Survive or Die

by Catherine Dilts

  That seemed to make Fawn simmer down. Bender Clips had to be her peak employment experience. Jeremiah had come for the free vacation, ready to bail if it was too lame. He could always find construction work.

  “I’m going for a walk.” Jeremiah slung his .22 over his shoulder.

  “With a gun?” Fawn nearly shrieked.

  “I could run into a bear.”

  A .22 wouldn’t make a dent in a bear, but Jeremiah was certain Fawn didn’t know that. Even shooting a deer was inadvisable. Jeremiah was after smaller game.

  Aubrey grabbed her suitcase from Grant and stomped down the front steps of Otter Creek cabin. She found Madison facing the forest, a suitcase the size of a steamer trunk on the path beside her. Aubrey hurried to her teammate.

  “Where’s our new cabin?”

  “This is it.” Madison waved a hand. Before her squatted a canvas outfitter’s tent. “There are five cabins. Six teams. This is what’s left.”

  “No, there are six cabins,” Aubrey said.

  “The two-story cabin is Rowdy Hunter’s,” Madison said. “He’s not sharing. I already asked.”

  “Brown Bear has an empty room. Unless Nel is coming back.”

  “No one wants to stay in their old room,” Madison said. “I don’t blame them, considering what happened to Stewart.”

  “I’d be willing to risk bees, over that.” Aubrey stared at the sagging tent.

  “Bender’s Defenders won’t allow that. You might hear them talking about strategy.”

  Berdie barreled past the two women. Aubrey was still startled by her transformation. Berdie’s current style blended Chuck Norris and Bear Grylls. An out-sized knife scabbard hung from the belt of her woodland camo slacks. As she entered, she scanned the low ceiling.

  Aubrey followed, wondering what Berdie was looking for until she noticed the water stains on the canvas ceiling. Berdie tossed her suitcase onto the sleeping cot under the clean part of the ceiling. Aubrey wasn’t going to argue with a woman who carried a machete.

  Instead, she tugged a cot out from under a water stain on the ceiling after noticing the matching stain on the cot. When Madison hefted her suitcase onto a cot, it listed to one side, then did a slow motion collapse. Aubrey helped Madison brace the legs up. They nearly let it collapse again when a shadow filled the doorway.

  “This it?” Rankin shouldered his way through the tent door. “Gonna be cozy.” He claimed a cot, flopping down and folding his arms behind his head. “This don’t seem right.”

  Berdie stood over him. “No, it’s not. You can’t sleep in here with the ladies.”

  “I’m not sleeping outside.”

  Aubrey noticed Rankin’s eyes stray to Berdie’s knife scabbard. Berdie paced to a corner of the tent, which had once seemed large but was shrinking with each added occupant. She grabbed a stack of moth-eaten gray wool blankets and dumped them on Rankin’s stomach. He exhaled with a loud “whoof,” then sat up.

  “What’s this for?”

  “Room divider,” Berdie said. “Rig up something for privacy.”

  Everyone had an idea about where Rankin should stake out his territory, but nothing seemed satisfactory. Berdie made the decision finally, relegating Rankin to the back corner.

  “But whenever Rankin comes in or out,” Madison said, “he’ll have to walk right through our part of the tent.”

  “Yeah, that’s not going to be convenient for me. I can set up by the front door.”

  “Then we’d have to walk through your space,” Aubrey said.

  The same tired discussion began again, until Berdie grabbed for her knife. Aubrey pulled Madison out of her path, but Berdie headed for the back wall of the tent. She jabbed her knife into the rotten canvas and jerked down. The tearing sound sent a chill up Aubrey’s spine.

  “There’s your door, Rankin.”

  Berdie returned her knife to its scabbard, which had the same effect as a knight sheathing his sword. She perched on her cot, thumbing through a Cheaper Than Dirt discount ammo catalog. Rankin found rope. Privacy was a nice notion, but in a tent, there was no wall high enough to really make a difference.

  Sotheara placed her crisp new copy of Rowdy Hunter’s Twelve Tips for Survival inside her pack with her clothes and water sampling supplies, hoisted the straps over her shoulders, and left room number eight in Otter Creek cabin. Frank and his newly-formed Wapiti Buckaroo Crew crowded the small common room watching a Captain America dvd from the small movie library.

  Sotheara considered announcing her departure, but she’d have to get someone’s attention away from the television screen first. She tossed a salute toward the snarling, moth-eaten otter on the fireplace mantle.

  If I were a superhero, my special power would be invisibility. Depressing.

  She checked into her new digs in a sad old tent that smelled of mildew. A gray blanket hung across the back corner. Everyone seemed grumpy. Sotheara was glad she had places to go, things to do, diabolical plots to uncover. Operation Clean Sweep needed evidence.

  Rowdy’s book covered way more than twelve tips. It was more like twelve chapters covering dozens of rules. Wandering off alone violated one.

  “Hey gals,” Sotheara chirped. “I’m going for a hike.”

  Berdie Placer was the only person to acknowledge her departure.

  “Don’t get lost,” the receptionist said. “Dinner’s at six.”

  Like anyone would notice if I didn’t show up.

  Sotheara had enjoyed a moment of camaraderie with the ladies at the rope bridge challenge. Now they ignored her. She padded outside. Not that outside was all that different from inside. Sotheara inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of pine, earth, and campfire.

  Survive or Die wasn’t a kid’s summer camp. She was here for serious business. Sotheara picked one of many trails leading away from the central campfire circle like spokes on a wagon wheel, and hiked into the forest.

  The tent was silent, punctuated only by the dry flipping of Berdie’s catalog and Aubrey’s paperback novel pages. Madison tapped relentless text messages on her smart phone. When Rankin’s cell phone went off, Aubrey jumped. The massive redhead poked his face through the improvised room divider.

  “I’ve gotta go,” Rankin said. “Will you ladies be okay?”

  Berdie scowled at him. Rankin scooted back behind the wool blanket curtain and slipped out the raggedly cut back door.

  “Our team captain is a dim-wit,” Berdie said.

  “I thought sharing a bathroom was bad,” Madison said.

  “I’ve got nothing at stake.” Aubrey lifted a suitcase. “I’m leaving.”

  Madison grabbed Aubrey’s arm. “You can’t leave.”

  “I’m not an asset.” Aubrey waved her bandaged hand. “My absence won’t hurt the team.”

  “Believe me,” Madison said, “if I didn’t need my job, I’d leave too. Unless I had a friend who might lose hers if I abandoned her.”

  Oh, brother.

  “I’ve had enough of this ‘need my job’ business, Madison. Grant says you’re a genius at IT stuff. You can find another job and stop the humiliation.”

  “I have looked,” Madison said. “I get called to interviews, but when I show up and they see that I’m a plus-size girl, they seem to lose interest.” Tears filled her eyes.

  “Bastards,” Berdie muttered. “What we need is a cup of tea.”

  Totally ignoring Aubrey’s attempt to flee, Berdie set up a tiny propane heater on a rickety folding camp table, then retrieved packets of Earl Grey from her suitcase. Madison broke out a stash of crisp ginger cookies.

  “Food in a tent,” Berdie said. “Bad idea.”

  “Where else will I keep my snacks?” Madison asked.

  “Your car?” Berdie suggested.

  “That wouldn’t be very convenient,” Madison said.


  Berdie shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Aubrey decided a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt. She left to fill Berdie’s canteen and snag coffee cups from the chuck wagon. When each woman held a steaming mug in her hands, Berdie stood.

  “Madison, the cold fact is, our careers will either survive or die this week. But Aubrey is here out of love for her husband. That makes her valuable.”

  “How could that benefit the team?” Aubrey asked.

  “You don’t have the same level of desperation as the rest of us.” Berdie set her mug down, clasped her hands behind her back, and paced the narrow space between cots. “Fear causes people to make mistakes.”

  “Excuse me,” Aubrey said, “but you don’t strike me as the fearful type, Berdie.”

  “I may not be quaking in my boots about my job, but there’s a lot at stake for me. I’m here to avenge the wrong done to my great uncle by Rowdy Hunter.”

  Madison glanced at Aubrey with an expression somewhere between confused and agast.

  “The Survive or Die program destroyed his reputation,” Berdie continued. “I plan to show Mr. Hunter how wrong he was.”

  Aubrey tried to do the math in her head. The program had been on the air a dozen years ago. She wondered how Berdie’s great uncle, who must have been an old man, could have met the stringent physical fitness standards demanded by Rowdy’s reality television show.

  Madison’s smart phone chimed. “I need to throw our shirts in the dryer.”

  Rankin, repentant from his earlier assumption that a woman would be happy to do his laundry, had run the team T-shirts through the bathhouse washing machine. In cold water, to avoid shrinkage. Madison was in charge of carefully drying them.

  “I’ll help,” Aubrey said.

  Madison waved her back. “I’ve got it covered.” She ducked through the tent flap.

  Berdie resumed pacing. “We need to learn the other Buckaroo Crews’ weaknesses if we’re going to improve our situation.”

  “Our team has the fewest people,” Aubrey said. “We don’t have a chance. Here’s my idea. We try peaceful coexistence. If the teams cooperate with each other, we could turn this game against your boss.”

  Berdie snorted. “The other teams are out for blood.”

  An explosion sounded outside the tent. A woman shrieked.

  ROWDY HUNTER’S

  SURVIVAL TIPS

  So you find water. You decide to boil it because you saw sign of beaver upstream, and you don’t want to catch giardia. I already told you about shelter, and we’ll go into fire later. So next up is food. You brought some trail mix, but that won’t last much longer. There are rose hips, a few berries the bears missed, and edible parts of trees. You need protein.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sprigs of wild flowers and sparse grasses swayed in the breeze in front of the crumbling remains of an old prospector’s dugout. The man had dug six-foot-long narrow test trenches that scarred the meadow. Sotheara wasn’t being gender insensitive. Rare few women were crazy or bold enough in the mid-1800s to go prospecting.

  The trenches looked like empty graves. Sotheara wondered how long it would take for a body to decompose in the arid climate. Perhaps it would mummify in the meadow’s sandy soil. She shivered, alarmed at the creepy turn her thoughts had taken. Maybe it was due to the feeling that she was being observed. Her heart jumped to her throat as she glimpsed movement again, where the meadow met the pine forest.

  Nothing. There was nothing there. Maybe a deer.

  If only Sage weren’t such a hothead, she wouldn’t be tramping around the wilderness alone. Sage had a degree in environmental science, and he spent a lot of time hiking. He would know what was following her. Sotheara was an accountant, more effective behind the scenes. There was no way around it, though. She was the one employed by Bender Clips, not Sage. Her discovery had propelled her into the uncomfortable role of spearheading Operation Clean Sweep.

  Sotheara knelt beside the creek and opened her pack. She labeled three vials with the location, date and time. She pulled on nitrile gloves, uncapped the vials, and collected water samples. After the vials were tucked safely inside the pack, she marked her location on the topographical map. She checked the time on her phone. The next point would take at least fifteen minutes to reach. The sun wouldn’t set for a couple hours, but when it dipped behind the mountains, the sky had faded to a dusky blue-gray.

  Wandering around the forest alone wouldn’t just be dumb. It might be suicidal. Survive or Die hadn’t sounded dangerous. Then Stewart died. Done in by his bee allergy. And don’t forget the death threat note. She wouldn’t mind so much if Jack Bender passed away of natural causes. Murder was a different matter.

  Sotheara pulled the pack onto her shoulders. She scanned the meadow again, certain someone, or something, was actively stalking her. The trail back to camp meandered through thick forest, where monsters could be lurking behind every tree trunk. Out here, she could see what was coming, but she would lose that advantage as night fell.

  A gunshot cracked, echoing off the surrounding hills. Sotheara dropped to the ground, trembling with fear. She waited a good two minutes, but no more shots sounded.

  Meadow or forest? Neither was a good option. Sotheara muffled her panicked whimpering as she sprinted to camp.

  Aubrey dropped her mug on the dirt floor. She jerked open the front tent flap, which in hindsight was probably not the best survival reaction.

  Behind her Berdie called, “It’s just a .22. Someone’s plinking at tin cans.”

  Aubrey wondered if there was such a thing as a can made from tin any more. Berdie really was old.

  “Then why did Madison scream?”

  There had only been one shot. In Aubrey’s experience, target practice involved repetitive shooting. Berdie followed her on the gravel path leading from the tent to the bathhouse. They found Madison picking up mustard yellow T-shirts.

  “Are you okay?” Aubrey asked.

  “That sound scared me. I dropped the shirts. Now I’ll have to wash them again.”

  “A little dirt won’t hurt us.” Berdie picked up a T-shirt and gave it the sniff test. “At least now we won’t smell like a mouse hotel.”

  Grant and Frank led a troop of concerned campers toward the women. Sotheara emerged from a path behind the bathhouse.

  “Are you okay, Aubrey?” Grant asked.

  “The shot came from that direction.” Berdie pointed.

  “I’ll get to the bottom of this.” Frank drew a handgun from an inner vest pocket and slunk into the woods.

  “Be careful, dear,” his wife Edna called.

  The group watched Frank through the pine trees. When a large creature rose from the brush, Aubrey hoped someone was filming, in case they were seeing Bigfoot. Frank aimed briefly, then lowered his handgun.

  “It’s only Jeremiah.” Madison sounded disappointed.

  The factory worker with the bushy mustache held a squirrel by the tail. “Anybody hungry?”

  Sotheara doubled over and gagged. Lavelle Johnston pushed past her.

  “You got any hot sauce? Squirrel isn’t any good without hot sauce.”

  When Aubrey saw the dinner choices at the chuck wagon that night, she almost wished she’d opted for Jeremiah’s squirrel. The salad was full of bacon bits, the beans were full of ham, and the main course was barbequed ribs. There hadn’t even been an attempt to cater to the vegetarians.

  “Where’s Millie?” Sotheara loaded her plate with dinner rolls.

  Chance, the hunky wrangler who usually manned the saloon, slopped a ladle of beans onto Madison’s paper plate. “She went to a meeting in town about Going Batty Days.”

  Aubrey thought it odd that the camp cook would abandon her kitchen in the middle of an event. Carrying her dinner rolls, she joined Stockton’s Revenge on a log bench. Tw
eet, the dreadlock-tressed stoner kid, strummed a guitar. He seemed to know endless pop rock songs from the eighties. A dozen people sang along.

  Each team was easily distinguished by their matching Survive or Die T-shirts. Bender’s Defenders wore purple, the Wild Cats blue, and the Belle Starrs pink. The factory floor workers that Nel had abhorred were lined up on a log next to Stockton’s Revenge, wearing brown shirts almost as hideous as her team’s mustard yellow.

  “You got anything stronger than ibuprofen, Lavelle?” Ellen, the Gold Strike team leader, kneaded her calf through her blue jeans.

  “Sure I do honey, but you aren’t in that bad of shape. Here, take this.”

  Lavelle dug through her blue vinyl purse. Aubrey would have suggested a trip to the one-room infirmary, but Dale the EMT was probably starting his night shift at the hospital.

  When the little Cambodian girl puked in the bushes, Jeremiah realized her vegetarianism might be too great an obstacle for their relationship. She wasn’t the only person to react poorly to him harvesting a rodent. But while Jeremiah took a lot of flack, half the camp had lined up for a taste. At least Rowdy defended Jeremiah’s right to hunt, after checking his small game license. Tweet, the pothead kid, rubbed his stomach.

  “Lavelle, you got anything for indigestion?”

  “You probably caught some disease from eating that rodent,” Fawn said. “Even after I told you not to. Serves you right.”

  “Wasn’t the squirrel,” Jeremiah said. “The ribs tasted off. Not like any wild boar I’ve ever had.”

  Whoever butchered the pig had made a mess of it. Maybe sawing the ribs into odd-sized pieces made the meat go farther. Didn’t surprise Jeremiah. There was an air of cheap about the camp.

  Lavelle poked around inside her purse, coming up with a foil-wrapped tube of tablets. “I tried to warn you about that hot sauce.”

  “I’m a believer,” Tweet said with a groan. “And then the barbeque sauce on the ribs was spicy, too.”

  Lavelle passed over-the-counter indigestion medicine around, getting more than a few takers. It was the boar that made people sick. After just one taste, Jeremiah had set the ribs aside and eaten only squirrel, and his stomach felt fine. Lavelle dropped the tablets back inside the cavernous depths of her old lady purse.