Teen Killers Club

by Lily Sparks

  “But we don’t have tarps to use!” one of the twins protests.

  “Oh? I see two tarps on this field,” Dave chides, sounding exactly like my old AP Biology teacher during a lab. As the twins race for them I turn over my mannequin, smoothing the long dark hair out of her glass eyes. Someone has gone to the trouble of molding her face into a smile, and her skin is a horribly lifelike type of silicone. I look around, stalling, and my eyes land on Nobody sitting with a headless torso in her lap.

  The remembered smell of blood, like a hot handful of pennies, burns at the back of my throat.

  When I woke up in the shed that morning, I was sitting upright on the floor beside the scarred card table. Rose was curled up in my lap, facing away from me, her back against my stomach.

  I could feel a pool of cooling warmth below us, and realized she’d drunk too much and wet herself in her sleep. I debated how to wake her up, if I should play it off with a laugh and make a joke out of it, or if that would hurt her feelings. At last I softly shook her shoulder, a smile in my voice, though my head throbbed and my throat was painfully dry.

  “Hey, Rose? Rose, you got to wake up …”

  I shook her harder then, and her head turned. But it turned the wrong way. The back of her head moved impossibly forward, dropping at an angle her neck could not allow. Her body was still in place, shoulders hunched, not moving, a thing separate from the head that was making a slow, long roll across the floor. The face slowly turned up and regarded me, red streaked across her cheek, eyes wide open and blank.

  “You’re white as a sheet.” The hushed voice jerks me back to the field. Javier has dragged his mannequin close to mine. “This is a timed drill. They don’t mess around about that here.” Javier glances meaningfully across the field at Dave, whose back is turned as he discusses something with the twins.

  “I—I can’t …” I choke off the words. He can’t know, none of them can know, that unlike them I’m not a homicidal maniac and I don’t want to kill anyone.

  Javier leans forward.

  “You ever play with Barbies? These are just giant Barbies. He doesn’t care how you carve them up. Start with her arm. Right above the elbow. That’s the weakest part.”

  He hands me his knife, and I clumsily roll up the sleeve of the mannequin’s knit shirt, already soaked with dew.

  Just a Barbie. She’s just a Barbie.

  The knife sinks into her soft pale silicone arm and blood weeps from the wound. Vomit rises in my throat.

  “Oh dang, you got a bleeder!” Javier sounds genuinely surprised. “Some of the more expensive ones have fake blood inside, but they’re usually drained already. I’ve never seen one with the blood still in.”

  I can’t speak. I just stare at the thick red liquid pooling inside my mannequin’s elbow. She’s still smiling up at me.

  “How about we trade?” Javier offers, moving in front of me, taking my place over the mannequin. “I’ve never gotten a bleeder before. I want to try one. Cool?”

  “Yeah, cool.” I nod, numb, and crawl toward the fake body he’s been working on. The head and one arm are already off, and the mannequin is much more Barbie-like than mine, with hard plastic skin all hollowed out inside like a chocolate Easter bunny. I can pretend I’m just packing up a store mannequin. Okay. I can handle this.

  But I cannot freak out like that ever again.

  I am surrounded by murderers more ruthless than anyone from Bellwood. The girl who gets through this program and gets out into the world again is the Girl From Hell. The girl who doesn’t make it through this program is the innocent loner who’s so pathetically awkward her whole town believes she killed her best friend.

  “We’re forty-five minutes in! You should be past dismemberment and into clean-up,” Dave calls out, then pauses beside me and Javier, back to back in the grass, and watches us work for a moment.

  “Javier, you took the bleeder I saved for Signal,” he says, annoyed.

  “We wanted to trade,” I explain. Dave cocks his head.

  “You were okay with that, Javier?”

  “Yup, it’s fine,” Javier mutters, still carving away.

  “Even though the bleeders are much more difficult to conceal?”

  “Better practice,” Javier says gruffly.

  “Great attitude!” Dave grins. “Javier’s got the right idea, campers. Because when you’re in the field, this is going to be a million times messier. You guys have it easy with this drill! Or then again, maybe you don’t …”

  Everybody groans in anticipation of what he’s going to say next.

  “Because guess what, campers, each of these mannequins has been marked with a specific smell and we will have a canine in. So when you go into conceal phase, remember to account for smell! Because what did we come to camp to learn, everybody?”

  He pauses, and everyone but me and Nobody says, in unison: “How to not get caught!”

  “That’s exactly right! Also, Javier,” his voice drops and he leans over us, his face stern. “I already marked Signal down as having the bleeder, so I’m going to need you to trade with her again. Good attitude, though. Points for effort. But Signal gets the bleeder.”

  Under Dave’s watchful eye Javier and I trade places again.

  “Okay, guys, you should all be in conceal phase in the next fifteen minutes, so I’m going to the kitchen to get some dinner. Meet me over there when your body is well and truly hidden!”

  Javier has stacked the bleeder up like a pile of firewood inside the trash bag. Meanwhile, I haven’t even finished dismembering his mannequin. I hear him frantically sawing away and mumble an apology I’m not sure he even hears. Embarrassed, I gather up the bits of torn clothing and bundle them up with the limbs as the quiet grows deeper around us, the other campers moving on to the next phase. When I look back again Javier is gone.

  I’m the last one left on a field much colder and bluer than when we started. Shivering, I rise from the ground and try to haul the bag up with me. No chance. It’s far too heavy.

  Okay. I’ll drag it, then.

  The trash bag glides easily over the damp grass behind me, but I’m tired and moving slow. The horizon behind the lake goes from neon orange to cool blue by the time I get to its short dock, and then the rack of canoes on the encircling sand makes me stop short.

  I can go now. I’ll grab one of the canoes and strike out for the far shore, it’ll be night soon, I can run into the woods, they’ll never find me. I drop the bag just as a distant whistle sounds: Kate is standing in the door of the main cabin, just across the field. She gives me a wave, then disappears inside.

  They’re not completely oblivious then.

  I hoist my bag again and haul it all the way to the edge of the dock, then swing it out into the water. I pretend to wait to see if it’ll come up, but I’m actually staring at the far shore, gauging the distance.

  I can cross the lake before dawn, while it’s still dark. The security is ridiculous here because the rest of these psychopaths don’t want to leave. They were loving that ghoulish pop quiz. This is where they belong.

  But I’m not like them.

  Decision made, I turn my back on the water and climb up through the long grass toward the glowing orange windows of the main cabin.

  “Last, but not least!” Kate greets me with a paper plate inside the knotty pine dining room. The four round tables that fill the room are empty, chairs pushed back, and the enormous foil trays on the counter between the dining area and kitchen are almost scraped clean. What remains smells amazing, though, and I hurl myself toward the leftovers as Kate frets behind me.

  “They just about finished everything. There’s some chicken left in the kitchen, though.”

  “I’m vegetarian.” I slap a good spoonful of green bean casserole on my plate.

  “Oh. Well, that’s nice. After you’ve eaten, we need to get your clothes together.”

  After I’ve emptied my plate twice, Kate takes me down a narrow hall to a closet lined flo
or to ceiling with shelves, all bursting with old clothes. They’re all out of style and just a little too bright. I realize, when I pull a T-shirt loose and see a name written on the tag, that they’re about thirty years’ worth of lost-and-found items. Kate hands me a giant fabric shopping bag, the handle badly frayed.

  “Grab anything you want and come back if you need something. Socks and underwear”—she pulls out a giant Tupperware bin stuffed with generic white Hanes—“are in here, all brand new. Toiletries—” she taps another plastic bin with generic deodorant, soaps, shampoos, tampons, and even Bic razors. “Anything else you need, jot it down on the notepad for the next time Dave or I go to town.” She taps a composition notebook wedged between two stacks of sweatshirts, then bustles away.

  Civilian clothes are exactly what I need most for tomorrow’s escape. By the time I’ve winnowed out the few items that are warm, dark, and my size, Kate returns with a glowering Jada and Nobody, who has ketchup smears around the mouth hole of her balaclava and clutches an overstuffed clothes bag of her own.

  “I thought you could show Nobody and Signal to the girls’ cabin, so they can get changed and wash up before fire circle.” Kate holds out two coarse towels for Jada to carry for us.

  “Fine,” Jada sighs, snatching them. “Follow me.”

  We follow her down the pale gravel path to the small red cabin set farthest back in the woods, our steps somehow much louder in the dark.

  “So much for my days of having a private cabin!” Jada pushes open a rickety screen door that swings shut behind us with a scream, and clicks on a large halogen lantern hanging off a top bunk. A few blinks and it washes the small space with sickly green light, revealing bunk beds in each corner of the square room, each with a camping lantern hung on one bedpost and a laundry bag on the other. Since there’s only three of us, we can all have a top bunk.

  The floors and walls are thin wood paneling, and despite an astringent cleanser smell mildew creeps in green waves from the floor to the windows, their torn screens fluttering in the chilly night air.

  “Bathroom’s in there.” Jada points to a green door opposite the front one. “But if you were looking forward to a hot shower you can forget it. None of the cabins have heated water.” Jada holds the towels out to me, but when I reach she lets them fall to the ground.

  Nobody tenses, waiting for my reaction. I can’t let this slide.

  “Are you that scared I’m going to steal your boyfriend?” I look Jada in the eye. “Calm down, he’s not my type.”

  Jada sneers. “Just remember. Sluts get cut.” She pivots away and stalks to the door, and as I finally bend down to pick the towels up she shouts: “Enjoy my cabin, skank!” and slams the door so hard it bounces twice against the doorframe.

  Nobody finishes making up her bunk without a word to me, then follows Jada out. And then it’s just me, the silence, and a lonely little moth who’s fallen in love with my lantern.

  I shrug on a hoodie, wrestle sheets onto my thin mattress, then climb down from my perch and walk straight into Erik.

  He’s standing in the middle of the cabin. How long has he been there, staring? How’d he even come in without me hearing the door?!

  “I climbed in through the window.” Erik jerks his thumb toward the torn screen, but aside from this motion he’s eerily still. He’s so tall, his shoulders so broad, it’s unsettling to imagine him twisting through the small window while my back was turned. “Kate wanted someone to check in on you, make sure you hadn’t gotten lost. So I volunteered.”

  Jada must have loved that.

  “Yeah, well, I might actually just go to bed.” I shrug. “I’m pretty exhausted.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yup.” The hair on my arms is rising. Maybe just from him being so close. I haven’t stood face to face with a guy for this long in … well, maybe never.

  Erik has the strikingly handsome features of a teen idol, slightly skewed by a square, heavy jaw. It’s almost indecently muscular, disconcertingly well engineered to tear flesh from bone.

  “You don’t have to come hang out. But you should, because they’re not going to stop asking about your number until you tell them.”

  “Yeah? And what’s yours?” I say, stepping back toward my bunk bed, though he hasn’t come any closer.

  “Ten,” he says. I recoil and dimples appear on either side of a broad smile. “Yours?”

  “Eleven,” I say, lifting my chin.

  “You’re a terrible liar,” Erik says. “You’re the Girl From Hell, aren’t you?”

  The blood drains from my face and his smile goes even wider.

  “I thought I recognized you, Signal Deere. I followed your case and I have to say, I went back and forth on you. The evidence was overwhelming. But seeing you in person, it’s obvious.” He pauses for just a moment then says, “You’re innocent.”

  This is all I’ve wanted to hear someone say for the last year. But not him, and not here. In a camp full of homicidal Class As, being innocent makes me prey.

  But I still can’t bring myself to say I did it.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I bluster.

  “Your face is incredible.” He squints at me, drawing closer. “Every thought just bleeds right through.” I don’t know what my face gave away, but I try to wipe it clean now. He just keeps staring, then finally says: “You’re sure you’re a Class A?”

  “They didn’t keep me in solitary for fun,” I say through clenched teeth.

  He steps closer. If he weren’t a Class A predator, I’d think he was about to kiss me. And that’s when I notice his eye. It’s torn. Or at least, the pupil is, the pupil of his right eye isn’t a circle, it’s an irregular oval, like the slit of a cat’s eye.

  “It’s called coloboma,” he snaps, a nanosecond after I’ve noticed it. “It’s a congenital eye defect. Generally, there’s two kinds of people: the ones who look away when they see it and the ones who make it a point to keep looking. You’re a looker.” Erik talks so fast it takes me a moment to catch up to what he’s saying, then he steps back, shoulders bowing a little, and viciously bites at his nails. “You really shouldn’t be here. You want to escape? Go. Right now.”

  He nods to the back door, like he wants me to break into a run. He’s trying to scare me. Trying to get me to admit what I really am. I can’t let him.

  “Thanks for the pep talk,” I say with all the bravado I can muster. “But you don’t know me and you have no idea what I’m capable of.”

  “I know you’re not capable of killing.” His deep voice is so certain, his cat’s eye not blinking as it locks with mine. “And I know you won’t survive this place.”

  Hinges behind us shriek: Nobody stands in the doorway, holding a flashlight. She looks from me to Erik, then walks quickly over and throws her long arm around my shoulders.

  “Hey, hot stuff,” she says in her creaky voice. “I’ve been waiting on you.” The lips behind the wool ski mask quickly brush my hair, and then she turns and fixes her gaze on Erik. “Everything okay in here?”

  “Yeah,” I say gratefully, catching on. “Thanks for checking in, baby.”

  Erik’s eyebrows fly up. “I’m sorry … are you two … together?”

  “She’s mine.” Nobody’s stance is relaxed, but there’s a quiet challenge in her voice.

  “Oh please. No way,” he scoffs. “You’re in a relationship with a girl who’s been in solitary the last year?”

  “We wrote a lot of letters,” I answer for her, and take the rough hand on my shoulder, pushing away the memory of it gloved in the bus driver’s blood.

  Erik rolls his eyes. “If you say so, sure. Whatever.”

  “Jada was wondering what was taking you so long,” Nobody says, but Erik doesn’t respond. He just walks out, letting the door bang shut behind him. We stand together for another moment and then Nobody swiftly withdraws her arm, ducking down to look out the window before turning to announce: “All clear.”

  �
��Thanks,” I exhale.

  “Yeah, well, you told Jada he wasn’t your type, so …” She shrugs. “He marked you out as his. When we were under the tree. Jada saw it too.”

  It’s the longest speech I’ve heard her make. Her voice is rough, but the unbalanced girl beside me on the bus from this afternoon is way more articulate than I’d assumed. Was that just an act she put on? To freak out Officer Heather?

  “But I’ve got the second highest body count, so if you’re with me he’ll back off.” Nobody clears her throat, and there’s a brief embarrassed silence before she says, “To be clear, I have an actual girlfriend. Who I love very much. So nothing is going to happen between you and me.” She takes a beat. “No offense.”

  “Cool, no problem.” I nod quickly, hoping I don’t look surprised, but now I’ve got so many new questions. Like, does she kiss her girlfriend through the ski mask? Or does she feel okay taking it off with her? Am I literally the only person in the world who’s never dated before?

  A short knock derails my train of thought, Kate’s silhouette visible through the screen.

  “Guys, there’s one last thing we have to do tonight.” She comes in and quickly turns to fasten the front door. Nobody and I spin around to see Dave come in from the other direction, through the bathroom door, carrying a black case. He sets it down and fastens the only other way out, then says:

  “Put your hands over your head.”

  Nobody takes a step back but Dave is faster. He grabs her elbow and spins her into the bunk.

  “What are you doing?!” I yell as Kate grips my arm.

  Nobody thrashes around, Dave goes red-faced trying to pin her arms behind her back. She’s taller than him but he outweighs and outmaneuvers her, twisting her arms together and knotting her wrists with a cable tie, wrenching it so tight her fingers start to go dark red.

  “The more you relax, the less painful it will be,” Kate says. “It’s the last step.”

  “Hands,” Dave barks at me. “Now.”