Camp McClane

by Grant Fieldgrove

  Once again, everyone spilled out of the van like an old lady just farted in it, each grabbing a bag of groceries except Dave, who was too busy hopping up and down like a child who had to pee. His hops were from excitement though. Excitement over what, no one else was sure, but he sure looked happy.

  As for being happy, Jimmy was doing pretty well in that department as well, as he had successfully talked Savannah and Breanna into coming over tonight. They refused a lift back to camp, but said they knew where it was and would bike over later in the evening.

  Jimmy had asked them if they were scared, because of the legend of, whoever it was, and they both simply laughed.

  The surly clerk had heard this and laughed too, but no one knew why. The laugh was sarcastic and mocking, but none of them gave it much thought because, after all, it was from some loser who worked in a general store.

  Oh well, the important thing was they were coming. It was far from a sure thing, though. Jimmy would need to somehow get Jessica to take both James and Stuart out of the way. He had figured, from the moment those two hunks of shit got in the van, that Jessica would be a lost cause, but when he saw both of their dongs, he was sure of it.

  He would formulate a plan before they arrived.

  Andie, carrying a paper bag filled with groceries in her right hand, stumbled around with her keys with her left, trying and failing several times to insert it into the lock. Dave stood by, empty-handed and silent. He actually looked impatient and it was a good thing Andie didn’t notice, or else she would have a few choice words for him.

  Sarah did notice, however, and set her bag down and took the keys from Andie.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Hell of a guy you’ve got there.”

  Andie smiled, she had no idea what Sarah was talking about.

  Everyone entered the house and put their groceries on the table, except Dave of course, who cut in front of everyone and made his way to the sofa.

  “It’s so weird not having any cell service,” he said. “I keep checking my phone and nothin’.”

  No one responded, much to Dave’s annoyance.

  James and Stuart set the cases of beer down on the kitchen counters, the bottles clanking together.

  Sarah looked at Jimmy with what he thought could possibly be a slight smile. “I knew that stupid fake I.D. of yours wouldn't work. I can't believe you even tried.”

  “Hey, we got the beer, right? And I'm also supplying the weed. It seems like I'm the only one trying here.”

  Mort, softly and sarcastically, to no one in particular, but in regards to Sarah, muttered, “Why did you wait until we got home to mention that?”

  And just like Mort in general, his question was ignored by everyone. There was a reason he had taken up writing.

  “Calm down, buddy,” Dave said to Jimmy, smacking him on the back with way more force than necessary. Jimmy lunged forward. “We appreciate the effort.”

  Dave had met Jimmy and Mort last summer during a party at Mort’s parent’s house. Well, that’s not exactly true, he had met them years prior as they both went to the same school and shared many classes over their high school career, but he had never considered them friends and if he had ever been at the same social event at the same time as them, it was purely coincidental. Dave thought of himself on a much higher rung of popularity and coolness than both Jimmy and Mort combined, but seeing as neither of them was a threat to him, he had never been unfriendly.

  Never been too friendly, either, but never mean, so when he had heard Mort’s parents were long gone and he was having people over, he figured he would throw those geeks a bone and make an appearance.

  He wasn’t sure who would be there, but he was fairly certain he would be the most popular and thus making him pretty high on himself. Ego boosts are never a negative.

  So he went out with his real friends in the evening, the cool kids, the guys with lowered trucks and loud stereos, the ones who would cruise around town, pick up chicks, you know the type, then would swing by Mort’s afterward and save the day for those fucking nerds. One of Dave’s buddies had scored a small baggie of cocaine that night and he and Dave did a line off of their history book, right there in Dave’s lowered S-10. Then, he showed up at Mort’s house, sure that he would be the hit of the party.

  Party was a bit of an over-statement because it was really just a small gathering of nerds not doing anything. Jessica was there, though, probably much for the same reason Dave himself was there. These guys were pity friends, the friends you hung out with when you wanted to feel superior. They were the b-listers, the friends you would hang out with when there was literally nothing left to do.

  Jessica was the prettiest girl there, which wasn’t really saying much because the only other girl there was some chick named Maddy or Madeline or something like that, Dave didn’t know because she was several years younger than he, and to be associated with a freshman was just a major no-no unless she was polishing your ol’ flesh rocket! Oh yeah!

  Dave was so spun out everything was a streaking, flashing blur. He remembered some fat dork, not Mort, whom he had never seen before, sitting at the computer in Mort’s bedroom. He was chatting with someone online. Seriously, Dave remembered thinking, who chats online anymore?

  But there he was, this fat little hick sitting there with an open Facebook Messenger bubble on the screen, typing, or pecking would be more accurate, at the keyboard.

  Spun-out Dave looked over this dumbass’s shoulder and read part of the conversation.

  Girl: That’s funny.

  This Douche: What kind of soda do you like?

  Girl: Um, I like Sprite.

  This Douche: I like Sprite also.

  “Holy shit,” Dave had said, and then in a mocking, slow-witted tone, “I like Sprite also.” Then he laughed. And laughed some more until he thought his heart would explode. Maybe it wasn’t the laughter causing this… maybe… oh yeah… the cocaine.

  “Anybodygotanyweedneedtocomedownabit!”

  Jimmy had some weed but Jimmy was also cheap as fuck. He didn’t mind smoking his friends out from time to time, but he didn’t really know Dave and he certainly wasn’t impressed by him…at least not enough to waste five dollars on him.

  Mort sold him out and pointed directly towards Jimmy.

  Oh, what the hell.

  Jimmy went to the kitchen and got an empty Pepsi can, crinkled the aluminum into a sailboat shape, poked some holes in it with a knife and went outside where Dave and Mort were waiting.

  By the end of the night, if no one else were around, Dave would call Mort and Jimmy friends…but not that fat, dumb hillbilly in the bedroom. Never him.

  I like Sprite also.

  Dave had come over every night since then, four in a row to be precise, and on the fifth night, he had gone to dinner with his parents at a local Italian restaurant where he had loaded up on spaghetti before going to Mort’s where somehow they had scored beer. Dave got so drunk he passed out on Mort’s bed and blasted spaghetti-vomit all over his wall.

  Later in the night, after the spaghetti incident had been discovered, Dave went missing. Mort and Jimmy had no idea where he was but knew he couldn’t have gone far.

  Mort tried the bathroom, but it was locked. He knocked, “Hey Dave, you in there?”

  No answer.

  He used his thumb to unlock the ridiculously easy-to-pick bathroom lock and tried to open the door. It didn’t budge. It didn’t take long to realize Dave had made it to the bathroom and passed out again, his legs bracing the door shut.

  And the smell. My god, the smell!

  Mort had never smelled anything so fucking foul before in his life, or since. It was so bad he had to call Jimmy over to verify the smell so the awfulness of it didn’t die in legend.

  “Holy shit!” Jimmy had screamed. “What the hell is that?!

  “I think he must have shit himself. It’s awful!”

  “We need to cover it up! Do you have any air freshener?” />
  “I don’t think so! I’ll go look.”

  The best Mort could find was a bottle of his dad’s Polo Sport cologne. He grabbed a yardstick from the kitchen, slid it under the bathroom door and tried to move Dave’s foot out of the way. Jimmy was able to push the door open a good two inches and began spraying the shit out of the Polo Sport.

  The stench was awful. Awful! The Polo Sport was no match for it and until this very day, when either of them smelled Polo Sport, they instantly smelled Dave’s horrible, horrible shit pancake.

  A few month’s later, after Mort’s parents had returned home, they all went out for a family dinner, where his dad had worn the cologne. Mort could not eat.

  When they finally moved Dave’s foot far enough out of the way for them to squeeze through, their shirts covering their noses, they saw the source of their teary-eyes and nauseated stomachs. Sitting in the toilet was a brown and green shit patty. It wasn’t quite liquid and it wasn’t quite solid, it was some sort of hybrid of both, and it laid on top of the toilet water like an oil spill. It was like nothing else they had ever seen!

  Mort lifted his leg and used his foot to flush the toilet. The shit pancake spun like a record but did not descend.

  “It's a good thing we ran into these guys, though, otherwise it would have been a pretty lame party.” This was Jessica talking about the beer and making sure to really drive home the point that Stuart and James did not fail as Jimmy had.

  Mort, still to no one, mumbled, “Seems odd to wait like twenty minutes to say this...”

  Ignored again.

  Yeah, good thing, Jimmy thought to himself.

  “I mean, you had the entire car ride home...oh well.” Mort was still talking to himself. To everyone now, he said, “Fat guy cliché here, I know, but I'm hungry.”

  “Me too.” Jacquelynn said cheerily. “Anyone know how to cook?

  “Well,” Andie said with a smile, “Sarah is a waitress...”

  In that deadpan, unimpressed, Daria-like voice that is a trademark of Sarah Hayes, she said, “Yeah, waiting on assholes doesn't mean I know how to cook. Nice try.”

  Andie took the compliment as sincere and mouthed thank you to Sarah while making that stupid heart thing with both her hands.

  “Are they all assholes?” Jimmy asked, trying to see if she could find a way to make the customers assholes, instead of the lazy and greedy waiters he despised so goddamn much.

  “Every last goddamn one of them. I swear.”

  Jimmy was just about to spark up an argument but he was interrupted by his fat friend. “Are they just rude or what?”

  “Rude I can handle. It's the dickheads that hit on me.”

  At this, Jessica’s head popped up like a Whack-A-Mole. “What's so wrong with that? I think it would be flattering.”

  “Well, you're wrong as usual.”

  “Hey...”

  Andie, trying to diffuse the situation before it turned into another caddy bitch-fest, bubbly said, “It doesn't sound so bad. What's wrong with it?”

  Sarah sighed, as if even the memories are an inconvenience for her. “I had one asshole, just last week, throw his menu on the ground then tell me to step on it...”

  Everyone looked confused, waiting for the punch line.

  Sarah let them look stupid for as long as possible before delivering it. “Then that motherfucker has the nerve to say to me...you ready for this...he said, I just wanted you to be on the menu.”

  Everyone laughed, except Sarah, and not because she didn’t want to laugh or that looking back on it she couldn’t see the humor in it, but because laughing now would ruin her whole moody character she had worked so hard to produce and manufacture. So instead, she remained stone faced, no matter how hard it was.

  “Boooooo,” Mort yelled through cupped hands.

  “Yeah!” Sarah said, still being able to maintain that bullshit angst. “I mean, how the fuck do you respond to that?”

  “What'd you do?” Dave chuckled.

  “What could I do? I rolled my eyes and pretended like it never happened. I get that comment all the time though; Are you on the menu? Yuck yuck. But this was the first time the douche actually dropped the actual menu.”

  “I bet he thought he was so original, too.”

  “Oh yes, Morton, Def Comedy Jam will be knocking on his door any day now, I'm sure.”

  Mort, slightly impressed that Sarah called him by his full name (even though she was wrong – it was Mortimer, not Morton), sparking just the slightest shred of hope that maybe this weekend wouldn’t be a totally bust with the ladies, quickly ruined it. “I don't think that's a real thing any more,” in regards to Def Comedy Jam.

  Yep. Ruined. With a single roll of Sarah’s eyes, Mort knew that spark was quickly extinguished. “You know what I mean, Mort.”

  No more Morton.

  Trying to save face and play the whole thing off as a joke, Mort quickly said, “I think they have Def Poetry now which is just ridiculous.”

  Mort was going to elaborate and hopefully score a few laughs, but Jimmy butted in and ruined it…again. “Is that the one where the people take themselves way too seriously and think their poetry is all deep and shit and sometimes they dance, but it kinda just looks like a fuckin' drunk monkey flailing around on stage trying to squash ants?”

  That did it. Jimmy finally scored a laugh from the ladies. Finally! Mort couldn’t help but think that was his laugh, because, while not calling this material, per se, he and Jimmy had discussed Def Poetry before and how lame it was and it was Mort who had made fun of their dancing, comparing it to the way Harambe the gorilla must have flailed around when that stupid fucking kid fell in to his cage, costing him his life. Yo, this dumbass kid fell into my cage! Shoot him not me, nigga!

  Defeated, Mort mumbled, “Yeah. So lame.”

  Jacquelynn, trying to get the conversation back on track, said a little too loudly, “I don't understand how any of this is going to put food in my tummy.”

  “Yeah,” Sarah said. “Well, like I said, just because I wait tables doesn't mean I know how to cook. By that same logic, since Jimmy works at a grocery store, shouldn't he know how to cook as well?

  “I was a cashier.”

  “And he got fired,” Mort said. Revenge is sweet. Even though, admittedly, that’s some pretty weak revenge.

  “Yeah,” Jimmy said with a shrug. “And I got fired.”

  Jacquelynn tilted her head in a curious way to ask, “Why did you get fired?”

  “Oh, I kept selling alcohol to underage Asian kids.”

  “Huh? Why?”

  “It wasn't my fault. They would hand me an ID and I would just be like, Yeah, I guess that's you.”

  “Oh my god,” Jessica yelped, holding back laughter.

  “Oh come on! It was bullshit. I tried to match them to the pictures, but...ya know... Golden brown skin, black hair, razor blade eyes, yeah I guess that's you. Here ya go.”

  “Oh. My. God.” Jessica again.

  “Oh, don't act offended. You couldn't do it, either.”

  Jessica’s mock-offended face turned into a proper smile. “Probably not.”

  Jimmy, going for his second laugh score of the night, said, “Here's one for ya...What happened to the Asian man with a boner who walked into a wall?

  “What?

  “He broke his nose. Hey-oh!”

  Sarah, unable to resist, quickly retorts with, “What do you call that worthless piece of skin around a cock?”

  “What?” Jimmy said.

  “A man.”

  The girls laugh.

  Jimmy came back with, “Man, that joke is lamer than the Mother’s Day Party at the orphanage.”

  Crickets.

  “Well,” Dave said after a moment of awkward silence from the fellas, “as much as I'm enjoying this fascinating discussion on race relations and, ya know, dongs, how about the four of you gals just stay in the kitchen and see what you can whip up”

  “Well,” Sarah said in a h
uff, “that was sexy.” Even she wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or not.

  “Right? Well, we'll let you ladies have at it.” Dave headed off for the living room with Jimmy in tow.

  Mort turned to the ladies, shrugged, and softly said, “Sorry guys.” That was his play – to be the kind and sensitive guy in the group. He didn’t follow through very well with the routine though, because he left the girls in the kitchen to go join the guys.

  From the living room, Jimmy yelled to Mort, “Hustle up, Big Pun, let's see if we can get Netflix on your iPad.”

  “Sorry buddy, I'm going to try and get a little writing done. That is why I'm up here, after all. Besides, we can't even get cell service here; you're expecting, like, LTE for streaming?

  “Actually ladies,” Stuart said, “James and I are pretty good in the kitchen, would you mind if we stayed and helped.”

  Fucking Stuart and James were still here? God damn it!

  “Fucking of course they are.” Jimmy said what Mort and Dave were thinking.

  “Yeah,” Jess sighed, her eyes on Stuart’s dong region, “that would be fantastic. I can't wait to start cooking...with you two...”

  Jimmy, disgusted, leaned over and whispered into Mort’s ears. “I hope those Doublemint Twins come.”

  Mort shrugged. “That's the best nickname you could come up with for them? What is this, 1985 and shit?”

  “I told you, I'm not wasting any more quality jokes on you, Estelle Costanza.”

  “K.”

  “See?! I just made another joke and got nothing. Ya know what? It doesn't even matter. I waste more jokes in a day than most people even tell in a year, so whatever.”

  “I get them...”

  “Do ya, Morton? Do ya?!”

  Having Jimmy use Mort’s full (wrong) name wasn’t nearly as exciting as when Sarah had.

  In the empty cabin, Carl set down his homemade net gun made from PVC pipes and various other crap he’s stockpiled over the years, and picked up a long strand of twine. He began tying razorblades to it, over and over until his three boxes of ninety blades each had been exhausted. His hands were sore as shit now, but it was totally worth it, and he now had a fresh-to-death razor whip. At the end, for weight, he tied a padlock.