PART TWO
THE MESS HALL - 1:44 AM
Inhaling deeply through his nose, Chef Hatchet paced somberly between the Killer Bass and Screaming Gophers' respective tables. The disillusioned collection of campers watched him expectantly. He stopped in front of the stone hearth and began, "Now, with the event of our host's untimely death, some of y'all have come to realize some things…"
"Like… the show is canceled?" Gwen provided with a slight smirk.
"Did I ask for you to speak?" Chef turned around dangerously.
"You never do," Gwen stated, barely phased.
"As I was sayin', number one: the show is over... done… fin. Number two," he extended two fingers for emphasis, "there is a killer on the loose! Chris Maclean was brutally… viciously murdered."
"Way to cool over the crowd," Duncan murmured, his attention drifting to Courtney who sat curled up into a tight little ball, knees pulled up to her chest. She had become withdrawn after they had found the body, catatonically staring forward into nothing.
"Number three: you are my responsibility now. As such, you will not leave this mess hall for any reason other than me coming to get you. Is that understood soldiers?"
Their blank, glassy stares answered the militant chef.
"I said," he repeated more firmly, "is that understood?!"
"Yes sir," the campers chorused.
"Good," his frown deepened as he turned towards the exit, "Now I've gotta go bag me a killa'."
The mess hall shook as Chef slammed the door behind him, bits of ceiling crumbling down onto the camper's heads. Owen cringed, wiping dusty woodchips from his scruffy blonde hair. Duncan slouched even further down onto the bench and grumbled, "Chef has left the building."
Heather sauntered towards the dusty window to watch their would-be supervisor vanish into the darkness. When the Asian was certain that he was gone, she whirled around and announced, "This is bullshit. I am so out of here."
"And just where do you think your going?" Leshawna crossed her arms expectantly.
"Um, off this island, away from the "psycho" killer that did Chris; and most importantly, away from you losers."
"Listen, I don't think that's such a good idea." Gwen offered thoughtfully.
"Oh," Heather placed a finger against her chin in mock contemplation, "Well no one cares what you think."
"Seriously, have you never seen a horror flick in your life? With a murderer on the loose, going off alone is the worst thing you could possibly do. It just stinks of bad idea," she continued to reason, despite her underlying dislike of the pretentious girl.
"Reality check. This is not a movie; this is real life you creepy little reject." Heather threw her arms up for emphasis.
"Hey!" Trent stood between the two women, "You can't talk to Gwen like that!"
"Oh shut it slacker. I can do whatever I want, and what I want is to get the hell off this stupid island. Besides, I'm not going alone… Owen… Lindsay… you're with me."
Lindsay, who had been twisting her hair, started, realizing she had no idea what was going on. Owen twitched, looking around nervously at the others, confused as to how he'd gotten included in this squabble.
"So…" the beautiful blonde's hand shot up for permission to speak while she prattled on, "about this challenge. I mean, I don't think I get it. What's the point exactly?"
"There is no point you twit!" Heather snapped, "There is no challenge. Where have you been this entire time?"
Lindsay's crystal blue eyes struggled for a moment, than she shrugged, "Um, here?"
"You weren't supposed to answer that," Heather scowled, snatching the blonde's arm in her own hand and leading her towards the door, "Now come on! Owen, you too! I need a body guard!"
"Oh, okay," Owen chuckled to himself as if it all made sense suddenly, "I can do body guard."
"Y'know you don't have to go…" Geoff trailed off, seeing the large and loveable Owen was already out the door, "with them."
The normally energetic party boy sighed heavily as he sunk over the table. Harold leaned into his own hands and wheezed pessimistically, "They won't get far."
THE MESS HALL - 2:01 AM
The dusty wall clock clicked past two, another anxiety-filled moment passed for the nine campers. A deafening silence had filled the dining hall since Heather had stormed off. The teens resolved themselves to an awkward staring contest, no one knowing what to say. Trent opened his mouth to attempt a conversation, but one look at brooding Gwen made his voice mute. Geoff adjusted his tan cowboy hat on his head, and Bridgette sighed quit noisily, digging her hands further into her blue hoodie's pockets.
"So I was just wondering," Bridgette's wavering voice broke the hush.
"Yeah Bridge?" Geoff eagerly welcomed the break in silence.
"It's nothing," she lowered her head.
"No, it's cool girl, say what 'ya gotta say," Leshawna encouraged from the Gopher table.
"There's been a homicide. Shouldn't someone contact the authorities?" she said plainly, her olive green eyes surveying the others.
"Well… yeah," Gwen mulled the question over.
"Chef's probably already done that so, there's nothing to worry about," Geoff confidently assured his blond-haired teammate.
Doubtful glances exchanged at the thought that Chef had done anything so levelheaded, and Gwen openly voiced that, "Somehow, I doubt it. Sounded like he was going to handle this one personally."
"He's not that stupid," Bridgette briefly dwelled on her claim, "but he is that crazy."
"So we'll call them," ever down-to-earth Trent declared. Harold's head popped up and he glanced sideways over his shoulder, "Great, I'll just get my cell phone and… oh wait; they took away our phones when we got here. Not like we could get any reception out here. Idiot."
"Well now that we've heard from Lil' Mister Sunshine over there," Leshawna shot the scrawny nerd an icy stare, "let's here some more constructive thoughts. There's gotta be another way to contact the outside world."
"The camera crew?" Geoff offered. Every day, there was a sizable staff present on the island, filming their every move for the show. It would have been a great suggestion if they hadn't become aware right than, of the suspicious absence of the camera crew. In fact, no one could recall seeing any of the production staff since Heather had discovered Chris' body.
"Where is the crew?" Gwen asked.
"They probably took off when Chris kicked the can." Duncan assumed casually.
"Yeah, but I don't remember seeing any of them at the crime scene. How'd they know to get out of here so soon? Seems sort of suspicious to me."
"I knew it!" Duncan stood triumphantly, "We ARE being punked!"
"There's only a 'skeleton' crew after eight o'clock. There are enough automated cameras around to watch us sleep." Harold informed, slouched over the table, "Anyone on the camera crew would have seen the scene long before any of us. They communicate what happened to the rest of the crew, and they all take off. But then again, maybe that's just what I'd do."
Deflated, Duncan dropped back down onto the bench, Harold spinning a likely explanation for the crew's mysterious absence.
"As much as I wish we were being 'punked', that doesn't sound too crazy. Besides that… Harold you're a genius!" Gwen admired.
"I am?"
"The camera footage… it must be fed to a main console. Even if the crew didn't catch it, the automated cameras might have," the goth observed the vacant expression on her peer's faces and quickly corrected herself, "The murder! The murder is on film."
"Great girlfriend, but what about the cell phone?" Leshawna pressed.
"Chris had one, he was on it all the time," shrugged Trent. The teens eagerly welcomed the prospect of using their host's cell phone, until the reality of where and how they would have to acquire it sank in.
"Oh no… no way!" Leshawna waved frantically in disapproval.
"That's a kind of morbid and creepy thought there," Duncan nodded, almost approving. Gwen took a deep breath, "We'd have to get it off his cadaver."
"Unless the killer already took the phone," Harold sighed. Pantomiming rolling up her sleeve, Leshawna stalked over to the skinny red head. Trent and Gwen leapt up to restrain the black woman before she pummeled him into the woodwork, "Boy! If y'all say one more negative thing I'm going knock you into next week."
"Calm down!" Bridgette pleaded, raising her hands up to signal surrender, "This is no time to fight. Listen, we have some good plans going here. Let's just focus… please."
"Fine."
"So, who's going?"
No one volunteered as the group quietly surveyed the available resources. It was evident that it wasn't going to be DJ, who hadn't done much besides pet his bunny. Catatonic Courtney was out of the question too, and no one expected Harold to do much but mope and complain. Those who thought they might be "recruited" tried to make themselves as invisible as possible.
"Fine!" Gwen resolved, standing tall in her knee high black boots, "I'll go!"
"Than I'll go too," Trent stood boldly, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. After him, no one seemed willing to volunteer his or her services to the morbid task at hand.
"Hey, you've seen the movies babe. Power of three," Duncan leaned forwards.
"Does that mean you're coming?" Gwen assumed, but the delinquent sunk back into the bench. He glanced sideways at Courtney with obvious concern, "I would but…"
"It's cool," Leshawna joined her fellow Gophers, "Besides, I gotta have my girl's back. Right?"
"Great," Gwen smiled confidently, "We'll go. Cell phone first, than the evidence. I bet there's a monitoring room in Chris' 'secret' cabin… that we all know where it is," she examined the cobweb covered clock, "If we're not back by three…"
"Yeah, we get it," Duncan nodded.
"Good luck," Bridgette waved as the remaining Gopher's exited the mess hall. They watched in anticipation as they left; Bridgette's face especially full of worry. She turned to her fellow Bass and announced shyly, "Um… I really have to pee."
Made some edits, after seeing some of my own mistakes, and I made it clearer that - yes - Chris is dead... for this story anyway. Anywho, let me know what you think, comments, critiques, flames...