CHAPTER EIGHT

Sotheara tapped a message onto her phone, glad they had strong signal on the bumpy bus ride back to camp.

Survived first challenge. One lady almost didn’t.

Any progress on Operation Clean Sweep? Sage texted back, totally ignoring Sotheara’s allusion to Aubrey’s near fatal fall into the river.

No evidence yet, she tapped. Gathered water samples last night. Hope I can explore this afternoon. The challenge after lunch is in a different part of camp.

Try talking to the locals. They’ll know the history of the area.

Good idea. Gotta go. Luv u. She added a kissy-face, even though Sage thought emoticons were lame.

As Sotheara tucked her phone into her backpack, she noticed Aubrey holding her left hand in her lap. Soaking wet, she huddled under a blanket. Grant had one arm slung over her shoulders, but his attention was focused on Frank Hardy. Men. They could be so clueless.

“Does it hurt?” Sotheara asked.

“I’ve had worse.” Aubrey raised her injured hand, displaying a rope burn across her palm. “But it stings like crazy.”

Madison leaned across the aisle. “You need to go to the infirmary to make sure nothing’s broken.”

“There’s an infirmary here?” Aubrey asked.

Madison poked a finger at a map of camp displayed on her smart phone.

“Right here. There’s supposed to be an EMT on duty.”

The EMT had to be a local. A medical person might be easier to approach than the cranky cook or sour wrangler, and Sotheara wasn’t about to interview Rowdy Hunter. He might be involved in the very scandal Operation Clean Sweep was attempting to uncover.

“But it’s lunchtime,” Aubrey said. “If I don’t reach the chuck wagon before the meat eaters, I won’t get anything to eat.”

“I’ll save you a plate,” Madison said.

“I’ll take Aubrey to the infirmary,” Sotheara said, “if you save me a plate, too.”

Grant finally seemed to remember he had a wife.

“What’s this about an infirmary?”

“It’s nothing, Grant. I just need some antiseptic and a bandage.”

She finally had the attention of her husband, which probably suited Aubrey’s needs, but not Sothera’s. When Grant insisted he had the first aid training required to treat her injury, Sothera intervened.

“Why take a chance on infection, when there’s trained medical personnel available?”

Madison chimed in, unwittingly bolstering Sothera’s argument. “That river might have all kinds of bacteria. You should get a shot or something.”

“I’ll take you,” Sotheara said. “That way Grant won’t miss out on any strategy meetings.”

Aubrey scrunched her nose like she smelled the subterfuge, but she didn’t object.

“I hurt my hand,” Aubrey said. “There’s nothing wrong with my feet.”

“You go with Aubrey,” Madison said to Sotheara. “She’ll skip out unless somebody drags her there. I’ll grab your vegetarian entrées.”

For all his concern a moment ago, Grant vanished when the bus arrived at camp. Sotheara led Aubrey to a small cabin near the wranglers’ bunkhouse and delivered Aubrey to an EMT with curly red hair and a spray of freckles across his nose. Introductions were made, and Aubrey described her injury.

Sotheara pulled up a chair. While her boyfriend Sage was a lean and fit outdoorsy type, into hiking and biking, Dale the EMT must have lifted weights. He had serious muscles.

After surreptitiously checking out Dale, she noticed the bin. Taped on the side was a hand-written “lost and found” sign. Useless items that would never be missed, much less claimed, were jumbled inside. A badminton racket with a hole in the mesh, sunglasses minus one lens, swimming trunks that must have belonged to a very large man, and several battered baseball caps and sun visors. Resting on top was a lone shoe.

“That’s a serious rope burn.” Dale took his time examining Aubrey’s palm. “The river’s pretty clean, so I doubt you’d get an infection from the water. Exposure to bacteria in camp is more likely. Watch for swelling, oozing, that kind of thing.”

He opened a tube of antiseptic and smeared a dollop onto Aubrey’s left palm. Then he opened a package of gauze, wrapped it several times around her hand, and taped it in place.

Sotheara studied the shoe. Brown leather. Something worn in an office, not on a camping trip. Not that she’d done a survey, but everyone in camp seemed to wear sneakers, sandals, hiking or cowboy boots. Sotheara wiggled her toes, hoping they appreciated their freedom.

“I’d ask if you’re missing a shoe.” Dale nodded toward Sotheara’s bare feet. “But I doubt that’s your style.”

Here she thought she’d been invisible, while Dale had practically read her mind.

“I’m a minimalist,” Sotheara said. “I only wear shoes when mandated by labor or health laws. Like at work or in restaurants.”

“There are too many rules telling us how to live.” Dale shrugged. “Just my opinion.”

He was the first person at camp who hadn’t needed an explanation of her lifestyle. Too bad she already had a boyfriend. A stack of fliers sat on the counter. Sotheara picked up one.

“These are all over the place. What’s Going Batty Days?”

Sotheara didn’t explain to Dale that the flier she’d seen had a death threat scribbled on the backside. Aubrey kept mum, too. Interesting.

“The mayor’s brainstorm,” Dale said. “Mining was the economic base for the entire county for decades. That fizzled out in the 1970s. Our next big thing was Survive or Die camp. When it went off the air twelve years ago, business really suffered.”

“Aren’t camping and fishing the more typical tourist draws in this area?” Aubrey asked.

“We needed something unique. Funny thing is, it was right under our noses the whole time. Or over our heads. The idea came after a couple grade school kids got lost exploring an old mine. We found them, thank God. After that, ranchers began filling in abandoned mineshafts. Biologists from the university pointed out that if you plug up mines to keep people out, you destroy bat habitat.”

“So Going Batty Days is about not plugging up old mines?” Sotheara was confused.

“There’s an alternative that’s good for humans and bats,” Dale said. “Bat gates. Government agencies deal with abandoned mines on state and federal property, but landowners are on their own. Going Batty Days raises money to install bat gates on private property in Lodgepole County.”

“Sounds like you’re involved,” Sotheara said.

Dale shrugged. “Small town. A person can’t help but be involved. We’re all in this together, you know?”

Be bold, Sage would tell her.

“Are there abandoned mines on the Survive or Die property?”

“Several,” Dale said. “But Mr. Hunter hasn’t accepted our offer of assistance with bat gates yet.”

“There was a mine shaft in the opening credits for the television show,” Sotheara said.

Dale shrugged. “That could have been shot anywhere in the county. Or in California, for that matter. Hollywood types don’t seem too hung up on facts.”

“Dale, did you hear about the death in camp last night?” Aubrey asked.

Sotheara felt her cheeks heat with a blush. She was so focused on Operation Clean Sweep, she’d nearly forgotten about poor Stewart Neamly.

“I wish I’d been here,” Dale said. “The camp infirmary is open afternoons, when Rowdy has an event going. I work night shift at the hospital. I can’t help but wonder if things might have turned out differently for Mr. Neamly if I’d been in camp.”

Jeremiah pulled out his whittling knife and sat on a flat-topped rock on a slope. He had a nice view of camp. People coming and going. There was a pattern to it, but things hadn’t settled out enough yet that he could discern what it was exactly.

Some folks were taking advantage of time away from work by playing badminton, lounging on decks with books, or hiking. A few seemed intent on catting around, checking for romantic opportunities with coworkers or wranglers. He watched his supervisor Ellen throw her arm around a teammate’s shoulders, then give the woman a little peck on the cheek. The gal held up her hands and backed away. Seemed good-natured about the mix up, but it was obvious what had happened. Ellen batted for the same team as Jeremiah. Dang it. Guess he had to check Ellen off his list of potential brides.

Maybe he needed to widen his field of prospects. Jeremiah had a low opinion of the wranglers at first, but they’d kicked into high gear. If the cook Millie had been a few years younger, Jeremiah might have put her on his eligible list. The pretty wrangler Reba wore a wedding ring, so she was off limits, too.

Frustrated, Jeremiah set aside his primary task, and settled back to just plain observe. Bud was a genuine cowboy alright. He was always busy, too. Like now. He unlocked a shed door, stepped inside, and pulled the door closed behind him. Jeremiah was halfway finished with carving a little wolf, when Bud emerged from the shed.

He carried a cheesecloth game bag. Bud set the package on a tree stump, then carefully locked the shed door, testing the lock with a hearty yank. He looked around, as though he could feel someone watching. Jeremiah kept his focus on his whittling. Bud hefted the bag and headed for the chuck wagon.

Mighty tight security for a meat locker. Jeremiah’s mouth watered. Elk? Venison? He’d find out tonight.

The cook had given away the vegetarian food to the meat-eaters. Again. Aubrey was ecstatic when Madison handed her and Sotheara paper plates with veggie burgers, cooked to the consistency of hockey pucks.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have the buffalo burger?” Madison asked. “It’s so tender and juicy.”

“Gag,” Sotheara said. “I’d eat cardboard before I’d eat animal flesh.”

Contestants, participants, or victims. Aubrey wasn’t sure what to call them. They huddled around the cold campfire, balancing paper plates on their knees. Grant stood next to Frank, laughing at some joke that probably wasn’t funny. Veronica stood on Frank’s other side. Aubrey began to head that way when Madison placed a hand on her arm.

“We’re going to pick teams after lunch,” she said. “Could you could put in a good word for me with Grant?”

“Sure. I was just heading over to talk to him.”

Before she could, Rowdy clanged the chuck wagon triangle. All conversations stopped.

“The winner of the first challenge is the Buckaroo who crossed the river fastest and kept his tinder dry.” Rowdy tugged a saddle blanket off a large dry erase board hanging from the chuck wagon. “That fella is Ted Smith.”

Ted ducked his head, blushing, as several people cheered. No surprise. Ted participated in races in his free time. He walked up to Rowdy and accepted his reward, an oversized gold-colored plastic treasure chest key strung on a ribbon.

“Second was Doug Bender.” The cheering for the boss’s handsome son was half-hearted. The guy had done well on the rope bridge. He should have. Grant said Doug spent more time at the gym than working at his job as Vice President of Something Vague at Bender Clips.

Rankin was third. He looked more like Mob muscle of Scottish extraction than a tool room worker. Unlike the rest of the campers, he seemed dressed for business in a black, short-sleeved, button down shirt, black jeans and black sneakers that could have passed for dress shoes. Taller than anyone else in camp, Rankin verged on muscle-bound, with thin reddish hair and a boxer’s crooked nose.

Then Jessie, the skinny marathoner, accepted her key. Frank was fifth. He had probably constructed rope bridges in his backyard and spent the past three months training. Finally Ellen, a factory crew chief who hadn’t appeared particularly fast on the rope bridge, was named sixth.

“Kinda strange,” Madison whispered. “Ted was the fastest, and no doubt Doug and Jessie were in the running, but the rest?” She scrolled through her phone where she had recorded the times. “Rowdy lied. This game is rigged.”

“Here’s how it works,” Rowdy said. “Starting with Ted, each captain gets to pick one person for their Buckaroo Crew. Then the next captain picks a person, until everyone is on a team. If you get picked by a team you don’t want to be on, you can turn down the offer.”

“I remember this,” Madison whispered to Aubrey, “from junior high gym class.”

“It can’t be as humiliating.”

But it was.