Survive or Die

by Catherine Dilts

  “I was on the crest of a hill. I saw something weird.” She looked around. “How did I get down here?”

  Jessie was so skinny, Aubrey thought perhaps she had passed out from low blood sugar.

  “Have you been drinking water?” Madison asked.

  Jessie nodded, then squeezed her eyes shut and gasped. “I must have hit my head.”

  “Someone hit you with a rock,” Berdie said. “We were attacked. They got you, too.”

  “Do you have any medical conditions we should know about?” Aubrey was tempted to add, like anorexia.

  “No.”

  “Do you think you can walk?” Berdie asked.

  Jeremiah had spent the morning fishing by himself, enjoying blissful solitude. Madison was in good company with Berdie Placer. The elderly receptionist seemed quite capable. As he walked toward the fire circle, Althea approached, a worried look creasing her pretty face.

  “Have you seen Omari? I just returned to camp, and I can’t find him anywhere.”

  “Your husband’s with Wapiti. They’re still out in the field. Frank and his crew know what they’re doing. He’ll be fine.”

  Another team entered camp just then, which seemed to reassure the pastor’s wife, until they caught wind of some brouhaha about Jessie being hit with a rock. Jeremiah closed his eyes and shook his head. He knew he should have stayed by Madison’s side. Difficult to do when you were on opposing teams, but still, he should have tried.

  As Jeremiah carried his stringer of three brook trout to a tub filled with ice, he spied movement in a stand of aspens. Sotheara Sok hid ineffectively, like a rabbit holding still and thinking it was invisible right before a hawk snatched it up. Sotheara didn’t seem the type to assault the competition. On the other hand, unexpected personality traits manifested when the pressure was on to keep your job. The little gal had been doing a lot of sneaking around.

  Campers flocked to the newcomers. Aubrey scanned the crowd. Grant wasn’t around. After the rock assault and finding Jessie unconscious, Aubrey needed the safe harbor of her husband’s arms. Instead, she got a full dose of Bender Clips employees in turmoil.

  “Hey, you aren’t supposed to help other Buckaroo Crews,” Ellen said to Fawn.

  “If anything,” Berdie said, “we were helping them. But not by choice.”

  “Yeah, you cheaters,” Madison said.

  Fawn’s face creased with a ferocious frown. She took a step toward Madison. “You have some nerve accusing me of cheating. You’re the one trying to steal my boyfriend.”

  “Me, a man-stealer?” Madison laughed. “I prefer dating men, not boys. No offense, Tweet.”

  “None taken.” He bowed gallantly toward Madison, his blond dreadlocks flopping forward like petrified snakes. “I know I’m the youngest dude in camp.”

  “Where were you, girl?” Shawn asked Jessie. “You just vanished.”

  So had Sotheara and Rankin. Aubrey doubted either would attack a coworker, but then she’d never imagined a bee could be used as a murder weapon.

  “I heard a noise, like a tractor. I ran to the top of a hill to see what it was.” Jessie shrugged. “There was something weird. That’s all I remember.”

  “Someone beaned her with a rock,” Madison said.

  Shirley and Shawn exchanged a glance. The look that passed between the two confirmed it for Aubrey. They had tried to take out Stockton’s Revenge. Jessie had been collateral damage, however unlikely that seemed. The two assaults were separated by at least a half a mile. Maybe Jessie had sprinted the distance before collapsing.

  “We’ll get you to the infirmary,” Shawn said. “And if Dale can’t help you, I’m sure Lavelle has something in her bag for you.”

  Aubrey was tempted to follow, but the infirmary was tiny. When she noticed Sotheara peeking from behind an aspen, Aubrey felt a bit of her tension fade. The accountant was safe.

  Madison marched up to Rowdy Hunter.

  “Look at this bruise. The Belle Starrs threw rocks at us. They nearly killed Jessie.”

  “We did no such thing.” Shirley’s words were firm, but guilt oozed from every pore.

  “Their team should be penalized,” Madison said. “And Gold Strike, too. They cheated.”

  “Hold on, Buckaroos.” Rowdy held his hands up. “First things first. Bring your stuff over to these tables. Reba and Chance will total up your score.”

  A galvanized steel trough packed with ice awaited the fish. There was no danger of Berdie’s huge trout being confused with the others, but Chance looped a numbered ziptie tag through the fish’s gills. Aubrey and Berdie sorted through their collection of edible plants. Reba, the wrangler with rodeo queen looks, catalogued items and placed them in a bin. Aubrey argued that the dandelion should earn them extra points.

  “Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Reba said. “I’ll ask Rowdy.”

  When Reba left to consult with Rowdy, Aubrey peeked in the other teams’ bins. A sheet of paper rested on top of the Belle Starrs’ jumble of vegetation. They had found everything. On the other side, the Gold Strike team had placed their edible plants in labeled plastic bags. Aubrey leaned closer. The handwriting on the bags looked familiar.

  “Berdie, look.” Aubrey glanced around, making sure no one was watching. Then she pointed at a bag. “I wish we still had the death threat note. That looks like the same handwriting.”

  “I have the note.” Berdie squinted at the bin. “Hold your horses. I’ll get it.”

  The receptionist trotted toward the tent. Aubrey wondered when, and how, she’d come in possession of the note. Berdie returned, dressed in dry Carharrts and hiking boots.

  Apparently she was a quick-change artist as well as a master spy. Before they could do a handwriting comparison, Reba sauntered back.

  “Rowdy agrees the dandelion is edible, but he says there’s no extra credit allowed.”

  “That’s okay.” Aubrey’s former indignation was tempered by her desire to learn the identity of a potential murderer. “It was worth a try.”

  Reba moved to the next team waiting to check in.

  “There are too many prying eyes here,” Berdie whispered. “Cover me.”

  Aubrey blocked Reba’s view while Berdie sneaked a bag out of the Gold Strike bin. When Berdie headed for the tent, Aubrey followed, trying her best not to look suspicious.

  “Check to see if Rankin is here,” Berdie whispered.

  Aubrey took a peek behind the wool blanket room divider.

  “All clear. Do you think we should report him missing?”

  “None of Bender’s Defenders have returned.” Berdie dug inside her suitcase. “I have a feeling Rankin’s with them.” Berdie placed the plant bag on her cot, then unfolded the note. “Look at this.”

  It didn’t take a handwriting expert to see that the person who had labeled the bag had written the death threat.

  “Fawn and Tweet gathered plants for the Gold Strike team,” Aubrey said. “It had to be one of them. My money would be on Fawn. She seems more the murderous type than Tweet.”

  “Don’t go soft on that boy,” Berdie said. “Tweet could be a killer, just as easily as anyone else in this camp. It’s called reefer madness. Those hop heads can be dangerous.”

  Aubrey didn’t put potheads in the same category as hard drug users, but she tabled that discussion for another day. They had more important fish to fry.

  “Do you have a notebook?” Berdie asked. “We need handwriting samples.”

  Before they reached the campfire circle, Berdie had concocted a scheme to get people to write thank you notes to Bender. When Madison caught up to them, Aubrey explained the new development. Madison wrote her note first, to give the plan the air of legitimacy.

  “Dear Mr. Bender, I’ve had so much fun at Survive or Die camp. This was such a great idea. I’ve gotten to know my coworker
s, and we’ve learned how to work together in ways I’d never imagined possible. Thank you, Madison Wilhelm.”

  There was some resistance and plenty of sarcasm as Berdie collected thank you notes. Aubrey heard someone mutter “brown nosers.”

  Fern and Tweet labored over their notes. Unless they had managed to alter their handwriting, neither’s came close to matching the note. Fern wrote in a loopy backward-sloping script, while Tweet printed in bold block letters resembling graffitti.

  Jeremiah scribbled “Thanks Jeremiah” in a message so brief that it offered little to compare to the note. Berdie collected a few more signatures. They finally parked themselves on their bench. Berdie pulled out the death threat note and the plant bag, holding them next to the notepad.

  “I’ve got no doubts,” Berdie whispered. “Jeremiah wrote the death threat.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Tweet strummed his guitar. Bud sang along, his voice scratchy and slightly off key. Perfect for the old cowboy ballad. Aubrey shivered as “The Buffalo Skinners” concluded with the drover’s bones being left to bleach on the plains.

  “Can’t you sing something cheery?” Shirley asked.

  Bud launched into the Marty Robbins’s song, “They’re Hanging Me Tonight.”

  A summer breeze gently stirred the tops of the pine trees, mingling the resiny scent with campfire smoke and delicious odors from the chuck wagon. Aubrey might have reveled in the moment of Colorado outdoors bliss, if not for Bud’s musical selections.

  Madison shook her head. “I was actually starting to think Jeremiah Jones was cute. Now it turns out he might be a killer. What do we do? Call the police?”

  “Not yet,” Berdie said.

  “We could warn Rankin,” Aubrey said. “He’s been sticking close to Bender.”

  “More like sticking his nose up Jack’s keister,” Madison said. “He spends more time with Bender’s Defenders than us. I mean, where is he now?”

  “Maybe he’s lost,” Aubrey said. “We almost were.”

  “We weren’t lost,” Berdie said. “We had no choice in our change of route. We had to escape assault.” She rolled up her sleeve to reveal a purple bruise.

  “Yeah.” Madison rubbed her shoulder. “When I complained to Rowdy, he just blew me off. Said we didn’t actually see anyone throw the rocks. It could have been a rock slide.”

  “Incoming,” Berdie whispered.

  Jeremiah had Shirley by the elbow, propelling her toward Stockton’s Revenge. Berdie slapped the notebook closed quickly, trapping the death threat note inside.

  “You didn’t get Shirley to sign your book,” Jeremiah said.

  “What is this?” Shirley looked a little panicked. “What’s going on?”

  “Simmer down,” Berdie said. “We’re just collecting thank you notes.”

  “For what?”

  Jeremiah waved an arm in the general direction of the Great Outdoors. “For the camp. The ladies here thought it was a good idea to thank Mr. Bender for giving us all a free vacation.”

  Shirley pursed her lips. “Seriously? We should thank him for this?”

  She started to turn, but Jeremiah blocked her.

  “Half the camp already signed the book.”

  He grabbed for the notepad. Berdie held on. Madison reached for it at the same moment Jeremiah made contact. They played three-way tug-of-war, then lost their collective grip. The notepad flew in the air, spilling out the note. The paper fluttered to the ground, the Going Batty Days side facing up. Aubrey sprang to her feet and snatched the note out of Jeremiah’s reach.

  “Hey, what is that?”

  Jeremiah tried to grab the note, but Aubrey held it behind her back. Someone yanked the paper from her hands. Aubrey spun around. Madison grinned.

  “This is my note, Jeremiah,” she said in a sing-songy voice.

  “What’s so important about it that you have to hide it?” Shirley asked.

  “It’s from a secret admirer.”

  Berdie and Aubrey exchanged a glance. The girl could be brilliant.

  “I don’t believe you.” Jeremiah grabbed for Madison’s hand.

  “I have an idea who it’s from.” She danced away. “Did you write me a love note, Jeremiah?” Madison batted her eyelashes at him. “Did you spike my drink last night?”

  “No, to both.” He huffed like an angry bear as he stomped back to his team’s bench.

  Sotheara had experienced a moment of raw terror when Bud spotted her on the hillside. After he ran off, doubt fogged her perception of the incident. Had Bud been preparing to slaughter Jessie, or was he trying to help her? She found a seat far from her team while she puzzled over the day’s events. Even though she was inside the circle of cabins, with dozens of coworkers, Sotheara felt vulnerable and alone.

  Jessie might have found the spot where Operation Clean Sweep needed to begin. The marathoner had said she was at the top of a hill. Which hill? Not the one Sotheara had explored.

  Before Sotheara had the chance to interrogate her, Jessie’s teammates dragged her to the infirmary. Then Shawn drove Jessie to the hospital in Lodgepole, after fruitlessly flirting with an oblivious Dale. Sotheara wished she could leave. Camp was getting scary. Really, leaving now was the smart thing to do.

  Which would disappoint Sage and her fellow ecowarriors. She couldn’t let them down. Sotheara released a sigh. Was that the only reason she stayed, when her task was beginning to feel hopeless? To curry favor with her boyfriend?

  No. Sotheara was in this to save the environment. Bender Clips had to be stopped from creating another Animas River spill. Maybe if she showed Jessie a topo map, she could point out where she had been. Too bad Sotheara didn’t have a car, but at least she had something to report.

  Jeremiah wasn’t certain, because it didn’t happen all that often, but it seemed like Madison Wilhelm had been flirting with him. The scrap of paper sure looked like the death threat note, but he supposed it could have been a love note. Was someone else realizing what a treasure she was, or had she been trying to trick him into a confession? Utterly baffled, Jeremiah moved to the end of the Gold Strike team’s log bench, as far from Stockton’s Revenge as he could manage.

  The Buckaroo Crews were supposed to return to camp by five. Rowdy finally let the cook open the chuck wagon for dinner at six, then sent wranglers to hunt for the straggling teams. Jeremiah thought of offering his tracking skills in the search, but decided to concentrate on his elk stew instead. Finally, a meal a man could sink his teeth into.

  The first bite was a disappointment. Jeremiah enjoyed the flavor of wild game, but the meat in the stew didn’t have the strong taste to which he was accustomed. Instead, it was more like beef. No, pork.

  Bud was the person in charge of the meat shed. Either he didn’t know how to cure game, or he was a genius at making it palatable to greenhorns. Didn’t taste right. Jeremiah set his bowl aside. Maybe it was spoiled.

  When the Wapitis marched into camp, Althea ran to her husband and nearly knocked him down with a hug. Pastor Omari held a stringer bearing a lone fish.

  “I prayed for a loaves and fishes moment,” he said, “but the Lord only saw fit to bless me with this one fellow.”

  The Olufemi’s were a fine example of what Jeremiah was seeking. Life partners. Soul Mates. Jeremiah searched the campfire circle for Madison. Her eyes met his for an instant, then she looked away. Women were difficult creatures to figure out. He walked over to the scavenger hunt collection station, where Bud measured Pastor Omari’s fish.

  “Second place.” Bud nested Omari’s catch in the trough full of ice and fish.

  “I caught three fish,” Jeremiah said. “Gold Strike should be in second place.”

  Bud turned the tally sheet to face Jeremiah. “This fella’s fish was longer than all three of yours put end to end. The most meat wins, and so f
ar, that’s Miz Placer’s fish.”

  Jeremiah frowned, but the grizzled old wrangler was right. Before he could ask Bud about the elk stew, Yvette shouldered her way into the conversation.

  “The largest meal should win.”

  The Belle Starrs had made a salad of yucca blooms and other wild vegetation. They had failed to catch anything that didn’t have roots.

  “Your salad wouldn’t keep a person alive in a survival situation.” Jeremiah faced Bud. “Am I right?”

  Bud wore an expression of complete disinterest. Rowdy stepped into the fray, his hands in the air.

  “Hold on, Buckaroos. Sounds like we need to review the rules.”

  The rules were as slippery as a river trout, and Jeremiah told Rowdy so, in much less poetic terms.

  “Bender’s team isn’t back yet,” Jeremiah said. “I bet they’re still fishing. If you’re gonna let them cheat, I’m heading back out. Nobody better complain if I bring back Moby Dick.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Aubrey was glad Jeremiah was gone when the Wild Cat team insisted their jar full of grasshoppers should be allowed to substitute for a fish. The big man would have had choice words for Ted and his teammates.

  The glass jar reminded Aubrey of the broken jar under Stewart and Nel’s bed. She was considering who among the Wild Cats might want to kill Stewart when someone grasped her elbow. She jumped a foot before realizing it was her husband.

  “Want to go for a walk?” Grant asked. “Rowdy will ring that triangle when Bender’s team shows up.”

  As they strolled, Aubrey tried to remember that she was on vacation. Each day was more of a struggle. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to cry, or light into Grant in a fury, as she thought about How I Spent My Summer Vacation.

  “Tomorrow is our free day,” Grant said. “Have you made plans?”

  “Berdie made us all sign up for the museum tour. She’s a hardcore fan of Mad Stockton.”