Murder in Band Camp X

Chapter Five: Another War and a Mysterious Flute

-

The water war had ground on to its inevitable conclusion. Confronted by a base supplied with a never-ending arsenal of water, the rest of the sections had eventually surrendered or made suicide runs, attempting to bomb the Brasshole base with water enough to make their "deaths" count.

But in the end, the Brassholes had triumphed. A soaking, dripping band resumed the field as the end of break was called and lines of pooling water marked the diagonals in the opening scene.

"All right, kids, set sixteen! This is the last set of the day, and I have to say, I'm immensely proud." Mr. Defton was working up to his characteristic "March Time Speech", and Blaze sat back with an expression of attention on his face while he let his mind wander where it would.

Of course, it wandered straight to Charlie, who sat a short distance from him in the Clarinet arc on the thirty, listening to Mr. Defton drone on about the number of sets learned – "Sixteen in one day! I think that's a record!" – and other, useless stuff.

She was, Blaze thought affectionately, the prettiest girl he'd ever met.

As if drawn by his thoughts, Charlie shifted her gaze and met his eyes. She blushed a little, but smiled and scooted over to get closer to him. Blaze moved, too, and as he drew up next to her, Mr. Defton rambling about dedication, he wrapped an arm around her waist and nestled his chin in her shoulder.

"Your hair smells like vanilla," he whispered in her ear, and she let out a low giggle.

"Thanks," she whispered back.

-

There was very little to do after March Time, Lee thought drowsily. He was sprawled across his bed in the empty baritone cabin, one arm draped over the side and his cast resting on his pillow. His wet clothes were hanging out the cabin window. The baritone cabin was smaller than the trombones – whereas the trombones neared around twenty or twenty-five, the baritones were hard-pressed to hit fifteen. They numbered more around ten, and their "space-saving" cabin showed it.

But Lee was satisfied with his cabin anyway. The 'tones were a closer-knit group than most – nothing like the Brasshole's loyal society, but close nonetheless. They rivaled the drumline in terms of fierce dedication to one's section, and where the drumline was rather thickheaded at times, the baritones were lazy, instead. They still found ample excuse to hang out with one another outside of school or band.

In fact, he'd made more friends by being in band than he had in any of his other school classes combined, Lee mused. He was definitely glad he'd opted for instrumental rather than voice when offered the choice in sixth grade… Lee shuddered at the thought. The choirboys were talented and all, but they were so… delicate.

Damn. It was getting really hot. "What's the deal here?" he yelled into his pillow and Donald mumbled back to him from his own bunk.

"It's Texas, you Nancy." Donald called. "Deal with the heat or move your ass to Maine."

"Oh, spare me the lectures, Kensington." Lee yawned. But the heat was really getting to him and Donald, and coupled with the workout in March Time – not to mention the grilling water war they had just fought – he and his fellow Brasshole drifted to sleep.

-

Dinner passed almost as eventfully as March Time had. The cooks, underestimating the maturity of the Knightsbridge Band, made spaghetti and meatballs. It all smelled very good, Utah was sure of that, but the opportunity to stuff slimy spaghetti down a female froshie – preferably a flute – was too tempting to be ignore.

"Aiiiiieeeee!" The high-pitched shriek cut across the entire pavilion and as one, the band students paused in talking and eating to stare at a crying freshman flutist with red spaghetti stains down the back of her shirt.

"Utah, you ass!" The flute section leader yelled, and chunked a sauce-laden piece of garlic bread straight at his head. The warm sauce splattered across his cinnamon-colored hair and left tiny droplets across his grinning face. Still smiling, he gathered a bunch of the stuff up and streaked it across the top of his cheeks in a ridiculous imitation of war paint.

"Food fight!" somebody screamed. The Pavilion was instantly drowned in a cacophony of screams and shrieks as noncombatants scrambled to the edges for the second time that day.

And in the middle of it all was Utah, back-to-back with Scott, flinging meatballs like projectiles and basking in the chaos.

"Take that!" Scott yelled, flinging a handful of spaghetti sauce at a passing sophomore name Derrick Sanders. The sauce left a red arc across his neck and he glowered at the french horn player.

"Take that yourself, frenchie." He muttered as he grabbed a chair and swept it at Scott's feet, knocking the boy over. Scott's shoulder hit the table with a sickening crack that was heard even over the earnestly yelling crowd, and Derrick quickly stepped out of the Pavilion and stalked along the path to his cabin. The students quieted rapidly.

"You okay?" Utah asked anxiously as Scott lay on the floor, clutching his shoulder in agony. The french horn moaned between clenched teeth and shook his head. Utah could see Scary, Mellie, Blaze, and Charlie all working the way through the crowd in an effort to get by their fellow Brasshole's side.

"Not really," he managed to say. "I think – "

"It's dislocated," Someone interjected, and Lee turned to find the flute Section Leader, Diana Spence, glaring at the injured student. "What did you do to him, anyway? Derrick only retaliates, he never instigates."

"What did he do?" Utah asked, outraged. "Listen, Barbie, that guy was on the battleground. That meant he was an available target and it was perfectly legal to hit him. Derrick just snapped and swung the chair at Scott."

"Don't call me Barbie!" Diana yelled, only getting angrier. She smoothed her pink shirt down only a little self-consciously.

"Besides, Barbie," Utah continued on blithely, "What's it to you? Got a crush on the sophie?"

"No, you moron! He's a flute! It's my responsibility to look after my section!" She huffed. Utah paused in mid-rant.

"He's a flute?" he echoed. His eyes narrowed. "We've got a dude flute?" One hand scratched the side of his head absently. "We've got a dude flute. Well, this is an interesting development…"

"Hello? Injured person on the floor, here! Can I get a little help, Utah-boy?" Scott bellowed from his position on the ground, still clutching his shoulder but managing to look menacing even through his grimace of pain.

"As long as you don't fall unconscious on me, too, bro." Utah grumbled. "Just promise me that."

"I promise! Get me some painkillers, you loser!" Scott continued the yelling and finally Scary and Melody broke through the circle. Scary gathered the injured student up in his arms, muttering softly about déjà vu. Then, trailed by the Brasshole society, they made their way to the infirmary.

-

"This is definitely dislocated," the head of the infirmary, Dr. Reese, pronounced. "In fact, it could even be fractured, as well. About the only thing I can recommend is to lie still and try not to move until we get an ambulance to take you to the hospital."

"I get an ambulance?" Scott asked, only slightly horrified. "But everyone's going to stare at me!"

"No fair!" Utah complained. "Charlie, Lee, and Scott all get ambulances, and what do I get? 'Thanks for the help, Utah, go on back to your cabin.' Sheesh." Utah's grumbling was only half-hearted as he looked worriedly at his normally tan friend, looking pale and drawn against the white bed sheets.

"That's really all I can tell you," Dr. Reese said gently. "We'll let you know first thing in the morning what's going on."

After giving Scott worried get-well wishes and promising to guard his instrument, the group filed out of the tiny infirmary. The darkening sky revealed glittering country-bright stars, glittering like glass without the filter of pollution or even clouds.

"Wonder who'll get hurt next?" Lee said, only half-joking, as he rubbed his cast self-consciously. Next to him, Charlie probed her bandage carefully.

"Don't say that," she sighed. "It's like inviting bad luck."

"Superstition," Mellie scoffed, waving one hand away in the air for emphasis. "It's like knocking on wood, or not swimming and hour after you eat. Besides, we weren't the only ones to get hurt. There was that other girl in the hospital with you two."

The small gathering slowed to a halt as the silence stretched out. The trees stretched along beside them, distinct at the very edge of the trail but blending into complete and utter darkness when you peered past the nearest trunk. Blaze tilted his head back to look at the stars, absently tracing out constellations in his mind. There's the Big Dipper… and the North Star… the midnight blue sky was so calm and peaceful… he could almost her a sad, flute melody drifting through the night air…

"Do you hear that?" Mike hissed, catching a hold of Penny's arm and looking frightened. "Or am I imagining things?"

"No," Penny said softly, "I'm definitely hearing flute music." The flutist, whoever they were, was very good. The tune rose and fell with subtle dynamics and the unusually low notes lent the piece a slow, mournful air.

"That's definitely not anything we're playing," Mellie said slowly. The music reached a diminuendo faded gradually, until the reverberating note seemed to whisper all around them through the trees.

Abruptly, the sound was terminated with a strangled, discordant noise as air was exhaled too fast into the instrument's body, and something fell almost imperceptibly to the forest floor. A high shriek filled the air, laced with utter terror, rebounding again and again off the tree trunks until it, too was cut short with a decided finality.

"Where's the flute cabin?" Merry hissed, and Charlie darted through the circle and raced along the worn, rocky path. Behind her, practically flying down the forest path, the pounding of seven pairs of feet sounded like seven hundred.

Whatever was wrong, she hoped she wasn't too late.

~

Author's Note: Hi and thanks to the reviewers! I feel so loved! I'm terribly sorry about abandoning you all in the middle of it all, but I went away to Colorado for three weeks of Camp Redcloud, a discipleship camp, and it turned out very wonderfully… I managed to snag a great guy up there. If you want the whole story, go to my livejournal account, http://www.livejournal.com/~melody_chan. Anyway, this isn't exactly my best chapter ever, but I get a screwy chapter every once in a while, and it lends some suspense, if I do say so myself. Thanks to all, and I'll have chappy six up sometime soon, I promises. :)

~tchau,

Soul Peach