Escape from Camp Boring

by Tom Mitchell

  Dread was filling my chest with bumblebees. Big angry anxiety bumblebees. But I pointed to the trail, the one we’d been walking from the river. Eventually it would curve back to the water, I guessed. The shed meant that we were close. People don’t build sheds in the middle of nowhere. Sheds are a sign of society.

  Ellie stomped off. After exchanging eyerolls with Alexa, we followed.

  ‘I’m not great with confrontation,’ she said, back to whispering.

  ‘I’m beginning to understand the attraction of email,’ I replied.

  Later, I went for a wee against a tree. There’s nothing like doing your business in the wild to make you question the decisions that led you there. I mean, it wasn’t great that, so far, all we’d managed to do was lose the raft and destroy a shed, neither of which had been part of the plan. And we didn’t know where we were. And we’d lost Zed. Who knew? Maybe he’d have revealed hidden skills to help us out. I don’t think we’d have argued if he’d been there. He’d have said something crazy and defused the whole thing.

  Ellie wasn’t talking to us, not really, despite the whole falling-out-of-a-tree thing being obviously her fault. I mean, she wasn’t walking in silence. She’d make these grand, annoying statements about how hateful nature was, or that the minute she got home she was going to contribute to a charity that exterminated bats, or – as she said while I did my business against the tree – how much easier men had it, especially in the way they can pee standing up. This, I guess, is true.

  After I’d relieved myself, she announced that she was thirsty and hungry. Why’d she chosen to announce this at that very moment? Had it been the sound of my wee? Weird. Standing there, wondering, I realised that I could see the detail of their faces. There was a smudge of dirt on Ellie’s cheek. Alexa had a small red spot on her forehead.

  ‘Turn off the torch, Alexa,’ I said.

  ‘I wasn’t pointing it at you.’

  ‘Trust me, just turn it off.’

  She did so, putting it in her pocket.

  The forest was similarly visible. I could make out the ferns between trees, the dead pine needles that carpeted our trail, the rough bark like the chocolate flakes you stick in ice cream. The sky was definitely brighter. Had my eyes suddenly been upgraded? No, calm your excitement – the morning was coming.

  ‘Look!’ I said, pointing at the sky, about as scared of the sun as a vampire might be. ‘Light! We need to get going. You can eat and drink in town.’

  Ellie didn’t reply but started off along the trail again. We followed.

  I’d stopped thinking about food and drink and was more focused on the orange tufts of grass that broke from the dry brown under my Nikes. Because I could see colour! The black-and-white section of the escape was over. We’d moved to the colour period. This felt significant. I guess because it was significant. Time was the enemy.

  But as I thought about how my mouth was becoming too dry to speak, I realised that I was really thirsty too. To distract myself I tried focusing on the trunks of the trees we walked between. The path here was totally like an avenue, as if people had purposefully planted the pines in a parallel line. (Try saying that sentence with a dry mouth, having had almost no sleep.)

  ‘To be fair I’d love a vanilla milkshake,’ said Alexa, undistracting my tongue.

  ‘Don’t,’ I hissed, because this was dangerous talk.

  I almost stumbled over a root, kicking up dead needles as my dumb Nikes corrected themselves. Like airport walkways, we continued forward. Because, as much as drinking a vanilla milkshake would have been super nice, there were no branches of McDonald’s in this forest, only branches of trees.

  Up ahead, Ellie stopped.

  ‘A blueberry bush!’ she said.

  It wasn’t light enough to definitely identify the berries as blueberries and, bearing in mind what happened next, I’m pretty sure they weren’t.

  ‘I don’t know, Ellie …’ said Alexa. ‘I mean I am, like, dead hungry and thirsty too, but aren’t wild berries a bit risky?’

  ‘I don’t think they’re blueberries,’ I said. ‘They don’t look very …’

  My voice trailed off as I couldn’t think of the right word.

  Alexa was peering more closely at the shrub. ‘Umm … I think they’re dogwood berries. I recognise them from the video at camp.’

  We looked at Alexa as if she had genuinely sworn for once. What was this? Knowledge?

  ‘Dogwhat?’ I asked.

  ‘Dogwood. They’re not poisonous but they can make you unwell. People used to make ink from them. I think that’s what this is.’

  ‘Whatever,’ said Ellie, her right hand already darting to the bush. ‘What do you know? You watched a video and now you’re an expert? Anyway, I’m not asking your permission. I’m not even talking to you. But I am hungry. And they’re blue and they’re berries. That sure sounds like blueberries to me. If it looks like a duck and walks like a duck …’

  I was trying to work out why she’d begun talking about ducks as she grabbed one of the dark little things and pulled it from its stem. There was no hesitation before she popped it in her mouth. She chewed and we waited for something to happen. At a minimum I expected her face to contort and for her to spit it out. But it didn’t. I never tried the berries and I doubt they tasted nice but Ellie did a ‘mmm’ sound and upped her chewing quickly and grabbed more and dropped these into her mouth, a whole handful. I drew a dry tongue across a drier bottom lip like I was a desert explorer or something. And, weirdly, I felt like I was in one of those anti-drugs videos they show in school, where your friend from the 1990s takes something they shouldn’t and ends up in hospital. I thought to check my pocket for my phone. This was an automatic reaction that occurs during moments of stress. But I remembered that I wasn’t wearing trousers and my phone was locked away. Instead I patted the part of my jacket that held the hard drive. Its hard edges were satisfying. A bit.

  Ellie swallowed. Ellie grunted. Ellie touched her stomach. One … two … three.

  ‘That’s not good,’ she said and I swear that a tiny rumble came from her stomach.

  I stepped back – one of the best decisions of the whole escape. And Alexa, normally so quick to show sympathy, rolled her eyes.

  With a ballerina’s grace Ellie bent over and vomited. Nothing violent. As polite a throwing-up as you’re ever likely to see. Splat, splot, split: a modest puddle of syrupy black goo formed at Ellie’s feet. It stank of sharp acid. And the noise she made, a wet backwards cough, made me think I’d vomit too.

  When she straightened her back, her mouth was edged with purple smudges. Suddenly I was no longer thirsty. And I was definitely not hungry.

  ‘Has anyone got Evian?’ she asked.

  ‘You what?’ I said.

  ‘Water, for God’s sake.’ She paused, raising a hand to her throat. A burp emerged. ‘Pardon me. I don’t know why I ever thought coming with you two was a good idea.’

  No regret about eating the berries, just moaning about me and Alexa. Classic Ellie. And before I could point out to Ellie that nobody had actually invited her, Alexa spoke.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Alexa, her voice trembling but just about controlled. ‘But we … we didn’t tell you to eat the berries. In fact, I basically told you not to.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Ellie. ‘I don’t know if you noticed, but I’ve health issues. I was just sick on the ground. I’ve never been sick on the ground. And maybe you forgot but, also, a bat hit me in the face and I fell out of a tree.’

  Alexa turned to me. I think she wanted me to say something. A smile cracked across my face. A contagious smile, for Alexa quickly raised a hand to her mouth.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ellie,’ said Alexa, in no way disguising that she was cracking up.

  And you, reader, don’t need to be told that the more you try not to laugh, the more difficult it becomes. I had to turn round, think about other things, like, for instance, how Alexa had just stood up for herself.

  ‘Are yo
u two laughing?’ said Ellie, sounding for the world like an elderly French teacher. ‘Really? Turn round!’

  I turned round. There was no disguising the huge smile pasted across my face.

  I expected a reaction from Ellie. And one as unpleasant as vomit. She stared and she stared and she stared and she said nothing.

  Until …

  ‘It is kind of funny, I guess.’

  And, would you know it, but she even smiled too.

  Is river water okay to drink? What diseases can you catch? Fish flu? I’d have taken the hit if it meant moisture in my mouth or throat because, yes, the dryness had spread to my throat. Maybe this was how you died of thirst? Your body dried out like a leaf in the sun. It started at your mouth and spread to your toes. I’d have asked the others about it … if I hadn’t had such a dry mouth. Why was it so bad? It hadn’t even been a whole night. I’m normally forced to go to sleep around ten. I wake up at seven. I never drink water during the night. I’m not a dolphin.

  ‘Where do we go now?’ asked Alexa.

  Ellie huffed.

  We stopped. We looked around. We saw, as you’d imagine even if you’ve got a really bad imagination, loads of pine trees. The gaps between the trees were filled with other more distant trees. It was like how all fried chicken shops look the same, but with trees. Your eyes would fall out of focus and you’d feel like you were surrounded by a constant wall of brown, which is a really horrible phrase.

  The problem: further on, the path split off in all directions. It wasn’t a simple choice between left and right. It was an exploding star of options, a choice migraine. It was like we’d found Rome or the centre of the forest. And I hoped it wasn’t the centre because that would have meant we were, like, now further away from town than when we’d started.

  WHY HAD I TAKEN ROBBIE’S HARD DRIVE? AND WHY HADN’T ANYONE INVENTED A TIME MACHINE?

  I didn’t answer Alexa’s question because at that very moment a figure stumbled from the trees to our left like a forgetful actor being pushed on to a stage, or like a sasquatch maybe.

  ‘Sup,’ it said. ‘Was someone sick? Tuned right into your location. The sound of vomit travels. Frequencies.’

  It took all my self-control not to hug him. Nature had changed me.

  ‘Zed!’ said Alexa. ‘Jupiter’s beard!’

  ‘Hi,’ said Ellie. ‘We thought you were dead. And it was me. I vomited. We’ve been … having problems.’

  (Was there pride in her voice? Like, really? I mean, it wasn’t even a vomit you could be proud of. It wasn’t violent enough.)

  ‘Zed’s not dead.’

  ‘I didn’t think you were dead,’ I said. ‘Good to see you.’

  Zed winked. We were chill.

  ‘Cool beans, cool beans,’ said Zed. ‘Anyway, Zed could hear you arguing miles away. Did someone say they got hit by a bat? Scenes.’

  ‘The flying animal,’ I said. ‘Not the …’

  I don’t know whether it was the fatigue or the thirst or just the excitement of seeing Zed again, but I felt a sudden shame for all the squabbling, like it was embarrassing that he’d heard.

  ‘Ellie, I’m sorry about what happened with the tree. I should’ve given you more warning when I cut through the vines. I didn’t understand the power of the sporf,’ I said.

  ‘It’s not cool to be falling out,’ said Zed. ‘From trees or with each other. You know what? Zed’s not even mad about you abandoning him in the river.’

  ‘Well …’ I said. My voice drifted away like a forest breeze.

  Ellie raised a hand. ‘It’s okay, Will. Apology accepted. My whittling skills were surprising even to me. And I guess I’ve been blaming you guys when … maybe it’s not your fault.’ She put a hand to her chest and burped. ‘Sometimes it’s just easier to, like, lash out. I don’t know.’ Her voice shrank. ‘Sorry if I locked you in the shed, by the way.’

  Alexa, back up from 95 per cent nice to the full 100 per cent, stretched out a hand and touched Ellie’s shoulder.

  ‘I just wanted to play tennis for a week, that’s all. And that bat. Straight in the face. It was so gross. I can still feel its wings. Like warm leathery leaves.’

  ‘You got to be careful with bats,’ said Zed. ‘And badgers too.’

  ‘We saw a badger. It was dead,’ said Ellie, but we were distracted from this conversational slip road by Zed pulling a backpack from his shoulders and from that backpack a bottle of water.

  It shone like the Holy Grail, I swear. (If the Holy Grail shines or is even a thing.)

  ‘Anyone thirsty?’ he asked.

  As we drank, Zed told us his story. After he’d fallen into the river, he’d tried swimming after us. But the water was shallow and cold and he soon grew tired of grazing his nipples and shivering. So, like us, he walked the riverbank. He followed our trail.

  ‘Zed has masterful tracking skills. Also, I could hear you. Sound cuts through the night, you know? Zed’s nipples are fine, by the way.’

  I don’t know whether it was Zed’s unexpected arrival, but the air felt warmer. Sweat burst from my skin. I took off my jacket skirt and sat down again. I whipped off my Nikes and pulled on my tracksuit bottoms. They were still damp, but the moisture had a nice coolness. My socks had gone missing. I must have dropped them somewhere, but I didn’t care. Maybe they’d make a nice house for a mouse or whatever, a mouse house.

  Zed wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘So, what now?’

  ‘Well,’ said Alexa sheepishly. The forest leant in to listen. ‘I guess if we turn round, we could be back in the bunkhouse before anyone notices.’

  ‘I am tired,’ said Ellie reluctantly. ‘Like, really.’

  ‘Same,’ said Zed but without feeling.

  A breath caught in my throat. Like me, it wasn’t going anywhere. Had people never been tired before? I mean … sleepovers? The point of sleepovers is that you don’t sleep.

  There was a sudden sharpness to the air, a strange kind of fizzing like we were underneath electricity pylons. The heat was bad enough to dry out your eyes if you kept them open for too long. Nature Hazard Number 213: dry eyes.

  ‘No. No turning back!’ I shouted, standing. ‘Are we chickens?’

  There was something to my tone like when you can tell an adult’s properly angry. (And I shouted, which was kind of unexpected. Even for me.) Because I’d caught their total attention. No polite objection from Alexa. No sass from Ellie (or sick either). No weird third-person action from Zed. Only focus. On me. But what would I say? Where’d I find the words? I knew all the Tribe lyrics off by heart but something told me that, despite them being totally dope, not one would work in this scenario.

  ‘There comes a time –’ I began, thinking it was good that I had trousers on at this vital moment – ‘when it’s important to admit the truth. Faulkner is a fool.’

  There was some tittering.

  ‘He is. There’s no way his hair is real. But that doesn’t matter. My mum dyes her hair.’ I was losing it. Maybe I should have gone for the Tribe lyrics after all. Or De La Soul? No. I tried a different approach. ‘This morning, when rolling from my bunk, I made a sacred vow. I promised myself that I’d return this hard drive to my brother. You all know how important that is.’

  A drop of water, falling from the heavens, struck the edge of my nose. I ignored it, even as others, its droplet brothers and sisters, began to pitter-patter through the pines.

  ‘And so I can’t go back. Not until I’ve tried my very best to return it.’

  The rain increased in speed and strength and it rushed around us, pulling the smell of pine cones from the ground. This was a storm, not a shower.

  ‘My plan had been to go alone. And I was happy to go alone.’

  ‘Couldn’t have lifted the raft,’ said Zed.

  ‘I think I could have lifted the raft. But it’s more than that.’

  ‘Zed misses his dog-cam and he also wanted to see if the raft would float.’

  Had he said ‘dog-ca
m’? It didn’t matter. Close thunder bellowed. Its growl made the three of them jump, look skywards. Despite the noise, despite the weather, the distraction was only temporary, even as the rain streamed down their faces. They knew I hadn’t finished. Not my inspirational speech and definitely not my escape.

  ‘We’re a team,’ I urged. ‘We each have our skills. Zed, you have tracking, apparently, and stopping arguments. Ellie, you’re like weirdly athletic and a great climber. Alexa, you know about plants and nature and, to be fair, I’ve never met anyone who’s just so nice. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts. People talk about the meaning of life and the point of it all. This here is the point; this game is the meaning.’ Okay, I was stealing most of this part from my U13 chess coach, but I didn’t even care. I was in the zone. ‘And … I think we’re friends too.’

  An outbreak of nodding. The rain drummed the ground, a frantic beat.

  ‘Fine,’ said Ellie. ‘We’ll carry on. But first can we get out of the rain?’

  The dry undergrowth fizzed with raindrops. Every so often thunder growled warning. It was weather to enjoy in bed and under a roof, weather to make you understand the wonder of dryness. We were sheltering under the tree, the one with the thickest branches we could find nearby. Alexa had said the shower would pass after a few minutes, which seemed quick enough to make it worth waiting.

  ‘Have you heard of Chinese water torture?’ I asked. I think the others thought I was trying to be funny. ‘They drip water on you until you go mad.’

  ‘The Chinese?’ said Alexa.

  ‘No. It’s just called that.’

  ‘It was first used in Italy, not China,’ said Zed. ‘And, anyway, it’s meant to be a single drop going over and over on the same spot until it drives you crazy.’

  I don’t think anyone was surprised by Zed knowing this. He looked up through the branches, pulling a weird grin as a raindrop splashed against his face.