Survive or Die
Catherine Dilts
Encircle Publications, LLC
Farmington, Maine U.S.A.
Survive or Die Copyright © 2019 Catherine Dilts
Paperback ISBN 13: 978-1-948338-33-2
E-book ISBN 13:978-1-948338-34-9
Kindle ISBN 13: 978-1-948338-35-6
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018961990
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher, Encircle Publications, Farmington, ME.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual places or businesses, is entirely coincidental.
Editor: Cynthia Brackett-Vincent
Book design: Eddie Vincent
Cover design and composite illustration by Deirdre Wait
Cover images © Getty Images
Published by: Encircle Publications, LLC
PO Box 187
Farmington, ME 04938
Visit: http://encirclepub.com
Printed in U.S.A.
DEDICATION
To my brother Jeff, for the indelible image of the infamous Harvey and Tweezers, which inspired the décor in Otter Creek Cabin.
To my prepper friends, who remind me to be prepared for any contingency, from the Second Coming to the Zombie Apocalypse
Thank you —
My granddaughter and I stayed at the M Lazy C Ranch one weekend, where the idea for this novel began to simmer. To learn more, visit http://www.mlazyc.com
No novel can be created without the support of family and friends. While it may seem I am lost in my own world as I write my stories, you are never far from my thoughts. I do appreciate every one of you.
ROWDY HUNTER’S
SURVIVAL TIPS
You hear rustling in the bushes. Twigs cracking. Your heart starts racing and your feet are itching to take flight. Hold on, greenhorn! Now’s not the time to panic. That noise could be a squirrel. Mighty tasty roasted over a campfire, but no serious threat to life or limb. Before you soil your drawers, take a minute to assess the situation. In the wilderness, things aren’t always what they seem.
CHAPTER ONE
Sunday
In sour moments, Wilson Dudley had imagined himself dying in his gray cubicle at his crappy little job. Keeling over unnoticed, face down on his keyboard, until a coworker complained of the smell. Poor stupid sap, so unloved and overlooked. So quickly forgotten.
How pathetic his life had been, that slaughter at the hands of a throwback to the frontier era was preferable to his more likely anonymous end.
If only he had not arrived early, as though his punctuality would be rewarded. Just his luck, the poorly maintained dirt parking lot had been vacant. Nor could the wretched company owner have chosen a more remote location for his team building exercise.
There awaited Death to yank open the Camry’s door and clamp onto Wilson’s arm. Certainly he had struggled, but twenty-seven years of sitting at a desk plunking on a keyboard and staring myopically at a computer monitor had rendered Wilson an easy victim to the iron grasp of the cowboy. Screaming likewise proved useless. There was no one to hear the terrified sobs breaking past his trembling lips.
As he was dragged deeper into the woods, kicking so vigorously that one shoe launched off his foot to parts unknown, a thought occurred. A desperate ray of optimism momentarily pierced the deep gloom of the heavily canopied pine forest.
“Is this the first challenge? I escape, and I earn a treasure chest key?” He regretted the tears now. Time to man up. “That’s how it went in the old television show.”
No reply. Just heavy breathing behind a triangle of cowboy bandana that made Wilson fear humiliating assault would precede painful death.
He was spared the indignity of molestation. Standing at the edge of the abyss, he wished he had taken more chances while in the land of the living. Not that he’d ever wanted to go sky-diving or lion hunting, but perhaps he would have tossed a brightly colored polo shirt into his bland wardrobe, or had steak more and worried about his heart health less.
And yet he couldn’t see any way that things could have been different. Unless he’d been born handsome, rich, and witty. No, you weren’t allowed those kind of do-overs. So it came to this, with a fatalistic inevitability.
There were no witnesses, of course. Unremarkable to the very last moment. Par for the course for the pathetic, lonely existence of Wilson Dudley, his nanosecond in the vast expanse of time snuffed out like a sputtering candle in a hurricane.
In his last moment, he heard a car door slam, and the happy voices of his coworkers.
Sotheara Sok stood beside the driver’s door of a car that resembled a turtle. It was not much larger or faster, but it was better for the environment than some of the behemoths crowding the parking lot. Like her boss’s disgusting gas-guzzling Humvee.
Sage leaned through the car window, one elbow on the steering wheel, looking up at Sotheara with soulful blue eyes.
“The boots are in the backseat. No one’s gonna judge.”
He had picked up a pair of women’s hiking boots from the thrift store, concerned that Sotheara’s tramping through the woods might expose her feet to brambles and rocks. Like she was capable of a moment of weakness where the environment was concerned.
“No way! I’ve been looking forward to planting my naked feet on earth uncontaminated by humans.”
Sage smiled, looking adorable. Then his expression sobered.
“You deal with microagression in the workplace like a pro, but this could be dangerous.” He nodded toward campers exiting their vehicles. “This won’t be a game for some of them. It could be all out war.”
“I told you, I’ll be fine,” Sotheara said. “I’m a junior accountant. I’m invisible.”
Instead of her usual corporate attire, Sotheara had gone full bore summer camp. Dressed in denim shorts and a T-shirt stating in bold letters “Love Animals, Don’t Eat Them,” with her short stature and petite build, she probably looked like a harmless schoolgirl. Great disguise.
“I can take care of myself.” After all, she held her own working at the ratty little company Bender Clips, with their Old School management style and her witch of a boss. Sotheara leaned closer to Sage and whispered. “If you stay, you’ll confront someone before we know what’s really going on.”
Sage gave her a lopsided grin. “You won’t let me live down the Weinermobile incident.”
“Protesting the processed meat industry required a bold strategy,” Sotheara said. “This situation demands subtlety.”
“You have the gear?” he asked.
“Yes.” Sotheara patted her backpack. “I’m ready for Operation Clean Sweep.”
Aubrey Sommers suspected having B. B. King’s blues tune “The Thrill Is Gone” playing over and over in her head was a strong indication that her marriage was in trouble. Fleeting thoughts of running away with the pool boy were tempered by the fact that they didn’t have a pool boy. Or a pool. Just a modest house with a crazy big mortgage, three bratty teenage kids, jobs they both languished in, and no down time.
That changed when Grant invited her to an entire week away from kids. Away from work. When Aubrey saw the sign for the Winsome Bed and Breakfast, she leaned across the seat to kiss Grant on th
e cheek.
“I knew it.”
“Knew what?” Grant asked. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”
He turned onto the gravel county road. They passed the Glenn Honey Farm and a ranch offering trail rides. There could be no better place to rekindle the dully flickering flame of romance than their honeymoon getaway, tucked in a grove of Ponderosa pines in the Colorado mountains. As they neared the B&B, Aubrey released a contented sigh. Grant was the best husband in the world.
He passed the turn for the Winsome.
“Honey, you missed the driveway.”
“I told you, it’s a surprise.”
July sunshine sparkled on the surface of Turquoise Lake like gold dust, and jagged peaks reflected in the still water. Although the Winsom would have been the obvious choice, Grant’s alternative might be okay.
Aubrey folded her arms across her chest, wrinkling the form-fitting red, pink and white striped blouse that Grant had failed to notice. She had styled her wavy brown hair and applied a touch of makeup, anticipating relaxation and romance.
“You didn’t pack camping gear,” Aubrey said. “We must be staying in a cabin. I hope I brought the right clothes.” She paused for effect, then added, “for when we need clothes.”
Grant didn’t seem to hear. Five miles of dusty road past the Winsom, he pulled the SUV into a dirt parking lot.
“This is it.”
A weathered Survive or Die banner drooped between two enormous pine posts.
“Wasn’t that the name of the phony reality TV show?” Aubrey asked. “I was glad when they took it off the air. What are we doing here?”
Grant tugged off a baseball cap stamped with his employer’s Bender Clips logo and ran his fingers through his thinning blond hair. “We’re spending the week at Survive or Die Camp. It’s still run by Rowdy Hunter, but we won’t be on TV.”
The smell of pine wafted through Aubrey’s open window and a hummingbird whizzed by the windshield. Adventure instead of relaxation.
“I’ll admit this wouldn’t have been at the top of my list, but I’m sure we’ll have fun.”
“I’m sorry, honey,” Grant said. “I had to come to this camp. Mr. Bender set it up—”
“Bender! Are you telling me this is work related?”
Vehicles pulled up on both sides of their SUV. The doors opened, and Bender Clips employees climbed out.
“I was afraid if I told you, you’d talk me out of coming.” Grant frowned, deepening the creases that forty-five years had etched into his boyish good looks. “It’s a team building exercise. I got the impression that not showing up puts you on Bender’s termination list.”
Termination sounded about right. Suddenly the “’til death do us part” line in the marriage vows made sense.
Camp looked just like it had on television, but worn down around the edges. The place could use a good handyman. The wranglers slouching around must have been window dressing, because Jeremiah Jones didn’t see any of them doing a lick of work. Still, a week of paid vacation at a survivalist camp was way better than working at Bender Clips.
Jeremiah spotted his supervisor herding her crew toward a log cabin. Not being the type to rush into a situation blind, Jeremiah leaned against a pine tree to scope out the action. As usual, Ellen was taking charge. That’s what she got paid to do, but her bossy attitude irked Jeremiah. She was still on his list of potential mates, but only due to her sturdy build.
Making it through the imminent demise of civilization wouldn’t be worth a hoot if a man didn’t have someone by his side. Survive or Die camp presented Jeremiah with the opportunity to see if one of his coworkers was the type of woman fit to rebuild the human population.
Ellen spotted him, her eyes meeting his briefly, then moving on. She hadn’t recognized him. Probably thought he was one of the wranglers.
Jeremiah had dressed for camp in cowboy boots and hat, neck kerchief, and a rendesvouz shirt with antler buttons. He was thick in the middle, but John Wayne had carried a few extra pounds, too. He knew he wasn’t exactly handsome. Not like the fruity Survive or Die wrangler duded out in the dimestore cowboy outfit. Still, he was willing to bet that before the week was over, the ladies would be fighting for the honor of being his bride.
Jeremiah stroked his bushy mustache, contemplating his next move.
Grant’s coworkers unloaded vehicles and greeted each other as though they hadn’t just spent the past week together at Bender Clips. Aubrey had met most of them at various company functions over the past five years. The prospect of being trapped at camp with some choice characters added fuel to her fire. She fumed silently, until Madison Wilhelm trotted to her window.
“I’m so glad you came,” Madison said. “I was afraid I’d be the only sane one here.”
Aubrey climbed out, giving the door an abrupt shove to slam it closed. She attempted a smile. Madison was the only Bender Clips employee Aubrey considered a friend.
“That’s a different look for you.”
Madison spun in a small circle, displaying hiking boots appropriate for a stroll through the mall. Lime green flowers dappled her extra large blouse, and a floppy fluorescent orange hat covered her short brown curls.
“The sporting goods store didn’t stock women’s fashions in my size,” Madison said. “They must think only skinny girls go camping. This is my first time! I’m so excited!”
Grant climbed out of the SUV. “We’re not staying.”
“What do you mean?” Madison asked. “You’re here.”
“Aubrey changed her mind.”
Aubrey shot a withering look Grant’s way that was completely wasted. He was too busy closing the door on a gray Camry someone had carelessly left open. That was Grant, Pinon Pine troop leader. Always helping people in need. People other than his wife.
“Grant didn’t explain to me we’d be camping.”
“I know,” Madison said. “He made me keep it a secret. How romantic is that? I hope we can be on the same team.”
“Team?” Aubrey asked.
“Yes. We’ll be competing to win treasure chest keys, just like on the old show.”
Sotheara Sok stepped into their circle before Aubrey could explode. The short Cambodian woman was almost unrecognizable without her powersuit and heels. She clutched the straps of a pink backpack that draped over her shoulders. Dressed in summer clothes, her bare feet dusty, Sotheara didn’t look much older than Aubrey’s teenage daughter.
“Hi, everyone. Which way is camp?”
“I’d guess that way.” Madison pointed.
Aubrey turned to see Frank Hardy march under the Survive or Die banner. Grant ran to him and pumped his hand like he was attempting to draw water from a well.
“Glad you finally made it.” Frank could have modeled for an outfitter’s catalog with his close-cropped salt and pepper hair, tanned and craggy face, and woodsy camouflage vest covered with bulging pockets. “Any other stragglers?” He scanned the parking lot. “We’re ready to start.”
“Start what?” Grant asked.
“Strategizing. Ted jumped the gun on us. He’s already formed a team of all the runners in the company.”
“Hang on a second.” Grant loped back to Aubrey. “How about it, honey?” He kept his voice low. “Are we leaving?”
Madison clutched Aubrey’s arm. “You’ve got to stay,” she whispered. “I need an ally. These people will eat me alive.”
“They’re never bringing Survive or Die back to television,” Sotheara said. “This is our only chance to play.”
So it wasn’t the comfy marriage retreat Aubrey had hoped for. Still, a week away from the kids had been a bear to arrange. Surely they could hit the romantic reset button on their fragile marriage as easily at a rugged camp as at their honeymoon B&B.
And then there was Madison, over a decade younger than Aubrey.
She couldn’t imagine how the computer geek city-girl had been convinced to go camping, but Madison was right. She needed an ally.
Aubrey sighed with more drama than necessary, letting her shoulders slump. “Okay. I’ll stay. But if it’s as terrible as I think—”
They didn’t wait for her to finish. Frank grimaced as they unloaded luggage.
“I hope you packed the right gear. This isn’t a leisurely weekend at the country club.”
“Had I known,” Aubrey said, “I would have packed differently.” Speaking just loud enough for Grant to hear, she added, “I would have left the silk lingerie at home.”
“Time’s wasting.” Frank studied his elaborate wristwatch, no doubt waterproof, shock proof, and bear proof. “We’re on a schedule here.”
“Hold on.” Grant dropped a suitcase in the dirt. “There’s something on Mr. Bender’s windshield.” He stretched to snatch a scrap of paper from under the Humvee’s windshield wiper.
“What is it?” Frank asked.
“A flier.” Grant studied the paper. “This entire week is Going Batty Days in Lodgepole.”
“How fitting,” Aubrey muttered.
“It’s a fundraiser for bat habitats,” he continued. “Sounds fun.”
Sotheara clapped her hands together. “Bats!” A delighted smile lit up her face.
“Ew.” Madison grimaced as she scanned the afternoon sky, clutching the goofy orange sunbonnet tight over her curly brown hair.
“There’s no flier on my truck,” Frank said. “Edna and I arrived before Bender.”
“There’s something on the back,” Madison said.
Grant flipped the paper over. His green eyes opened wide. Aubrey looked over his arm at the hand-written note.
“Somebody’s not happy.” He handed the note to Frank.
“Bender,” Frank read aloud, “you think you’re gonna Survive, but you’re gonna Die. Die. Die.”
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