Camp McClane

by Grant Fieldgrove

  Back in the house the girls were still giggling, figuring it’s the best medicine for such a tragic event second only maybe to some wine.

  Did all these white women actually like wine, or did they think they had to because it’s just the thing to do?

  Deep Thoughts… by the Camp McClane Narrator.

  “I can't believe you didn't know they were gay.” Savannah said with a toothy, British (see: hideous), grin.

  “Yeah...I can’t be-”

  Andie interrupted, “What the hell do you mean? You guys knew they were gay?”

  “Sure. The skinny guy with the little pussy tickler mustache out there said-”

  “Jimmy?” Jacquelynn said.

  “Yeah, the dorky one, not the cute one or the chubby one.”

  Sarah smiled. Chubby one, that was cute. “Yeah, Jimmy, then.”

  Savannah shrugged her shoulders. “Whatever. Yeah, him and the chubby guy told us they were both gay and it makes them uncomfortable when girls hit on them.”

  “Oh give me a fucking break,” Sarah said, in her usual sarcastic tone.

  “What?”

  Jessica was shaking her head in disbelief.

  “Those dragon drainers were just lying to you. Or at least they thought they were. They probably didn't want you to hit on them because they have some daydream belief that they have a shot with you, despite the fact that they look like Donkey Lips and Budnick from Salute Your Shorts.”

  Everyone laughed because everyone seemed to understand the reference. I guess those goddamn Nickelodeon shows will live forever. Outside, Jimmy was still listening intently. Dragon Drainers?

  “Yeah?” Savannah asked.

  Jessica laughed some more. “Someone probably thought they didn't have a chance with actual men around.”

  Jimmy walked away, his spirits high. James and Stuart were gone. The girls could make jokes all they wanted, but a week is a long time to be alone with someone. Things could happen. Things would happen! He was sure of it.

  In the bedroom, Savannah sighed, “Poor Mort and Jimmy.”

  Jessica snorted. “Yeah right. I bet they'll both be dropping a lot of stomach pancakes tonight.”

  Laughter erupted again and Jessica was seemingly cured from all anger and embarrassment. Just that easy.

  High school kids are stupid.

  Jimmy was standing outside the bathroom now, knocking impatiently. After a few moments, the toilet flushed and Mort opened the door.

  “Dude, what the fuck were you doing in there?” Jimmy asked impatiently.

  Mort, totally silent, looked to his right, looked to his left, then whispered, “Oh man, craziest thing, every now and then my body does this really strange thing where stinky little brown nuggets literally fall out of my butthole....” Back to his normal voice, he continued, “What the hell man, didn't know I was on a time limit. The fuck you want?”

  “Dude...dude...check it out. I was just listening outside the door and it turned out those two gay guys really are gay! They totally got Jessica's pipes leaking then started fucking each other.”

  “Fantastic imagery. Thanks.”

  “Dude, you're not hearing me.”

  Mort sighed. “I guess not.” The fact was, he was trying so painfully hard not to bust out laughing at this news…he just didn’t want to give Jimmy the satisfaction.

  “Jessica is ready to go, man. Like, now. The icicles in her flesh cavern are-a meltin’, if ya know what I'm sayin’. Motor runnin'! You know her motor has got to be running, kinda like when you're jerkin' off and your mom walks in and you have to stop all suddenly and shit and then when she leaves you're not in the mood anymore because that's gross but it still gives you blue-balls?”

  “Umm…”

  “Well, it's like that. And with those two guys gone and Small Dick Dave with Andie, that leaves like, six women and two guys...”

  “Five...” Mort said quietly. “Five women...”

  “Hey, whatever Bobby Fisher, my point is the odds are back in our favor more than ever!”

  “Bobby Fisher played chess.”

  “Dude, I don't give a crap if he played checkers, my point is, her DNA Dumpster is open for business!”

  After a moment of silence, Mort began laughing. God damn it, he just couldn’t play deadpan any longer. “That's actually pretty fucking funny. I am shocked, however, that you have difficulty finding women that want to sleep with you, what with your colorful vocabulary and all... Not to mention that classy t-shirt. Nothing get’s the lady’s goin’ quite like a fart.”

  “Right?!”

  Carl dragged the bodies of Stuart and James through the mud, leaving a trail of blood that quickly got washed away. The water was making the two dead bodies a little hard to keep a grip on, and Carl was getting quite flustered. Oh well. Thunder crackled again and soon lightning illuminated the campgrounds like a fluorescent light bulb flickering; Carl took this opportunity to take a quick look around. Nothing.

  He placed Stuart's body carefully on the walking trail, while just dropping James face first into the mud. Carl then knocked out the few solar lights lining the walkway, hiding Stuart in darkness. He picked up James, heaving him over his shoulder, then walked up towards the main house. He dumped James by the generator and then bent to pick up the cat at his feet.

  He was out of breath and the night had just started. This masked murderer shit was hard work. Everyone just took these traps and jump scares for granted!

  Carrying the cat, Carl walked around the house, peeking in through the windows. Around back, he opened a window, dropped the cat inside, and then climbed up and in the house. He picked up the cat again, pet it, and said, “Sorry pal. You know the drill. This one is a classic.” The cat purred as Carl locked it in the storage closet.

  Carl could hear voices coming from the living room, mindless teenage drivel he’d come to loath so very much. He headed towards the light and looked in. He saw Dave sitting back in a chair, throwing a football up and catching it, over and over.

  Carl’s hands balled into fists again, his eyes narrowed in anger as another memory flashed through his brain.

  A very human Carl was standing by his locker, minding his own business as usual, when he was pelted in the head by a football. He turned to look and saw a group of jocks and cheerleaders laughing. The boy who did the throwing looked similar to Dave…a little too similar. Though, he supposed, all those stupid jocks kind of looked the same. Shaggy-haired, tight t-shirt-wearing pretty boys.

  The cheerleaders kept laughing as the jock wrapped an arm around two of them and walked away, calling Carl a buttfuckin’ faggot as they made their exit.

  Standing outside the window now, Carl grinded his teeth, a soft growl escaping his throat.

  He made his move to another door. He could still hear the voices as he stepped inside the house and hung a hard right, passing directly behind the oblivious Dave.

  No one noticed as he entered a bedroom and locked the door.

  From his pocket, Carl removed a light bulb, one of those old fashion ones that no one uses anymore because they’re way too mesmerized by the fancy coiled bulbs that cost ten times the price. He unscrewed the working light bulb from its socket in the ceiling and replaced it with the one he brought, then got out quicker than a secret at a church picnic.

  Jimmy knocked on the door to the downstairs bedroom where the girls were still consoling poor Jessica. “Hey ladies, everything okay in there. Need me to bring you some beers?”

  A moment passed, with Jimmy bouncing his head back and forth like he’s listening to some shitty rap music, before Sarah opened the door. “Actually,” she said, “that would be great.”

  Jimmy stopped dancing and smiled brightly, and if he were someone else, anyone else really, Sarah would have found it charming. “Well come on, let’s move this party out to the living room. I brought my iPod. Let's make this party a party. Come on, come on, let's go. I got some weed, man, let’s get higher than a giraffe’s butthole.” />
  “You offered to go get me a beer, so let’s accomplish that task first,” Sarah said with even more deadpan sarcasm than usual.

  “I know, I know.” Jimmy stuck his head into the room and looked at all the girls. He smiled again, his stupid junior high mustache barely curling upward. “C,mon ladies. Beer!”

  Reluctantly, after a few awkward seconds, the girls began standing up and filing out back into the living room. Jimmy followed the last one, rubbing his palms together like he thought he actually had a chance. “That vertical smile is all mine!”

  After little to no success in the lady’s department, good ol’ Jimmy still thought he had game. In reality, he could fall in a barrel full of tits and come out sucking his thumb.

  Mort was standing in front of the fridge where he’d been for a solid five minutes, still desperately hoping food would magically appear. It hadn’t yet, and sadly, never would. That’s the thing about being the fat guy, everyone just assumes a normal portion is enough, when in reality it isn’t! Ever! Portion sizes were a goddamn joke and it seemed he was the only one who realized this. This was what he was thinking about while he took a bite of a Snickers bar someone bought earlier, which he stole, in the hopes of no one noticing, and thus completing his full-on transformation into the fat nerd cliché.

  “Shit,” Mort mumbled when he finally gave up on the magic food arriving. Instead, he grabbed a case of beer, shoved the rest of the candy in his mouth and headed to the living room.

  Jimmy was dicking around with his outdated iPod, which would be embarrassing in any other situation, but since there was no cell service and no Wi-Fi, it was the only thing that would work. Good thing Jimmy was broke as fuck! He’ll be the hero. Everyone loves the DJ.

  Still thinking about that sideways smile he’d convinced himself he’ll be catching tonight, Jimmy said to himself, but still out loud for some reason, “I'd like to purchase a one-way ticket to the Republic of Labia, please. First class!”

  It’s a good thing no one was there to hear that, because holy shit…

  The music fired up and everyone was laughing, dancing, and having a stereotypical good time like they always do in movies but not really ever in real life. Mort brought the beer in and started handing them out…this is the most popular he had ever been or would ever be. Not to be outdone by his fatass friend, Jimmy decided to roll another joint.

  If this were a movie, it would be time for a shitty and pointless, time-killing, music-dubbed montage.

  Let’s do it!

  Hit it, Jam Master Jimmy!

  -Loud annoying teenage music from a band grateful to be on the soundtrack because they’ll only have one more song after this and it will be completely played out and everyone will end up hating it. Umm, think Twenty-One Pilots.

  -The jock is dancing poorly but thinks he’s fuckin’ MC Hammer. He’ll have his arms wrapped around Andie’s waist soon just to add to the awkwardness of his shit moves.

  -Lots of cans of beer being popped open in close-ups, or maybe even in slow motion. Pop pop pop.

  -Flailing arm movements, loss of balance and a lot of laughter will inform us that the gang is totally fucked up, bruh.

  -Savannah, arms flailing, convinces the fat fucking dork to dance. Fat fucking dork is embarrassed but is eventually coerced. Everyone laughs.

  -Mort laughs.

  -Crispin Glover appears out of nowhere for an epic dance-off between him and the fellas and wins easily!

  -Good times for all.

  -Crispin Glover is gone now and completely forgotten.

  -Jimmy pops another beer open and offers it to Jacquelynn, who politely declines. Jimmy holds up one finger, asking if she is still on her first beer. She nods. Nerd!

  Okay, montages suck.

  Sorry.

  Carl had made his exit from the house right after switching the bulbs and returned to the small cabin to grab some more supplies. He was currently dragging those supplies up to the main cabin when he heard the montage. Curious, he walked up to the window and looked in.

  Another painful memory for Mr. Carl Langer.

  Tons of kids dancing to disco music, which somehow was not embarrassing at the time, and having a blast. Outside the gym auditorium, was Carl, seventeen years old, wearing a blue tuxedo similar to the one that would soon be made famous by Jim Carrey in Dumb and Dumber. He was looking in the window. He was asked to prom by Angela Hamlin, but having still not learned his lesson, he was stood up. He had already bought the ticket and rented the tux and was determined to still attend. He would show them he was unfazed by their immature bullying. But, when he got there, he chickened out. He couldn’t do it. He watched them all have fun and he watched Angela dance with yet another dumb jock, and his heart finally broke. He turned to walk back home just as thunder erupted above him and started dumping down rain, just like it is now.

  He finished loading his supplies then walked away, soaking wet.

  The party had mellowed down a bit. It was nearly midnight and the music had been turned down and everyone was just kinda chillin’ now. Andie made a show of yawning; stretching her arms out far into the sky, then stood and walked to Dave.

  Quietly, into his ear, she said, “I think tonight is the night, loverboy.”

  Dave quickly stood like someone lit his asshole hairs on fire, “Night everybody!”

  Mostly ignored with a few half-assed goodbyes, Dave and Andie exited the room, holding hands. If anyone were paying attention, they would have heard Dave giggling.

  Ugh.

  Andie opened the upstairs bedroom door and Dave somehow managed to get through it before her. His shirt was already off and they began frantically kissing like their plane was going down. Dave removed Andie’s shirt with all the grace of a blind truck driver and chucked it in the corner. After several failed attempts on Dave’s part, Andie gave in and removed her bra and Dave smiled a large, cheesy grin as he unzipped his pants and pulled out his junk.

  Andie looked down at it. “Oh...wow...I guess they weren't kidding.”

  Dave, oblivious to the insult, smiled bigger and nodded a cocky nod. “That's right, baby. Big Dick Dave is here to serve.”

  Andie struggled not to laugh. “Yeah... yeah, sure... why not. Okay, Big Dick Dave. Let's see what you've got. Wanna, I dunno, turn the lights off?”

  The look on Dave’s face suggested this was the dumbest idea he’d ever heard. “Turn the lights off? Man, if I wanted to fuck in the dark, I’d let myself go and just bang fat bitches.”

  Andie sighed, rolled her eyes, and then laid back. “Okay, then. Let’s get this over with.”

  Dave growled.

  Dave pounced.

  Andie stifled a yawn.

  Carl happened to see Dave and Andie enter the upstairs bedroom, and he knew goddamn well what went on in upstairs bedrooms! He climbed up the side of the house and entered the upstairs hallway via a window. He was dripping water and his boots were making a squeaking noise, but it didn’t matter. No one noticed. From a sling he was wearing over his shoulder, he removed a baseball bat. But not just any baseball bat. No no, this one had nails sticking out all over it. It was homemade and Carl thought it looked frickin’ sweet!

  In the old days, before his boss told him to shut up and do the job silently, Carl would have said something awesome along the lines of Batter up… But he knew better, the silent killers were always more scary. He remembered the guy in Springwood who would always crack jokes and make stupid puns. No wonder they tossed him into a furnace. And don’t get him started on that idiot with the guitar drill!

  While all this was going on, Annie the producer and Phil the douche had landed at a nearby airfield and promptly left the plane and ran straight into a private car waiting to take them to Camp McClane.

  “Is it too late?” Phil kept asking Annie, over and over, to the point where she fantasized about knocking his front teeth out. She had dreamed of producing the news all her life. She had started as a reporter, doing small stories in a small
suburban town outside of Los Angeles, and worked her way up the ranks, transferring to a major news show in Sacramento, then hitting it big in New York and earning her producing job. Now, being stuck next to this asshole, she dreamt of working at a pizza place.

  She sighed.

  “We got here literally as soon as we possibly could have. Worst case scenario is that everyone is dead and we’ll get the scoop.”

  “We’ll get the scoop?”

  “You’ll… You’ll get the scoop.” Another sigh.

  “And the best case?”

  Annie ran her fingers through her short blonde hair and scratched a non-existent itch on her scalp. Phil knew the answer to this, so why the goddamn bloody hell was he asking her.

  Men.

  White men.

  “Best case,” she said, “is we find Carl Langer and you confront him and woo him with your massive fame.”

  “You’re goddamn right! Driver, drive faster.”

  Annie wasn’t sure why he was in such a hurry. In fact, she had had a nervous feeling in her gut since they boarded the plane. What if the legend of Carl Langer was true? She had seen Phil get beaten up before, and every person on the other end all had one thing in common: they were not undead killing machines!

  Oh well, if shrimpy Phil really wanted to fight, he could. At the first sign of danger, she decided she was going to take off.

  This made her feel somewhat better and she even smiled a little while thinking about how short Phil was. Always the little man complex. Give him a cinderblock and he could see over a pool table.

  This made her laugh.

  It went unnoticed.

  Carl opened the door a crack and looked in at Dave’s bare ass.

  Dave grunted, “You like that, baby?”

  Andie, unimpressed, said, “Like what? Oh, I mean. Yeah. Oh yeah, it's magical.”

  “Yeah, just call me Merlin, bitch! Now watch me pull a rabbit out of your snatch.”

  Andie stopped moving. “Wait. What?”