Chapter Text
He kicked at the dirt, sending up small plumes of dust around his run-down sneakers, as he stared at the ground with a gloomy expression. His grip tightened on his backpack and a woman’s shrill voice piped up from the tan Impala in front of him. Her face was shrouded in a thick plume of smoke but her words cut through the haze like a knife.
“You be good now, you hear, Francis?”
“Yes, mom.”
“‘Cause I ain’t coming back until the end of the week, even if they call me.” She exhaled, smoke escaping her nostrils like an angry cartoon bull.
“I understand.”
His mother mumbled something completely unintelligible due to a mix of a heavy Jersey accent and the slurring of words and syllables. Most of what she said was slurred nowadays— Francis didn’t know why. Before he could ask her to repeat herself, the Impala’s engine roared to life. It swerved, a cloud of dirt enveloping Francis as it sped away. He stood silently for a moment before turning around to face the campsite’s entrance.
A wooden sign on stilts arced above the path with only the words “Campsite” engraved on it. Nearby stood a smaller sign with white letters clumsily painted on it; “Welcome to the Bloodwolves Summer Camp! Check-in with Beth.” Down the path, he saw a small booth with colorful pamphlets and, further down, a large wooden cabin. Children and counselors alike were running to and from activities.
Francis dragged his feet behind him as he walked. His shoulders sagged under the weight of his backpack. As he reached the booth, he peered into it– getting up onto his tippy toes for a better view– only to see that it was empty, sans the pamphlets. He nervously looked around, trying to make pleading eye contact with anyone who could help him. Suddenly, a loud voice called out behind him and he spun on his heel to face it.
“Hi!” The voice belonged to a young boy, slightly taller than Francis. He wore the Bloodwolves’s camp uniform, covered in dirt from days of rough play. His hair was dark brown, slightly covered by a baseball cap, and his greenish-blue eyes squinted as he grinned at Francis. One of his teeth was missing, right in the front, leaving a large gap in his smile. “What’s your name?” His happy face never faltered, even as Francis visibly tensed and slinked away when spoken to. A few moments passed before he spoke again, this time in a whisper, “This is the part where you tell me your name.”
“Oh, I’m- um- Francis McQueen,” he finally stuttered out.
“Awesome! I’m Patrick.” He smiled wide again, his eyes squinting. “Can I call you Frankie? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here. Are you new?”
“Yes. Uh, I’m looking for a Beth, I think. I’m supposed to check in?”
“Oh! She’s over by the docks. Saw her on my way over here.” Suddenly, Patrick grabbed his hand and ran off down the path, presumably in the direction of the docks. Francis followed limply, being practically dragged by the boy in front of him.
As they approached the docks, Francis could make out the shapes of three people standing around a tied-up canoe. One of them, who had been kneeling, stood up straight and wiped a hand across her forehead, moving a piece of long blonde hair from her face. She turned to the two smaller people on the docks, gesturing to the canoes.
“Counselor Beth!” Patrick called out as they made their way towards the lake. Francis could hear a quiet whistle as Patrick pronounced the s in counselor, and he made a note to ask him about his tooth later.
She looked up towards them before raising a hand to wave them over, “Hey Patrick! Who you got there?” They slowed down once they’d reached the docks with Francis awkwardly following behind his new friend. Patrick explained that he had just got here and was looking for her. Counselor Beth scanned Francis’s face before clapping her hands. “Right, right,” she repeated. She tapped her fingers together and thought hard. “Francis?”
He nodded, stepping out from behind Patrick. “The sign said I needed to check in with you.” He shifted the backpack on his shoulder.
“Well, consider yourself checked in, bloodwolf!” She gave him a sturdy pat on the back. Francis looked at her, he had expected “checking in” to also have some directions or at least a hint of what he was supposed to do here. Instead, she resumed her conversation with the two other children on the docks. They sported bright orange life vests that made them look like mandarin oranges.
Well, mandarin oranges with legs. That made him smile.
He was brought out of thought by an arm playfully hooking around his own. “Where to now, Frankie?” Francis looked over at the boy who grinned at him the same wide smile he had earlier. He forgot about mandarin oranges and instead thought of pianos, like Patrick’s teeth. They made music like a piano did, when he said his S’s. Not like the sound a piano makes though—more like a flute. He must have been staring for a bit because Patrick awkwardly tilted his head to the side and his wide smile faltered.
Francis made an “oh” sound before shrugging his shoulders, “Well, I don’t really know how this place works, I mean—” he was abruptly cut off by two hands grabbing his shoulders and two big dark blue eyes staring him in the face.
“I could give you a tour!” Patrick declared excitedly with his piano smile on full display, and Francis couldn’t help but smile in return.
“Okay,” he replied. “Well, I wanna know where to put my things first,” he emphasized by shrugging the shoulder his backpack was on.
“You could take the bunk above mine.” Patrick pointed somewhere into the distance. Francis assumed it was the direction of the cabin he would be staying in. “I think the kid who was sleeping in it ran away ‘cause I talked too much at night.”
“What do you mean ran away?” Francis asked while taking a step in the direction Patrick pointed. His friend took a few skips ahead of him before turning back around and having his hands theatrically.
“His name was Jason or something. I think the lake monster took him,” He said, smirking.
“Nuh-huh.”
“Yuh-huh.” He smiled wide and started racing ahead of Francis, who yelled something along the lines of “wait up” before chasing after him. The idea of ‘lake-monsters’ was dropped as soon as it was brought up.
His backpack was weighing him down. He’d never been a fast runner, but he was sure he could catch up to Patrick without it. Not willing to throw his belongings onto the dirt, he leaned forward, trying to put more weight on the front of his body to propel him forward. That was the idea, at least. It was short-lived because Francis only went a few more feet before somersaulting forward into a patch of grass. His backpack flew out from behind him as he completed one rotation, and then another, before his face got caught on a rock. He felt something get ripped out of his face. As his rolling concluded, a dull pain in his mouth began prodding at his gums. Francis whispered out a quiet “ow” before he flopped backward onto the grass and watched a blurry Patrick rush closer and into focus.
“Frankie?” Patrick leaned down. “Are you okay? What happened?” His friend’s eyes widened and he let out a quiet gasp—more amazed than concerned. “Your mouth is bleeding.”
Francis held a hand up to his teeth and when he pulled away, sure enough, he was met with red stains on his skin. He felt around his mouth with his tongue, coming across a gap that hadn’t been there before. The absence of a tooth.
He scanned the ground around him before spotting something white in between blades of grass. Francis leaned over to swipe it off the ground. He held up the bloody tooth for Patrick to see.
“My tooth fell out,” Francis said, bluntly. Patrick scrunched up his face. “See?” Francis heard a familiar whistle leave his mouth as he spoke. He smiled wide for his friend to see his teeth.
“Grosss! Frankie, your teeth are all red,” Patrick said, leaning forward to get a closer look, their faces only inches away from each other. “Does it hurt?”
He nodded, leaning away slightly. He looked down at the tooth in his hand before pocketing it, getting up, and walking over to his duffle bag. Francis scooped a few scattered items back into their pouches and swung the bag over his shoulder. He spun around to look at his friend. Patrick wasn’t running towards the cabin anymore. In fact, he was a good few feet ahead of him now. He was in the lead.
Francis leaped forward and bounded towards the cabin, shouting a triumphant sort of noise for outsmarting his new friend. Sort of an “aha!” but less like how he saw people do in movies and more like he stubbed his toe and was out of breath.
“Hey, that’s cheating!” Patrick yelled, but his voice was littered with shaky giggles. He took a look over his shoulder a few times to see him racing after him.
By the time they reached the cabin, they were both out of breath and Patrick was gloating about how he did manage to win even with Francis having a head start. How he could talk after running that far, Francis didn’t know. He tiredly swatted at him, a non-spoken “shut up”. In response, his friend stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry before retaking his hand and pulling him towards the cabin doors.
The bleeding in his mouth had slowed, so he opted to just ignore it until an adult noticed. He ran his tongue over the spot where his tooth used to be as Patrick dragged him away. Francis walked into a room where two bunk beds, two cots each, stood lopsidedly next to the wall to his left, and two other bunk beds stood across from them. Each bed was messily made with personal belongings strung out on top of sheets—pencils, gum, a stuffed pink bear that looked a bit too much like it was staring directly at him, and a Jacob's ladder. The top bunk of the bed farthest from him looked like it hadn’t been slept in yet.
“This one is ours,” Patrick said, trotting over to the beds and placing a hand on the ladder. “Top bunk’s yours, bottom one’s mine.” Francis nodded, his eyes trailing off to the side.
“Who’s sleeping in those?” Francis pointed to the bunks across from them.
Patrick looked over and waved his hand dismissively, “Just these two girls, I can’t remember their names.”
“Girls?” Francis raised his eyebrow. “Why are girls in this cabin?”
Patrick crossed his arms, smiling, “Scared you’re gonna catch cooties?” He said as he casually leaned against the ladder.
“No, I just thought we’d have separate rooms at least.”
Patrick shrugged. “It’s not that bad, it’s just like sharing a room with your sister, but, like, there’s more of her.”
“I don’t have a sister.”
“Oh. Well, if you did it would be like that.”
Francis rolled his eyes and threw his bag up onto his bed. Patrick’s explanation, however annoying, brought a smile to his face.
“What’s your sister like?” He asked, pushing Patrick out of the way to climb up onto his bunk.
“Well,” Patrick began, “She’s older than me, and she’s in middle school now.” As he sat down on his bed, Francis could hear the frame creak underneath him. “Oh, and her name is Patricia.”
“Patricia?” Francis echoed.
“Mhm,” he hummed as if he didn’t see the irony of his sister’s name. As Patrick went on—detailing a recent fight they had over the TV remote—a few girls strolled into the room. Francis recognized a girl as one of the kids who were with Counselor Beth at the docks. Patrick waved hello to them as they walked in. The life jacket girl waved back at him, shyly, from behind her friends. The two other girls—one tall with long black hair tied into a ponytail, and the other short with curly light brown hair and a lot of freckles—started giggling and nudging the life jacket girl in the arms. She playfully swatted at them as her face turned bright red.
“Hiii Patrick,” the shorter girl said, still smiling and giggling. She elongated her words in a weird way that made Francis confused. There must have been some inside joke Francis had missed out on by being late because he didn’t understand what was so funny. He looked back towards Patrick and he shrugged his shoulders. Patrick looked just as confused as he was.
“Hi,” Patrick replied with a smile, and a sort of embarrassed laugh hung off the end of it. His response caused another wave of giggling, and Francis felt Patrick shift in the bunk underneath him. He found himself listening quietly to the girls whispering. Something about the life jacket girl, Patrick, and a “crush”. His mind focused on the latter; crush. He’d heard kids at his school talk about crushes—sometimes it felt like that was all they talked about. He knew what they were, but he’d never had one. At least he didn’t think so; he didn’t really know what it’d feel like.
The girls walked over to their bags. The life jacket girl slunk back a bit behind them, her face still red, and adjusted her big glasses that hung awkwardly off her nose. Francis quickly pulled his pillow out of his bag, finishing his unpacking. He suddenly didn’t want to linger in this room for much longer. He’d think about crushes later.
“Okay, I’m done,” Francis said before sliding down the ladder. He grabbed Patrick’s arm and pulled him towards the door, hurriedly walking past the group of girls and into the hallway.
Once they were out of earshot of the door Patrick asked, “What do you think that was about?” He smiled at Francis, a confused look in his eyes.
“I don’t know. Girl stuff?” A poor excuse for a response, but he didn’t think Patrick was looking for anything insightful. Francis realized he felt oddly protective of his new friend. And a little sick. He needed some air. He abandoned Patrick’s side in search of an exit. But instead, he found himself lost in the relatively small building. God, he really needed some air.
He was considering opening a window just to be free of the thick atmosphere that surrounded him, when Patrick caught up. He tugged at his sleeve, pulling him away from his thoughts. “Do you know where you’re going?” Patrick asked. No, Francis thought, he had no clue where he was going. He looked up and found himself walking in a random direction in an unfamiliar hallway. He stopped and turned around.
“...Outside?” Francis said sheepishly.
“Well, outside isn’t over here,” Patrick smiled. He looked up and around him. “I think we’re in the Counselors’ hallway.” Francis followed his gaze to a sign on the wall. Counselors, it said. Francis felt a bit embarrassed that he didn’t bother to look up when he was walking, it wouldn’t have been hard to find the right way. There weren’t too many rooms after all, and the ones that were there had signs labeling where they went. As he quietly cursed himself, Patrick took his hand and led him towards the actual exit. Francis’s ears felt like they were on fire and he chalked it up to embarrassment. Nothing else.
Once outside, Francis found the fresh, humid summer air did nothing to help his ears cool down. Across the way, handfuls of children were filing into a large wooden cabin. In front of the building were multiple wooden benches—home to at least one wasp nest, Francis thought—and a sign. Much like the hastily made sign at the entrance of the camp, Mess Hall was painted in thick white letters. Was it lunchtime already? He looked back at Patrick for an answer to his unspoken question, gesturing towards the mess hall with a shrug of his shoulder.
“Oh,” he said, “I guess station one is already over.” He looked almost sad, but he picked himself up and took Francis’s hand as they made their way towards the building.
“What’s ‘station’ two?” Francis asked.
Patrick looked up like he was searching the clouds for an answer before shrugging his shoulders and saying “Well… it’s in the cafeteria, so… probably something with crafts?”
Inside the mess hall, groups of campers lined circular tables covered in paper, crayons, pipe cleaners, and various other art supplies. Francis let himself be led to one of the less crowded tables by his friend. He warily sat down next to him. Three other boys sat across from them, each having varying levels of interest in their project. One boy, with light brown shoulder-length hair—which he kept blowing out of his eyes, carefully and meticulously glued pieces of macaroni onto a paper plate, and another boy rested one side of his face on the table and absently twisted two different colored pipe cleaners together. The other boy, with red hair, big glasses, and so many freckles, had a pile of markers surrounding him as he drew various things on a lined piece of notebook paper.
The second boy, the one with the pipe cleaners, looked up at Patrick when they sat down. “Hi, Patrick.” The boy tossed the pipe cleaners aside as he spoke.
“Hi, Derrick.” Patrick returned, leaning over the table to look at the discarded art project—if you could call it that. “Can I have this?”
The boy, Derrick, nodded before reaching over to grab a marker from the redhead boy’s pile, uncapping it, and began to draw on his hand. Patrick swiped up the pipe cleaners and then leaned back into his seat next to Francis.
“What are you going to do with that?” Francis leaned closer to his friend. He watched as Patrick untangled them, twisting them over each other in the opposite way Derrick had.
“I ‘unno.” He shrugged, not taking his eyes off of his hands. Once he separated the two, he set them down on the table. “What are you gonna make?” He asked, turning his head towards Francis.
Francis looked across the table at the other boy’s projects. It didn’t take him long to decide what he wanted to draw, his eyes widened and he beamed at the opportunity to draw his favorite thing ever: dinosaurs. Not just any dinosaur, of course, a Brachiosaurus—his favorite dinosaur. He hopped out of his seat, forgetting to answer Patrick’s question, and made his way towards one of the tables with materials on them. He grabbed a single piece of paper and selected three thick Crayola markers, green, blue, and black. He was a bit disappointed that teal wasn’t available, but he was not at all deterred in his quest to draw the coolest thing that ever existed. Francis’s shoes squeaked as he gingerly moved back to the table, markers and paper in tow. He quickly, but carefully, set his paper on the tabletop and put his three markers next to it. He smiled widely as he uncapped the black marker and began to draw the head of the dinosaur.
“Earth to Frankie?” Beside him, Patrick giggled.
Francis blinked at his friend, a little annoyed and a little confused, but mostly excited to be drawing. “What?” He asked, not bothering to stop what he was doing as he spoke.
“What are you drawing?” His friend pointed at his paper and cocked his head. “A dinosaur?”
Francis used his free hand to nudge Patrick’s hand out of the way of his drawing before smiling and proudly correcting him, “Not just any dinosaur, a brachiosaurus.”
“Brontosaurus?”
“Brachiosaurus,” he corrected again. “The brontosaurus and brachiosaurus are different, the brachiosaurus is waaaaay bigger.” He reached his arms out wide to emphasize this before returning his marker to the paper. “And they’re way cooler.”
“Brachiosaurus.” Patrick nodded, seeming to get what Francis was saying.
“Do you like dinosaurs?” Francis swapped his black marker with his green one and began to color in his drawing. Dinosaurs weren’t actually green, of course, but Francis did like the color green, so he could excuse the historical inaccuracy.
“I like the one that flies, the uh—” He closed his eyes as he spoke like he was looking for the name on the inside of his eyelids. “Puh-terodactyl!” Francis looked up at Patrick, his eyes had reopened and landed on him in an unwavering stare.
“Puh-terodactyl?” Francis snorted. “It’s pterodactyl.”
“Nuh-uh, pretty sure it’s got a P at the start of it.”
“It’s silent.”
“Huh?”
“The P is silent.”
“Ewww!” Patrick giggled and lightly shoved Francis in the shoulder—he was lucky he had pulled his marker away from the paper. If Patrick had messed up this drawing Francis would reconsider his place on his list of new friends. “Frankie, that’s gross!”
Francis could feel his face heat up and he pushed Patrick back. “That’s not what I was talking about! You’re gross!”
He continued to laugh, and Francis could hear short whistles every time he stopped to take a breath. Before he could retaliate– probably with a quick kick to Patrick’s shin– one of the counselors blew the whistle to get the campers’ attention.
Some kids groaned and slumped down in their seats, while other kids looked excitedly over at the adult for instructions.
“Alright, kiddos,” The counselor said, their hands in fists at their hips and a smile across their face, “it’s time to clean up for lunch.” Francis was amazed at how easily their booming voice carried throughout the room.
Kids around him began picking up their supplies, gathering them in small arms, and making their way towards the table where they got them. Francis grabbed his three markers, frowning at his unfinished drawing. Looking from his markers to his doodle, he had the thought that, surely, no one would notice a few markers missing. He could just finish the drawing later and then put them back in the morning, right? He pocketed the markers. They stuck halfway out of his short pockets, but he just covered them up with his shirt.
“What are you doing?” Patrick’s voice almost made Francis jump out of his skin. He spun around on his heels to face his friend.
“Nothing!” He sputtered, tugging the end of his shirt further over the markers. Patrick cocked his head and stared at him, brows furrowed.
“You shouldn’t steal those,” he said, plainly.
“I’m not stealing,” Francis corrected, making a point to angle the pocket with the markers away from Patrick’s view. “I’m going to put them back… tomorrow.”
“That’s how it starts!” Patrick shook his head and made a tsk-tsk noise.
“Nothing is ‘starting,’ Patrick, I’m just borrowing them!” He made his point by using his hands to make air quotes. Patrick was being silly; there’s no way this would become a habit. Obviously.
Lunch was uneventful, he and Patrick ate together with Derrick and the redheaded boy. The food was undoubtedly disgusting, and he found himself wishing he had brought food from home like some of the other campers. He opted to just poke at the barely edible slop in front of him with his flimsy plastic fork while Patrick went on about his sister and his parents and his dog, with the other boys piping in at random parts to talk about their own home life. All except Francis, who sat there listening and comparing and noticing how none of them had a family like his. He felt uncomfortable and almost resorted to ingesting the paper-mache-like goop on his plate so that he’d have something to do. Thankfully, he heard his name being thrown around in conversation and he managed to pry his eye away from the “food.” If he stared at it for too long, it seemed like it was breathing. He got a few words in before one of the counselors blew their whistle again and it was time to leave.
Outside the mess hall, clusters of kids stood around counselors, chatting, smiling, and wiping off their messy faces on their arms—gross. Francis followed Patrick to one of the groups, shuffling awkwardly behind him as they made their way between the kids. He recognized the counselor at the head of their group, Counselor Beth. She looked over the crowd of kids before her eyes landed on Patrick and Francis, who she smiled at and waved over.
Once the other children were settled into groups, Counselor Beth announced they would go hiking. The crowd erupted into a mix of cheers and groans. Beth waved her hand, dismissing the annoyed grumbles, saying, “Yeah, yeah, I know you aren’t all fans.” She projected so that everyone could hear. “But it’ll be fun, trust.”
With that, the groups made their way to a hiking trail on the far left side of the camp. Kids chatted loudly about different things, and Francis’s eyes were glued on his shoes for most of the hike, looking at the various pebbles and leaves on the ground.
They made a few stops, one at a small stream where Patrick pointed out a cool-looking bug, went to touch it, and Beth barked at him to step away because that was, in fact, not just any bug, but a black widow spider. Francis noticed how Patrick stayed a little closer to the middle of the path after that, but he was happy to join him. Despite nature being fun to look at, he was well aware of the dangers of animals, plants, and creepy crawlies—he made a point to read about wilderness safety before coming to camp.
After they made their way around the trail, which was a big circle, it was starting to get dark. The kids were ushered to the middle of the camp, which held a, currently, unlit campfire. They took their seats on the several logs spread out around the firepit, and Francis and Patrick sat next to each other on one nearest their cabin.
“This way we can get into bed first,” Patrick told him when they were choosing where to sit.
“Okay, campers,” An adult at the center of the circle of logs, called out to the ring of kids. “I know you guys are tired, so we’ll make this quick.” They leaned down towards the pit and pulled out a small lighter from their pocket, similar to the ones Francis’s mom always had with her. With a few sparks, the fire was lit and Francis silently admired the counselor for being so brave to put their hand so close to the fire.
They ended the night with a few announcements: what they were having for lunch tomorrow, a few things they’d be doing—one being kayaking, which piqued Francis’s interest—and a reminder to kids not to litter the campgrounds, with one counselor practically begging kids to use one of the many garbage cans in the area.
Francis picked at clumps of dried dirt on the hem of his shorts as the adults finished talking. He was hyper-aware of his and Patrick’s shoulders touching. Despite the other side of the log being empty, Patrick sat extremely close to him. He supposed he wasn’t used to people choosing to be close to him and he found he totally didn’t mind it. He rested his head on Patrick’s shoulder, resting his eyes and distantly listening to the counselors speak.
As the kids started getting up and moving towards their rooms, Patrick seized Francis’s hand and pulled him, running towards their cabin door. He stumbled along, giggling as they made their way through the halls and rounded the corner to their room, at which point Patrick released his hand and threw himself onto the lower bunk of their bed, his head narrowly missing the edge of the top bunk. Francis wondered how his friend could be so reckless, yet a part of him found it cool. He smiled as he clambered his way up the ladder and rolled over onto his cot. The wooden pillars holding it up squeaked as he put his weight on the mattress.
They sat silently as other children piled in and took their spots in their beds, preparing for a goodnight’s rest.
—
The next few days passed quickly, each following a strict camp routine. Wake up, breakfast, activity, activity, lunch, activity, snack, “team time”—where all the campers sat around while the adults talked—and then, bed. It wasn’t unlike school.
Archery, Francis found out, wasn’t his forte. The “shooting range” was a bunch of hay-filled targets sat on an old wooden bench seated 20 yards away from a white line in the grass. Not a single camper hit any of them by the end of the station. The closest any of them got was shooting an arrow right into the side of a kayak down by the lake. Patrick argued how that was pretty impressive and just as good as, if not better than, hitting one of the targets. Francis argued that he was biased, because he was the one who sunk the kayak.
The second to last day of camp came and went. Francis sat atop his bunk fidgeting quietly with a friendship bracelet on his wrist. Patrick had made it for him during one of their arts and craft activities. When they exchanged them, Francis noticed the stark difference between the two; the one he'd made had threads sticking out at odd angles and the colors barely matched while Patrick's felt like it belonged in an arts and crafts magazine. Despite this, Patrick kept the gift and wore it proudly on his wrist like a badge of honor.
He leaned back into his pillow, staring up at the ceiling.
“I’m so tired,” Patrick whined from the bottom bunk, and Francis could feel his feet pushing at the bottom of his bed.
“Hey quit it,” He waved his hand over the side, signaling Patrick to knock it off. “I’m tired, too.” The bump underneath him moved as Patrick stomped at the top bunk. Francis could hear him giggling quietly.
Francis poked his head out from his bunk, “Maybe this is why your other bunkmate left,” He joked, reaching down to swat at Patrick.
“Some people are just too boring,” He smiled proudly but stopped kicking at the bed. “They can’t handle me.” Francis flopped back over, pulling his blanket over his head and curling into himself. He found that despite being tired, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling, even as he drifted off into sleep.
—
A scream cut through the silence and ripped Francis from his blissful unconsciousness. He sprung up, nearly hitting his head on the ceiling that was only a few feet away from his mattress, and flung himself from his bed, down the ladder, and onto the floor. He whipped his head around, looking for the source of the sound, but only saw unbothered sleeping bodies huddled tight in their beds. He turned to Patrick, still snoring as loud as a broken lawnmower. Francis kneeled next to his bed and gently shook him, his body flopping around like a dead fish.
“Patrick! Wake up,” he spat in a hushed whisper. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” he groaned as he rolled towards Francis.
“There was a scream! How can you sleep through something like that, you boulder?”
“I didn’t hear anything. Maybe the marker fumes from arts and crafts are finally getting to you.”
“Patrick, I’m being serious,” Francis leaned in close, a smile spreading across his face. “We should go investigate.”
“You have fun with that,” he yawned, flipping around to face the wall. “I’m going back to sleep.”
“Fine,” Francis said. He stood and quietly mumbled, “It’s okay that you’re scared.”
“What was that?”
“Oh, no, really. It’s totally fine. I just didn’t know I was bunking with a…”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Chicken.”
Patrick turned back around with a huff, swinging his legs out of the bed and standing to face Francis. “You can be real sassy when you don’t get your way, Frankie.”
“I know,” he smirked. “I swear I use it for good.” He grabbed hold of Patrick’s hand and rushed to the door. He opened it, the hinges squeaking as it revealed the dark hallway before them. Francis’s grip tightened on his friend’s hand, his feet cemented to the floor.
“What are you waiting for?” Patrick asked. “Wait, don’t tell me. Are you scared of the dark?” He grinned as he met Francis’s wide eyes.
“No. I’m not scared of the dark.” He turned away from his friend and stared at the floor. He mumbled, “I’m scared of what’s in it.”
“Who’s the chicken now?” He grinned and let go of his hand to retreat to their bunks. He grabbed his duffle bag and began rummaging around in it. “Don’t worry, Frankie, I got a flashlight in here somewhere.” After a moment, Patrick took out a black flashlight, big enough to bash a man’s head in, and tossed it to Francis.
You received item: FLASHLIGHT
The pair stared at each other for a moment, completely unmoving.
“What was that?” Francis squeaked out, holding the flashlight away from his body and staring at it with terror.
“I have no clue. It was just, like, a big box above your head!” Patrick said frantically, waving his hands wildly above himself. “What did it say…? You received a flashlight? How… what… why did that even happen?”
“W-well,” he stammered, cautiously turning on the flashlight and holding out his hand for Patrick again, “I guess we’ll have to ignore it for now. We have more important stuff to get to.”
Francis turned back to the doorway. Patrick walked up next to him, eyeing the flashlight suspiciously before grabbing his free hand. With the hallway now illuminated, they walked forward, floorboards creaking under their weight. Before passing the door of the counselors’ rooms, Francis stopped. It was open ajar, but the lights were off. He glanced towards Patrick, who gave him a determined nod, his lips pressed together in a fine line. The door opened with a creak as Francis pushed it with his foot. He moved the flashlight and lit up the room.
There were two twin beds on opposite sides of the wall, a window between them, and two bedside tables next to them. One bed was made, no evidence that it had ever even been occupied besides the open backpack that sat on it. The other bed’s bedding was strewn about, blankets and pillows lying on the ground as if someone had left in a violent hurry. The bedside table was on its side, a broken lamp lying next to it.
Francis’s eyes narrowed. “Well, there’s clear evidence of a struggle,” he suggested, abandoning Patrick in the doorway to fully enter the room. He couldn’t help but think about how much he sounded like a real-life detective, like he’d seen on TV. He walked a few feet but, still engrossed in the thoughts of being a legendary crime-fighter, felt his foot catch something. He yelped and fell to the floor with a loud thud. “Ow! What the heck?”
“Kissing the floor again?” Patrick smiled but still moved forward to help him up.
“It’s not my fault! I tripped on…” He bent over to pick up the object that his foot caught on. “...an oar?” It was long and wooden with a flat paddle on one end and a bluntish part for the handle on the other– It looked exactly like the ones they had used earlier that week. He shifted it from hand, examining every inch of it. As far as he could tell, nothing looked out of the ordinary.
You received item: OAR
“...Anyways,” coughed Francis, trying to ignore the text box that loomed over them. “This must be a clue as to where the counselors went.” A grin spread across his face, revealing the matching gap in his smile. “Let’s go to the docks!” He grabbed Patrick’s hand and rushed out of the room, not even waiting for a response. They ran through the hallway, whose darkness wasn’t as daunting as before, and out of the building.
The cold yet humid air enveloped them as they stepped outside. Francis slowed to a walk; their bare feet had begun to ache as they transitioned from hardwood floors to a gravel path. They walked in silence until they reached the fence that separated them from the lake. It was a chain link fence, easily twice their size with an overhang to prevent nosey children from climbing over it and drowning in the lake– which has certainly never happened before and there has never been a camper named Georgie here, no siree. The gate was bound tightly with a silver lock and chain, barely budging as Francis pressed his hand against it.
“We’ve come all this way,” Francis groaned, his head hanging low, “and it’s locked.”
“Hm,” Patrick walked up to the fence and pushed against the links. It bent against his hand slightly. Looking up at the looming fence, he turned to the gate and examined the lock. It was comically large in his hands and there was an equally large keyhole in the middle of it. “I could definitely pick this.”
“Pick? Like, a lockpick?” Francis looked quizzically at his friend. “You know how to lockpick?”
“Yup! Got my badge in it last year. Weird that they teach us how to and then try to lock things away from us using these.” He grinned at his friend. His white teeth somehow shone through the dark, making Francis flinch. “All I need is a paperclip.”
“I bet they have those in the arts and crafts drawers in the mess hall.” Francis smiled back. Without warning, he shoved the oar into Patrick’s hands and turned on his heel in the direction of the building. “Race you there!”
“Hey! Not fair!” He shouted, but it fell on deaf ears as Francis sprinted away. The ground was still rough against his feet as he ran but he was too focused on victory to care. He reached the mess hall and swung the door open with reckless abandon, almost forgetting that he was supposed to be quiet. He didn’t even look behind him to see if Patrick was hot on his heels, it would only slow him down. He blew through the room and slapped his hand on top of the colorful plastic cart that held all of the various art supplies. He turned with a huge grin on his face, to face his panting friend.
“I win! I won!” he cheered, lightly jumping on his toes.
“Don’t– huff– get a big head, Frankie,” Patrick wheezed. He had one hand on his knees and the other hung slack next to him, still holding the oversized oar. “I’ll get you next time.” As his friend continued to pant, Francis returned to the drawers of art supplies. He opened the first one and surveyed its contents; some construction paper and various pairs of safety scissors. Safety scissors never cut through anything, he thought to himself as he examined one with a rubbery purple handle, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have them on hand.
You received item: SAFETY SCISSORS
He opened the next drawer, revealing various colored pencils and crayons inside. Most of them were broken, snapped in half, or chewed on enough to look like it was infested with termites. Francis’s eyes fell on the green crayon and his hand itched at the thought of taking it, but he shut the drawer and reached for the next one.
“Ah!” he hummed, grabbing a small metal object from inside, “I found the paperclips.” He turned back around to face Patrick who had finally relaxed and was leaning against the large oar as if it were a staff. He shoved the paperclip into his pajama pants pocket.
You received item: PAPERCLIP
“Ready to head back?”
“Awww, but I just caught my breath,” he groaned.
“We can just walk this time,” he chuckled in response, grabbing Patrick’s free hand and guiding him out of the mess hall as if he weren’t the one showing Francis around just a few days prior. They made just a few steps outside before they heard it again.
A high-pitched scream.
Francis and Patrick quickly glanced at each other before rushing back to the gate. Francis quickly handed the paperclip to him, taking back the oar. Patrick kneeled and took the lock in one hand, quickly bending the clip to a metal wire with the other. He stuck the makeshift lock pick into the keyhole and jostled it around. Francis relaxed once he heard a satisfying click and the silver lock fell to the ground with a thump. He didn’t have much time to relish in the feeling as Patrick immediately grabbed his hand and rushed through the gate. He’d never seen Patrick so serious before, so determined and quick.
They zeroed in on the docks and Francis’s eyes were just barely able to cut through the dark and see a figure facing away from them. It seemed to be around their height, but only when they got closer was he able to make out defining features. The figure’s hair was sandy-blonde and matted to his forehead with sweat. He was wearing a blood-wolves uniform, but Francis didn’t remember ever seeing him walking around the camp. He glanced at Patrick, whose eyes seemed to fill with recognition.
“Jason,” he growled, grip tightening on his friend’s hand. The figure whipped around, eyes wide.
“Who?” Francis whispered as he leaned closer to Patrick.
“Remember my old bunkmate? The one I said was eaten by the lake monster?” He pointed at the kid, now smirking and crossing his arms. “That’s him.”
“I’d say it’s nice to see you again, Patrick,” Jason smiled, “but my momma said I should always tell the truth.”
“Oh shut your hole,” he retorted, face twisted in uncharacteristic anger. “Where are the counselors? We know you have them.” Jason put his hand to his chest and made a face of exaggerated outrage at the insult. But, he then smirked and stepped to the side, revealing a huge mass hanging over the lake. Francis pointed the flashlight at it, revealing multiple scared faces staring back at him. All of the counselors were tightly bound with rope around their waists and hovering over the water. He didn’t recognize most of the faces—he hadn’t been there long enough to—but one stood out to him. Her eyes were red from crying and long, messy blonde hair hung down in front of her face. She was still in her pajamas: a rainbow-bite t-shirt with matching sweatpants.
Counselor Beth.
“What are you gonna do with them?” Francis asked, turning his attention back to Jason.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he laughed. The condescension in his voice was palpable. “I’m going to create a portal to another dimension and send the counselors through, trapping them there for eternity. I read about it in a book my momma bought me.”
“Yeah, that was not obvious,” Francis said, looking past him again. On the water, Jason had set up a ring of canoes below the counselors. On each of the seats, a symbol was painted in bright pink paint.
“Is that ring of canoes gonna be the portal?”
“I’m not telling you anything!” he screeched.
“You’ve already told me everything,” Francis smiled, turning to Patrick. “Come on, I know what we need to do.” Patrick followed him as they walked away from Jason, whose face was stuck in a scowl.
As soon as they were out of range, Patrick turned to Francis and whispered, “Do you actually have a plan or are we just spitballing?”
“Spitballing, but I’m sure I can figure something out,” he smiled. “I’m very good at improvising.”
“But where do we even start?”
“Hmm,” Francis hummed, putting one hand to his chin as he thought. As they passed the gate, he noticed a couple of burned-out cigarettes lying on the ground and a metal lighter lying next to them– Jason probably grabbed one of the counselors as they were on their smoke break. He picked it up, turning it around in his hand.
You received item: LIGHTER
Francis racked his brain for an idea, shutting his eyes and attempting to will one into existence. There had to be something useful around here, right? He turned his head back towards the lake, where he saw a canoe bobbing up and down in the water. Bingo. He swung his head back towards Patrick, a huge grin on his face. “Let’s head to the archery range first.”
They followed the dirt path to the open field, littered with targets. Near the path sat a box of arrows and a quiver lying next to it. He picked up the leather quiver and filled it with a couple of arrows. Heaving it onto his shoulder, he looked around for a bow. Patrick was already halfway across the field, pulling back the string on one and pointing it at a target. It wasn’t loaded with anything, so Francis wasn’t scared as he walked closer.
“When I’m older, I’m gonna be a master archer,” he said, finally letting go of the string with a soft pang. “I’ll shoot bad guys with arrows and then give their riches to the poor—like that fox guy with the hat.”
Francis held out his hand after giving an unbelieving “Uh-huh.” Patrick begrudgingly handed over the bow with a sigh, and Francis put it on his back, along with the quiver.
You received item: BOWS AND ARROWS
“I think that’s all we’ll get from here,” he said. “Let’s head out and see what else we can find.”
The two boys made their way out of the archery range and back onto the dirt path. As they walked, Francis heard Patrick gasp.
“Frankie,” he whispered, as if there was anyone else that could hear him, “look! It’s the counselors’ four-wheeler!” He jumped up and down excitedly before rushing to it, admiring the mud-stained vehicle. Francis followed him as Patrick searched for the keys. Lying next to the four-wheeler has a bright red gas canister, lying on its side. Picking it up, Francis was surprised by the weight and realized it was almost full.
You received item: GAS CAN
“What’s that?” Patrick asked when he could finally tear himself away from his search.
“It’s a gas can,” Francis responded, holding it up so his friend could see, “and it’s full. Looks like someone left mid-way through filling up the tank.”
“But they didn’t leave the keys?” Patrick grumbled.
Francis gave him a reassuring pat on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, after we save the counselors, I’ll convince one of them to let you ride it.” After Patrick replied with a smile, they both made their way to the docks.
Francis was horrified to see that Jason wasn’t there waiting for them. He frantically looked around. He saw a figure moving in the dark on the shore, walking towards the tree where the counselors were strung up. Realizing how little time they had left, he couldn’t stop himself from barking out a command to Patrick. “Quick! Take off your shirt!”
“Yes, sir!” he barked back, quickly throwing his pajama shirt off and over his head.
Francis quickly shoved the oar into his hands and began tearing up Patrick’s shirt into long thin strips. “I’m going to destroy the portal,” he said, wrapping one piece of cloth around an arrow, “you go take care of Jason.”
A glimmer of mischief entered Patrick’s eye before he gave a curt nod and ran off, oar in hand. Francis returned to the arrows, finishing tying the cloth around each one. He opened the gas canister and reeled back at the offensive smell. He dunked an arrow in, letting the t-shirt strips absorb a good bit of gasoline before taking it out. He fumbled with the lighter as he took it out of his pocket, realizing how greasy his hands were from the gas.
He’d never used one before, but he’d seen his mom do it plenty of times. He flipped it open and quickly dragged his thumb against the wheel.
No spark.
He tried again, and again, cursing himself for his butterfingers, but there was no light. Come on, dummy, he thought to himself, everyone is counting on you!
With one final flick, a small flame sprung from the top of the lighter and Francis finally began breathing again. Bringing it close to the arrow, the end erupted into a bright light. He took the bow off this back and aimed towards the boats. It was hard to see them as the large fireball was blocking his view, but he fired anyway.
A smile broke across his face as he heard a thunk! and one of the boats burst into flames. One of the counselors shrieked as it landed. He repeated the action until he ran out of arrows. It didn’t take long, considering he had only brought three, and he hoped it would be enough. The burnt boats began to sink and the pink paint that decorated them– which had been glowing ominously before– dimmed.
“Are you guys okay?” he yelled to the counselors. He heard a chorus of “yes” and “uh-huh's” and smiled, yelling back, “I’m coming to get you all down!” He jumped off the dock and onto the mushy ground connected to it, jogging over to the tree where they hung.
Patrick was sitting on Jason’s back, halfway to the tree. He twirled the oar playfully and hummed a tune Francis didn’t recognize. “Heya, Frankie!” he called out as he saw him walk past. “Need any help?”
“Well, you could go get towels for when I cut down the counselors,” he replied, stopping briefly to look at the boy underneath him. Mud was smudged on Jason’s face, but he looked as if he were fast asleep. “What’d you do to him?”
“Oar,” Patrick said, a smile spreading across his face. “Did you know if you hit someone hard enough on their head they fall asleep?”
“I did know that. Remind me to never get on your bad side.”
“Awww, Frankie! You could never.”
Francis finally made his way to the tree. He took the scissors out of his pocket and grabbed them with his teeth as he began to climb, latching onto rough pieces of bark. He scooted onto the branch where the rope was tied and began to saw at it with the dull blades. When the rope snapped, he heard a splash and maneuvered his body to watch as the person he freed swam upwards and out of the water.
“Oh, Francis,” Beth sobbed as he moved onto hers, “you’re such a smart boy. We’re blessed to have you and Patrick here to save us.”
He felt himself blush. “It’s no problem, miss. Just doing my job,” he said, quoting a detective show he’d seen on television. The words felt oddly natural in his mouth, like they were born there and weren’t just visiting.
“Cannonball!” Beth shouted as the rope snapped and she plummeted towards the water. After swimming to shore, she followed her co-workers to where Patrick supplied them with towels. Despite what had happened and how close they were to entering the portal, the counselors were happy and laughing. Francis could tell how much praise Patrick was getting as his face was as red as a tomato.
After freeing the last of the counselors, Francis hopped off the tree and went to join them. Each one was wrapped tightly in a towel. As he opened his mouth to speak, a voice behind him interrupted.
“No!” Jason screeched, stomping up to the group. “No, no, no! This isn’t how this was supposed to go!”
“That’s what happens when you mess with us, villain,” Patrick quipped, throwing his arm around Francis’s shoulders. “Frankie and I will always put an end to evil in Twin Lakes!”
“Jason,” one of the counselors interjected, “it sounds like we’re going to have to make a call home, at the very least. What you did was very bad.” Jason’s face paled. Another counselor grabbed him by the arm, guiding him away towards the cabins. The rest followed, leaving the two boys alone on the docks.
Francis turned to him and, before he could say anything, Patrick tackled him in a tight hug. It took him a few moments to realize what was happening before he wrapped his arms around his friend just as tight. They stood there for a few moments and Francis hoped they would never part. Eventually, Patrick disentangled their arms and looked at him.
“We did good,” he said, his iconic gap-toothed smile spreading across his face. “When we grow up, we should be superheroes and do this all the time.”
“You know, I think you’d make a pretty good cop,” Francis giggled. He imagined his friend in a police uniform– his hat slightly askew with the same big smile as now.
“Ew! No way!” Patrick blurted. “Cops are just ways of enforcing violence on minorities without legal repercussions and are constantly justifying racist policies that only benefit the ruling class.”
“Patrick, we’re like… ten.”
“Yeah, but I’m not a dummy.”
“Some people might argue otherwise,” Francis laughed.
“Hey! Meanie!” Patrick lightly punched Francis in the side.
—
It was finally Friday: the last day of camp.
Before the counselors sent the kids home, everyone’s parents were invited to watch the badge ceremony. Many parents came early to watch and, as everyone was shuffling into the mess hall, Francis couldn’t help but search for his mother’s cloud of smoke. He looked around and saw smiling faces– mothers praising their kids, fathers swinging them in the air, just parents being there for their children. He saw Patrick, laughing and playing with his older sister while his mom and dad watched on. He suddenly felt just as lonely as he’d felt at the beginning of camp. He dragged his feet to find a chair, away from his friend as to give him time with his family.
But just as people began to take their seats, Patrick rushed over to sit next to him.
“Thought you’d get rid of me that easy, huh?” he asked.
“Never even dreamed of it,” Francis smiled back.
“Attention everyone!” A voice called out from the front of the room, silencing all other talking. “Today we’d like to commemorate the many achievements of our bloodwolves. First, we’ll start with badges of some activities…”
Francis felt comfortable enough to tune out what they were saying. He knew he hadn’t gotten anything considering how little time he’d spent there. His thoughts were proven correct as, activity after activity, campers were called to the front and he never heard his name. He felt bad for Patrick, however, as his name was never called either and the disappointment was visible on his face.
“Now, as we’re wrapping up,” the counselor said, adjusting the papers he was holding, “we’d like to recognize some truly exceptional campers. These two showed a true understanding of all the things we pride ourselves on here at Camp Bloodwolves, like creative thinking, selfless actions, and excellent skills in archery and lockpicking. Would Patrick Dooley and Francis McQueen please make their way up here?”
Francis could barely register that their names had been said before Patrick jumped up and grabbed his arm, dragging him toward the front of the room. Francis could feel the eyes on him as he stood next to his friend, side by side. Counselor Beth bent down and pinned three badges to their uniforms: The Buddy System badge, the Creativity badge, and the Savior badge.
“Francis and Patrick showed us all what it means to be true bloodwolves, and we hope to see them again next year.”
Soon after the ceremony, everyone began filing out of the mess hall. Kids ran back to their cabins to get their things while parents mingled amongst themselves. It didn’t take long before cars were being loaded up and hauled away.
Francis spotted his mother’s car and wordlessly heaved his duffel bag into the back. Before climbing in, he scanned everywhere for Patrick. He was only standing a few feet away, talking to the girls from their cabin. They laughed and blushed and twirled their hair as he spoke until their parents were able to successfully whisk them away. As they left, Francis made his way over. He wrapped Patrick in a big hug, holding on as if he was going to drift away.
“I’m gonna miss you,” he sniffled and buried his face into his friend’s shirt.
“Don’t worry, Frankie,” he reassured, barely hiding his sorrow behind his smile, “we’ll see each other next year. Promise?”
“I promise.”
CASE CLOSED.