The Camp (4 page)

“What word?” Ellen spat out. “’Fuck?’ You’d be an expert on that, I guess, knowing that Steven and I haven’t fucked.”

“Please, Ellen. I ask that you keep a civil tongue.” Dorothy turned south on Siskiyou. “I know that you and Steven have not shared a bed because you sent him that picture.”

Chapter Five

Rye guided the ambulance onto the paved drive that led into the barn, but pulled up short.
 

Claire released her harness, ready to climb out, and opened the door.

“We’re just going to leave her outside. Paul is coming over to help move the last of the medical supplies.”
 

Claire loved Rye. He was big and strong and knew how to remain calm under pressure, which is part of what made him a good Emergency Medical Tech. But didn’t always have a lot of foresight, and because of this, his actions could be misguided.

“I think we need to get her inside and plugged in. We’re still on call for another twenty-four hours.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”
 

She hopped out, ran around, and slid the big door open. One of the modifications they’d made on the house was to replace the two huge barn doors with one that ran on a rail. They were still waiting for the special electronic opener.

She waved him forward, making a fist when he was in far enough. Rye climbed out and placed blocks behind the rear wheels. She handed him the two cords and watched as he plugged them in. Then he turned to face her.

“I was just thinking that she’d only be unplugged a little while, not long enough to really get cold.”

Claire danced to the door leading to the breezeway that connected the barn to the house and turned. “Better safe than sorry. Chinese alright?”

Rye closed the distance, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her in tight. “Actually, No. Paul and Amy are bringing over homemade pizza and garlic bread.”
 

Claire smiled at the mention of Paul’s daughter. A few years ago, they’d rescued her from a well. Amy had always referred to her as Aunt Claire, but now, at fifteen, Amy was also her student at the Kenpo Karate School.

“Great. I’ll move some boxes and see if I can find the table.”

Rye gave her a kiss.

Claire’s five foot five inches made her nearly a foot shorter than him at six foot three and a half inches, and he liked that he outweighed her by over one hundred pounds. He knew it was up to him to take care of the small details, like tonight. He’d already thought of the evening meal as a way to save her from having to cook.

The table hadn’t been assembled but she found the chairs and cleared the boxes off the kitchen island and set them up around it. Then began methodically carrying boxes out of the kitchen and into the living room.

She’d be glad to see Amy out of the confines of the Karate studio, but was equally glad she’d be coming with her father, rather than her boyfriend.

Paul and Rye had been friends since the third grade. Each had been the other’s running partner before they went their separate ways in college. Paul studied criminal law on the East Coast, while Rye studied to become an EMT in the Rogue Valley. But when Paul returned to Oregon, it was as a Private Investigator. He and Rye started running together again, and were doing so regularly until a bullet to the hip stopped Paul from being able to run anymore. He didn’t need a cane, but did walk with a limp.

Pounding at the front door brought Claire around with a start. Before she could respond, it burst open, revealing a smiling Ed Thomas, Amy’s boyfriend. Claire stifled a groan.

“Hello, Sensei.”
 

Claire detested his false respect. Ed had never studied martial arts and only used that greeting because of Amy.

He suddenly lurched forward, pushed from behind. She smiled at Amy’s rebuff. “Hey, I told you about that.” The teen squeezed between Ed and a stack of boxes, executed a short bow, then dashed forward to deliver a quick hug.

“Dad’s in the barn with Uncle Rye. I said I’d call them when everything was set.”

Rye had recognized the sound of the aging Volkswagen bus and turned to see the barn door slide open. He stepped up and greeted his friend with a slap on the shoulder.

“Amy took the message, said you guys responded to a strange call.”

Rye nodded and turned back to the task of emptying the ambulance and wiping down the inside. Paul walked over and sat on the bumper.
 

“Hip bothering you?”

Paul stood and lifted his leg like he was marching. “March temperatures always make it ache. It’s nothing.”

“I think Claire will want to be in on any discussion of today’s call. We both want your opinion on a couple things.”
 

Ed was older than Amy by seven years and that bothered Claire. He had this recurrent line about a carpentry job waiting for him in Los Vegas. He claimed that he’d be revamping one of the casinos. But whenever Claire asked him about it, he always responded that they’d been in touch and were still gutting the place. He seemed phony to her, always trying to ingratiate himself.

The pizza was great. While Paul was on the East Coast, he had learned to make it Chicago-style. Amy had made the garlic bread.

Ed had driven Rye to distraction when they had first purchased the house. Amy, her father, and Ed had been over to help unpack. Ed had given out advice on rebuilding the barn to fit the ambulance. His suggestions ranged from pure fantasy to the ridiculous. At the end of the first week, when Amy was out of earshot, Rye confronted him with the fact that he hadn’t unpacked a single box, but had been present for every meal.

Claire was pleased that Ed was quiet for a change, seemingly enjoying the pizza. She thought that maybe he was getting the hint. But when the conversation shifted to the strange call that they’d responded to he seemed to be paying close attention.

When Rye had devoured the last of the crust, they all vacated the kitchen and moved stacks of boxes so that they could sit on the living room floor.

Claire watched as Paul squirmed around. “Are you going to be alright sitting like this?” Before he could answer, Amy showed up with a beanbag chair she’d remembered seeing in one of the bedrooms. She was struggling to pull it between two towering stacks of boxes when Rye finally got up and lifted it over the top, handing it back down to her. Claire couldn’t help but notice that he was shooting daggers at Ed, who had watched the entire process without offering to help

Paul arranged himself on the chair. “So. Rogue Rescue encountered the strange. What a surprise.”
 

“Yeah, well, I’d certainly call it that,” Rye said and looked around to make sure he had everyone’s attention. “When we arrived, at least a dozen young girls were scattered across two lanes of the I-5….”

Amy interrupted. “A multiple victim accident. Ok.”

Rye smiled and continued. “These weren’t victims in the traditional sense. Several were curled up on the cold asphalt in a fetal position, but most were staggering around, wandering…”

Claire picked up the narrative. “They didn’t seem to be in shock.”
 

Paul held up a hand. “What do you mean, not in shock?”

Rye stood up and stretched. Standing straddle, he twisted first one way then the other, producing two audible pops, and then sat down. “Sorry, too many boxes.”
 

Claire gave her husband the evil eye. “Like I was saying: they didn’t respond like shock victims.” She paused. “It was like they were catatonic, but not exactly. I mean, you could take them by the hand and lead, and they would follow. Stop, and they would stop.” She shook her head in frustration at not being able to describe their condition. “I’ve just never seen anything like it.”

The room was silent. Amy repositioned herself, sitting on her legs. Ed took the opportunity to wrap an arm around her waist.
 

Rye ran a hand through his hair. “Claire was nearly creamed by a car.”

She cast a loving look at her husband then turned to face Paul.
 

“An Econo van was on its side and I’d just cut the driver out of his seat harness and he woke up, blood all over the side of his face. Suddenly, I notice a honking. Not like an alarm, but someone leaning on their horn. And just as suddenly, the driver swats me away and climbs out through the hole left when the windshield.popped out.”

She looked around, pleased that she had everyone’s rapt attention.
 

“I climbed out after him, but by the time I slid onto the front of the van, he was entering the slow lane. I was in hot pursuit when I heard Rye chirp one of the sirens. I turned to see why and just barley had time to step out of the way of an oncoming car. Seconds later, that same car struck the driver. Funny thing was, it didn’t stop and the vehicle that had been honking, another van, slid its side door shut and took off.”

She folded her arms to signify the end of the story.

Paul had rocked to the edge of the beanbag chair. “You get a license number?”

She shook her head. “Didn’t have a plate and the other van was too far away to see.”

“Get a look at the driver?”

She just shook her head.

“Honestly?” Rye said, almost apologetically. “I think the girls were drugged.”

Paul scooted back on the beanbag chair and looked over at his daughter.

She brought her shoulders up to her ears and made a little squeak, then pushed out of Ed’s arm to stand, before going over to snuggle with her father.

“A simple solution would be to get a look at the blood work.”

“I already thought of that. Can’t. I’m fairly sure they were all minors.”

Amy sat up. “You know, they have all sorts of competitions between Rogue Valley and Portland schools.” That said, she leaned back against her father again.

Claire pursed her lips. “Alright, Amy. Let’s run with that idea. But the van was one of those huge extra-long ones. When I went inside through the rear doors, one of the first things I noticed was that there was no luggage, not inside or on top. And not a purse or handbag, either. And what about the driver running to a vehicle that I’m sure had just arrived on the scene?”

Amy bulged her eyes, shrugged her shoulders, and turned to look at her father. “Daddy?”

He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close.
 

“Maybe there was a vehicle following with all the luggage.” He looked over at his daughter. “What about it? Would you go on a school trip without a purse?”

“Not on your life.”

“What about trafficking?” All eyes turned to Ed. “You know, sex trafficking of young girls.”

All faces turned grim.

He held up both hands like he was defending himself. “Well, it seems obvious to me.”

Paul leaned forward so that he could look at Ed. “Go on.”

“Sure?”

Claire crossed her arms across her chest. “C’mon, we all want to hear what you think.”

Realizing he’d stepped into dangerous waters, he looked over at Paul. “Hey, c’mon. You’re the private investigator.”

Amy repositioned herself so she could look directly at her boyfriend.

He just nodded. “Okay, so everybody knows that Interstate 5 from Portland to San Francisco is considered the underbelly of the beast. I think your non-victims were on pills—you know, like the kind they use for date rape, or something like that. The driver had spilled the goods, so to speak, and somebody didn’t want him explaining why he was transporting twelve underage girls.” He shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows at the same time.

The room went quiet until Amy broke the silence. “How do you know so much about this stuff?”

Chapter Six

Ellen bailed out of the Subaru before her mother had even set the brake and ran into the house. When Dorothy entered, Ellen was standing in the living room with her hands on her hips. Her mother had only done this once before.

“What happened to my door and the bathroom door?”
 

Her mother put her purse on the coffee table and sat on the couch, patting the cushion next to her. “Come, sit. Let’s talk like two adults.”

Ellen stomped over and sat across from her mother in the big wingback chair. “What?”

Whenever her mother was angry at a customer of the medical supply house where she worked, at her boss, or at her daughter, Ellen noticed that her clipped English and thick Russian accent surfaced.
 

She was definitely mad.

“You are right, of course. Your relations with Steven are none of my business.” She paused as if searching for her next line. “What is my business is your education.”

Ellen rolled her eyes. Here it came. Her mother had come to the United States with only a Ukrainian peasant’s understanding of the world and no formal education. Her only talents had been in the kitchen.

“I arrived in New York City with only the ability to cook. I became a domestic. I want more for you.” She paused, but continued when Ellen sat in silence. “Your Mrs. Stafford said that the school policy is that you and I must come to her office for counseling before you may return. We must speak of other things first.”

Ellen folded her arms tightly across her chest. “She is not ‘my’ Mrs. Stafford and I’m not going back to school.”

Her mother stood. Ellen could see the cords in her neck.

“You will go back to school because I say you will go.”

Ellen stood, ignoring her tears. “I will not! And you can’t make me.”

Moving faster then Ellen had ever seen her move her mother crossed the floor. “You will go because I am your mother.”

Ellen took a ragged breath and stomped her foot. “No.”

In the next moment, her face was stinging and she was running out the front door.

One block away the park had always been a place of seclusion. She even had a secret haven, deep in the woods among the tall trees and the ferns. Now, she stumbled headlong off the trail, never feeling the branches that slapped at her, or hearing the birds or the creek in the distance.

All she heard echoing in her head were the imagined taunts and laughter of her classmates. The ‘I told you so’ from one girl who once told her that putting out was the only way to keep your boyfriend.