PART FOUR
THE COMMUNAL BATHS - 2:27 AM
Hastily Bridgette fled the bathhouse as if hell's dogs were chomping at her feet. In her arms she still hugged on tightly to bunny. At the same moment the doors to the mess hall crashed open, her peers racing to meet her. The panic-stricken blonde stopped short of the trio, rattling incoherently about the killer and her teammates.
"Bridgette what happened?" Duncan urged, holding her shoulders.
"DJ! Geoff! Oh my god," she sobbed, indicating wildly with her free hand, "Blood! Left alone! Bunny!"
"Whoa, whoa, where are DJ and Geoff?" he attempted again, unable to make sense of incoherent ranting.
"Dead!" she wailed, clutching the bloody soaked rabbit even tighter to her bosom.
"What do you mean dead? How?"
"Bunny!" she screeched, holding the tiny rabbit at arms length for all to see. They were horrified to see its blood stained fur. Even more unsettling was the absence of his owner DJ, who never let the small creature out of his sights. With the rabbit and blood as evidence, the teens immediately assumed the worst.
"Hey bros! What happened?" unexpectedly, Geoff's voice hollered across the path. The blond cowboy hurried towards his teammates, only to be greeted by their confused stares. Bridgette hiccupped through her tears, almost too afraid to turn around to see that he wasn't dead. Whirling around on her heels, her heart skipped another beat and her eyes lit up with anticipation.
"Bridge, what happened?" Geoff asked, evidently surprised by her watering green eyes.
"What happened?" she shrieked, her despair changed to fury, "You left me all alone!"
The happy go lucky Geoff instantly regretted asking her anything as she stomped towards him. Her eyes narrowed in anger as he threw his arms up in surrender; she kicked him in the shin regardless.
"But DJ… OW," Geoff clumsily hopped around, seizing his injured leg, "he was gonna wait for you. DJ wouldn't bail."
"Oh but you would?"
"I wasn't trying to babe."
"Okay enough with this! Geoff you bailed, end of story. Where is DJ?" Duncan testily interrupted, gesturing promptly in the direction of the bathhouse.
"I don't know," Bridgette frowned, her sorrow returning.
"Me neither," Geoff still nursed his injury.
The green haired punk snarled as he stormed away, shouting out DJ's name. Courtney and Geoff joined in the search, each calling out their lost companions name repeatedly. They hurriedly searched the perimeter of the bathhouse and both cabins. Courtney even went inside both sides of team cabins, just in case. Unfortunately, with no answer to their cries, it was clear that DJ was gone.
"You know what, that's fucking great! Let's just get picked off one by one," Duncan shouted in exasperation as they all regrouped at the center of the campsite.
"So, we're not being punked anymore?" Harold idly wondered. He jumped when he caught Duncan eyeing him heatedly, like a rabid wolf stalking its prey. The scrawny nerd ducked quickly behind Courtney, but she gracefully sidestepped, not about to get caught in the middle of their squabble.
"Duncan!" Courtney pleaded gently before he was able to snatch a hold of Harold's orange pajamas, "Let's go find Gwen and everyone else."
"Yeah, whatever," Duncan sighed, allowing the red head to slip out of his reach. The brunette took a hold of his hand as they trailed away from the campsite to locate the Gopher team. The others quickly followed their lead, though Harold brought up the rear just to be safe.
CHRIS'S CABIN - 2:38 AM
Deep within the thick forest of Wawanakwa, Heather, Lindsay and Owen had arrived at Chris' luxurious cabin. The front door was unlocked and Heather promptly welcomed herself into the residence. It was pitch black and eerily quiet in the hidden cabin. Only Lindsay and Owen seemed to have that foreboding feeling that they should not trespass here.
With a quick flick of her finger, Heather flipped the light switch on and stood proudly in the doorway of the main room. The interior was lavishly decorated, from a bear skinned rug on the floor to the wide screen LCD TV on the wall.
"So what are we looking for anyway?" Lindsay softly questioned, hugging onto her bunkmate's arm.
"Anything useful," Heather shrugged her tense teammate away, "Owen, find us some snacks in the kitchen… and no beans! Lindsay, you're with me."
"Alright," Owen cheered, his anxiety forgotten as he greedily hopped off to the kitchen. Entering an archway to the left, he breathed in the scene of a lovely, clean and well-stocked kitchen. Of course, this was Chris' cabin so while the campers ate slop and gruel, Chris would be dining heartily on rich cuisine. Owen strolled over to the clean white refrigerator and carefully opened the door.
"Jackpot!" he crowed. Immediately he piled various groceries into his arms and greedily stuffed a slice of cheesecake into his mouth, chuckling merrily to himself. Turning, he spotted a bottle of fine wine and a full tumbler full resting on a marbled kitchen island counter. He studied the glass with some curiosity, before he quickly scanned the room to see if anyone was watching him. With only a moment of reservation, Owen shot back the ruby liquid in one gulp. Instantaneously the teens cheeks turned rosy, his eyes watered and he started to cough and gag. Owen breathed a deep, wheezing breath before gently setting the tumbler down, "That's not right."
Recovered from the putrid beverage, his sights set on the opened walk-in pantry, already spotting a wealth of snacks, drinks and canned foods within. Owen lingered at the entrance, discovering that the frame of the store room was not very wide. He measured his own girth to the entrance, shrugged and still found a way to squeeze his robust weight into the narrow closet. Taking a basket off the top shelf, he started loading various delectables into the wicker container.
"This is so sweet," he delighted as he popped open a soda pop. Just as the lid snapped open, the entire cabin went black. Confused, Owen wondered if he'd somehow caused the power outage when opening the pop. Abruptly the pantry door slammed closed behind him, and his eyes widened in surprise, "Great Moosehead!"
Owen immediately regretted squeezing himself into the tiny pantry, realizing now in the dark that he had no room to move. The portly teen sucked his breath in as he tried to turn, his elbows and gut knocking various cans and boxes off the shelves. He gritted his teeth, blindly fumbling to locate the door handle behind him. Straining so much, the teen blushed and giggled as he let out a low and long fart, "Sorry."
"Oh no!" Heather's panicked warning pierced the darkness. The scream that followed made Owen's blood run cold, "Lindsay watch out!"
"Oh crap!" he panicked, fearing for the safety of the girls. Two more shrill screams echoed through small cabin and Owen dropped his basket, allowing himself to spin around fully and seize the door handle.
"I'm coming girls!" He roared, praying they'd hear him. Twisting feverishly at the handle, the Canadian paled when the knob screeched loudly and pulled straight off into his hand. He drew the knob to his eyelevel, even though he couldn't see it in the blackened closet, "Damnit! You've got to be kidding me!"
With the full power of his weight Owen slammed into the door, the frame rattling noisily against his force. Again and again he shoved against the door until finally the frame jarred and the door swung open. Free, Owen hurriedly searched the room, the only light provided from the night sky outside. He dashed towards the moonlit counter, remembering he'd seen some other items on its surface. Stumbling into to the surface, Owen reached out blindly, fingering a firm and long item wrapped in plastic. It was too soft in his hands and he determines it must be a loaf of bread.
"Crap! No good!" the loaf flew behind his head, and he felt the counter again, finding a wooden cutting board and knife. Owen hastily pushed the knife aside and snatched up the board, bearing it like a club as he hurried to save the girls.
Stumbling into a dark hallway, he cautiously entered what appeared to be the bedroom. Scanning the room by silvery moonlight, he saw that a struggle had taken place. The bed lay in shambles, the pillows and sheets on the floor. He saw what looked like a broken vase and other personal items strewn about, but there was no sign of his teammates.
"Lindsay, Heather, where are you girls?" he called in a hushed voice. Owen held his breath, listening closely for any response, but no one answered. Hastily he turned to try another room, bumping into the door frame on his way out, "Crap!"
Guardedly he crept his way back to the main room, the cabin's front door swinging wide open. The overweight young man hoped that maybe the girls had escaped the house and quietly steps towards the exit. Nearly out the door, the sound of a soft trembling echoed caught his attention and he looked down towards the source. Hiding behind a cream colored living chair was Heather, huddled over and shaking like a leaf. She looked sick with fear, her hair falling over her face, and dark streaks of blood on her arm.
"Heather?" Owen spoke gently, trying not to reveal his own fear, "It's okay now."
He offered a large hand to help her up from her hiding place, startling her slightly. Weakly she looked up, her eyes dark and wide, and her pale face dotted with blood. Owen tenderly smiled, reaching down further to coax the reluctant girl out. Heather moved away, shaking her head. Her expression creasing in horror as a soft chuckle resonated from behind them.
Owen straightened, they weren't along in the darkened cabin. He turned gradually to face the clown masked figure lingering behind him. Heather shot up to guard herself with Owen's mass, both their hearts racing faster. Owen felt like his heart would crawl up his throat, the pressure built and he couldn't stop a belch from escaping. Unexpectedly, his big brown eyes crossed and his large body crashed face first into the floor.
The room shook from the impact, and for a moment Heather and the clown killer exchanged bewildered looks. The murderer hadn't even touched him, yet he toppled over for no reason at all. Regardless, the clown shrugged than revealed an electric carving knife from behind his back. His maniacal laughs filled the room along with Heather's screams as she ran for the hills.
THE INFIRMARY - 2:49 AM
Across camp the echoing screams reached the tattered off green tent that acted as the infirmary. Just outside the tent, Gwen, Trent and Leshawna gasped, the horrified sounds freezing them in place. It was likely that the entire island and most of Muskoka heard the terrified cries.
"That sounded like Heather," the scream sent shivers down Trent's spine.
"Good, maybe the killer got her," Gwen hoped.
"Gwen!"
"Gee, I was just thinking the same thing," Leshawna smirked with her teammate as she pulled back the flap of the tent. The Goth's smile soon faded as she entered the dark infirmary, their three flashlights providing the only visibility. Focused on their morbid task, the three campers scanned over the few degraded cots and the table stocked with various medical supplies. At the end of the tent, one cot was covered in a blood soiled white sheet. The sheet bulged up into a human like shape, and it was clear to the trio that under the sheet was Chris Maclean's body.
"There," Gwen shined her light over the lumpy form. The teens treaded softly towards the back of the tent, each trying not to be the first to the cot. They loomed over bloody sheet for what seemed an eternity, no one making a move or speaking a word. Leshawana began to shake nervously, twisting her hands together and chewing her lip. Gwen and Trent gulped for air, eyeing each other for assurance.
"Okay. Let's just get this over with," Gwen asserted, reaching a pale hand towards the sheet. She started as Trent took hold of her free hand and squeezed it tightly, "We'll do it together."
The melancholic girl's heart warmed at the musician's sweet gesture and nodded confidently. Both teens took hold of the sheets edge and in one swift motion, pulled it back. Leshawna cringed expectantly, unprepared to gaze upon the horror's that lie beneath the sheet.
"The hell!" the boisterous black woman exclaimed.
"Where's Chris?" Gwen squeaked. Under the bloody sheet was nothing more than more dirty sheets bundled together. Each of them shared a bewildered look, and Trent shook his finger in thought.
"This is bad, right?" Trent questioned, scratching the back of his head.
"Duncan was right!" Gwen confirmed clenching her fists, "We are so being set up!"
A/N: I have a busy week coming up, so don't fret if the chapter 5 isn't up until next weekend.