With mounting disbelief, James watched the bus speed past yet another sign wishing them a safe journey. How many was that, then? He'd lost count. He gazed up the aisle, and past the driver, to the seemingly endless expanse of empty road that disappeared into the horizon, and wondered: where were they?
He still couldn't believe it. Aside from his guard, and the man behind the wheel, James was the only other person on the bus. He wondered how many chose jail or juvey the camp. Then he wondered why.
The bus hit a bump, and James lurched out of his seat, startled. When he composed himself, he noticed the armed guard sitting across from him watching him out of the corner of his eye. The man looked tall and strong, heavy, but not overweight. So far, James hadn't seen him loosen his grip on his firearm once, though he didn't appear to be weary of James at all. In fact, he didn't seem interested in him at all.
About an hour into the drive, James mustered up enough courage to ask whether or not they were almost there. A withering stare was his answer, and James began to wonder if perhaps the man hadn't heard him clearly, or at all. They were on a moving bus, after all. "I said, are we almost there?"
Again, the man stared, only this look was different than the one before. This one was curious, probing, and maybe even a little bit startled.
'OK,' James mouthed rather bitingly. If the guard took offense to his attitude, he didn't notice. Blowing air out of the sides of his mouth, he turned to the window, and watched the road roll by.
In no time at all they were passing massive holes in the earth, in every which way imaginable. There didn't seem to be any reason or rhyme to them, they just were. James frowned thoughtfully, pressing his forehead against the glass. When the bus finally did stop, the guard grabbed him by the arm and yanked him up, guiding him down the aisle. He tiredly shuffled along, glad to be finally getting out of the handcuffs soon. His wrists were sweaty and raw, though there were no marks.
Boys of varying ages dotted the area. Some sat or stood on porches in the shade (the only shade there seemed to be, James noted); others were out under the merciless sun, watching him with dangerous eyes.
A few feet away there was a small, stout man with a mean looking face, boot, and a cowboy hat. He was unrestrainedly yelling at a group of boys, who flew to their feet and scattered like cockroaches. None of them looked like criminals.
The man saw them and walked over. One eye squinted shut, and he moved a toothpick around in his mouth. "Follow me," he said, simply walking off. Confused, James turned to his guard, who curtly ignored him and followed the man with the boots into an office.
The man walked around the desk and sat, motioning for James to sit. He did. The guard, however, stood for a moment or two before sitting himself. James looked around the office. It wasn't really small, but all the furniture and objects made it seem that way. The desk lamp and desk, as well as a few other objects, looked like they'd come from a courtroom. On the desk was an ashtray, littered with cigarette butts.
"So, got us another, have you?" he looked at a sheet of crumpled paper on a clipboard, lazily scanning it. "James Tanner. Fifteen. Says here you were caught with...drugs? Marijuana?" he looked up, tsking. "Kids these days..." he sighed, dropping the clipboard on the desk. "Well, James, this is Camp Green lake. My name is Mr. Sir-"
"Can you take the toothpick out of your mouth?" James interrupted. Mr. Sir stared at him keenly. "I'm deaf. I was supposed to have an interpreter, but-"
Mr. Sir looked livid. After several seconds, the toothpick cocked up beneath his top lip. He plucked it from his mouth, saying, "Interpreter? Ain't got one... So let me get this straight, you didn't hear a word I said on the walk over here?"
"No, sir."
He shot an irate glance at the guard, who raised both eyebrows and shrugged, still clinging to his firearm for dear life.
"Fully deaf, as in you cain't hear nothin'?"
"Almost. I can hear enough to read lips."
Mr. Sir regarded him suspiciously. "Good to know...Well, then, if'n you can read lips, I guess you won't be needing an interpreter after all?" James opened his mouth to respond, but Mr. Sir talked over him. "Ok, well, here's a little recap of what ya missed. I'm Mr. Sir," he explained rudely and a little more dramatically than was necessary. Both index fingers pointed to the ground. "This is Camp Green lake. This isn't a spa get away. You made some choices in life that led up to you coming here, and now," a wicked smile appeared on his face, "it's time to pay your debt back to society."
"How do I do that, Mr. Sir?"
Mr. Sir smiled again. James saw that both he and the guard were chuckling. For some reason, it made him very uneasy. "You like diggin' holes, son?" James paused, concentrating hard on his face. "Diggin' holes, that's right."
"I guess so?" James offered dumbly, not knowing what else to say. He didn't see what digging holes had to do with returning debt to society, but how much worse could a camp be than juvey?
"Good, good..."