purse hanging from her shoulder looked heavy enough to contain a bowling ball. Lavelle must have taken powerful meds. She had slept through most of last night’s tragedy. Sotheara padded up behind Lavelle.

  “Girl!” Lavelle stared at Sotheara’s dusty feet. “Did you forget to pack your shoes?”

  “No. I always go barefoot, except at work. Nel told me it’s an OSHA regulation.”

  “If you need to borrow shoes,” Lavelle said, “I got some spare sneakers might fit you.”

  “I go barefoot on purpose,” Sotheara said. “I’m a minimalist.”

  “A what?”

  “I minimize my footprint on this planet.”

  Lavelle quirked one eyebrow up. “Child, you must be from another planet. I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”

  Aubrey understood Lavelle’s dismay. From high heels to bare feet was a dramatic transition. She grabbed a disposable bowl. The oatmeal had been passed over by the carnivores in favor of scrambled eggs and sausage. Before she could take a seat on a log bench with Madison and Sotheara, a factory worker approached with a clipboard, marking names off a list.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Aubrey Sommers. Grant’s wife.”

  The tall, homely gal glanced toward Grant’s group, as if in need of visual verification that Aubrey legitimately belonged to someone in the camp. Aubrey waved, and Grant confirmed their relationship by returning the gesture.

  “Ellen, we’re not at work,” Madison said. “Give it a rest.”

  “Mr. Bender asked me to take attendance.” Ellen tapped a pencil impatiently against the clipboard, as though annoyed that she had to explain such a simple task to the computer geek.

  “The only people missing are Stewart and Nel,” Madison said.

  “And Althea Olufemi. She drove Nel home.” Ellen looked up from her clipboard. “Has anyone seen Wilson?”

  “Who?”

  Ellen consulted her list again. “The name is Wilson Dudley. He doesn’t work in manufacturing, so he must be a carpet walker. I hoped one of you would know him.”

  Madison shrugged. “Are you sure this Wilson guy is at camp?”

  “His name is on the attendance list,” Ellen said.

  “Imagine no one remembering who you are,” Sotheara said. “It’s like he’s invisible.”

  “You sure he’s not in the restroom?” Madison asked. “Or in his cabin?”

  “Everyone’s supposed to be at breakfast,” Ellen said. “I’ll have to report him as missing.”

  Before Ellen could turn in her vital paperwork, Jack Bender rose, shoving his empty paper plate at Candace. Murmured conversations fell silent.

  “None of us could have anticipated what happened last night,” he said. “Those are the risks of outdoors adventures.”

  Bender gave a little speech that managed to leave out any mention of Stewart’s name. Someone had been passionate enough about hating Bender to leave him a death threat, and yet Stewart had been the one to die. Life’s not fair. Aubrey drilled the words into her kids whenever they complained that things hadn’t gone the way they wanted. The phrase was small consolation when death was involved.

  “I have a decision to announce,” Bender continued. “One that I debated with all due respect to Stewart Neamly. He and Nel would want the camp to go on.”

  Neither was here to dispute his assumption.

  “You can leave Survive or Die camp without penalty,” Bender said. “If you stay, you’ll remain in the running for treasure chest keys.”

  “We don’t have any keys yet.” Sotheara’s tanned cheeks flushed, and her whispered words had a harsh edge. “We’re all at zero.”

  “Whoever leaves is automatically in the get-fired pool.” Madison tugged the brim of her floppy orange hat down, as if fearing her boss could read her lips and decipher her disgruntled talk. “Right now, the only one in that pool is Nel. So if we just stay—”

  “No way Bender’s going to fire Nel,” Sotheara said.

  “Nel did threaten to make someone pay for Stewart’s death,” Aubrey whispered.

  Aubrey considered it a barometer of the economic climate that everyone stayed, knowing that it could affect their future employment. Bender sank back in his chair as Rowdy clanged the chuck wagon triangle.

  “Let’s review the rules before we get started,” Rowdy said.

  That was good, because Aubrey hadn’t paid a bit of attention yesterday.

  “You remember Survive or Die, my number one rated television show. Just like on the show, you hunt for the Prospector’s Treasure. To open the treasure chest, you’ll need a key. To get the key, you have to win a challenge.”

  Lavelle Johnston raised her hand. “Mr. Hunter, this doesn’t seem too fair. Us older folks might as well go home now. I watched your show. The young folks are gonna win.”

  “Remember yesterday how I told you the challenges would be scaled down from the television show?” Rowdy asked.

  Lavelle nodded.

  “There’s challenges for both brains and brawn. The athletes won’t have any advantage over you senior citizens. Read my book Twelve Tips for Survival, available in the gift shop, and you’ll be way ahead of the game.”

  “There’s a gift shop?” Madison whispered to Aubrey.

  “The first challenge involves a little bit of speed, and a whole lot of courage. The top six winners will be team captains. Here at Survive or Die, we call our teams Buckaroo Crews. Once we have our winning team captains, they’ll pick Buckaroos for their Crews.”

  “Cute.” Madison uttered the word without enthusiasm.

  As far as Aubrey could tell, most of the teams had already been formed.

  “Are you up to the challenge?” Rowdy spoke with the false enthusiasm of a game show host. A few people responded with anemic cheers. “Are you ready to find the Prospector’s Treasure?” More lackadaisical responses. “Let’s head to the first challenge!”

  Omari Olufemi stood, holding up one hand. “Mr. Hunter. If I may.”

  Grant’s manager was one of the few people at Bender Clips that Aubrey respected. The immigrant from Sierra Leone didn’t expect any more from his direct reports than he was willing to give, and conversely,
he expected nothing less. Exacting, demanding, and yet kind.

  “Before we begin this adventure,” he said in precise British-accented words, “I believe it is appropriate to say a few words about our recent loss.”

  Sun filtering through the pines reflected off Omari’s scalp, as slick as a bowling ball, in a rich and undiluted brown.

  “I am certain it would comfort Mrs. Neamly to know we took a moment to remember her husband. I am an ordained pastor. I would like to lead those so inclined in a prayer, if there are no objections.”

  Rowdy met eyes with Bender, who nodded.

  “Sure,” Rowdy said. “I ’spose I should be calling you Pastor Olufemi.” The African name just didn’t sound right spoken with a Western twang.

  Omari delivered a delicately worded eulogy for a person who was not well-loved. Aubrey bowed her head, trying to remember the last time her family had attended a church service that wasn’t centered around a funeral, a wedding, or a major holiday. Maybe that was part of Grant’s discontent. There was a spiritual element missing in their family life.

  Aubrey didn’t have long to contemplate, as “amen” issued from many mouths, and the campers scrambled onto two buses, destined for the first challenge.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jeremiah Jones snorted. None of his coworkers could survive a night in the woods. Most wore clothes from high dollar sporting goods stores, the creases still fresh from the packaging. If they carried any survival gear, sure as shootin’ they didn’t know how to use it.

  Real survival was making it through winter after the unemployment checks ran out. After the electric and heat were disconnected for failure to pay the bill. Chopping your own wood, then burning the furniture, just to keep alive on the bitter cold nights. Through all that, you still carry on. Even have a little hope for the future. That was real survival. Just as he expected, these folks didn’t have a clue.