Expecting to Die

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20 Years Ago
Camp Horseshoe, Oregon
T
hey were all bitches. Every last one of them. Why she’d come out tonight and
agreed to this sickening plan, Monica didn’t know. And now she was ready to
back out, to leave them waiting.
She jogged through the darkness, her sneakers squishing along the sandy path
that ran through the looming dark fir trees and twisted pines, misshapen from
years of abuse by the battering winds. The roar of the surf was in her ears, the
smell of the sea in her nostrils, the sheer darkness broken by the opalescence of a
full moon rising above a fog bank laying out to sea. And there was more, the hint
of malevolence like the smell of wood smoke from a faraway forest fire, wafting
thinly in the air.
Malevolence? No way. That’s just your guilt eating at you.
Setting her jaw, beginning to sweat, she headed directly to the cavern where
the others—the bitches—were probably already waiting. At the thought of her
“friends” the acid in her stomach curdled. She didn’t really like any of them, not
athletic and sharp-tongued Bernadette and especially not Bernie’s pathetic whiny
little sister, Annette who always purported herself to be a “good girl,” one who
never did anything wrong. Ha! In truth Annette wasn’t much more than a
tattletale, always hoping to get the others into trouble. Well, this time, she
wouldn’t be talking or telling tales, this time Little Nettie was in it up to her self-
righteous eyeballs.
And so are you, that horrid, nagging voice that had been her companion for all
of her eighteen years reminded her. Up to your eyeballs and beyond.
Starting to sweat despite the cool marine air whipping through the forest, she
kept running up the steep incline, all the while batting away spider webs and the
long-needles of the pines.
Her legs were beginning to hurt, her stomach cramping as she crested the hill
and the trees broke away. Here, the path split and she knew she should turn
down hill, toward the cavern where they would be waiting, that was her plan.
Right? Not only Bernadette and her wimp of a sister, but also doe-eyed, self-
righteous Sosi and, the conniving drama queen, Jo-Beth. Ugh! Jo-Beth might
just be the worst of the sorry lot, a girl Monica would never have chosen as a
friend, but now . . . Now...
Her mouth went dry and her stomach twisted at the thought that now she and
the others were not just a group of teens who’d been tossed together as camp

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counselors, but now were so much more, inextricably bound together, she with
these bitches, all of whom have so much more in life than she does. Because of
what they had done, what they all had done.
You’re as guilty as the others.
Elle is missing and it’s your fault.
And, admit it, deep in your heart, you know she’s dead.
“No! Crap! Oh, shut up!” she hissed, her voice drowned by the surf as she
noticed the fog rolling steadily inland, wispy fingers crawling along the
underbrush.
Monica bit her lip, didn’t want to think of the horrid deed that ensured for the
rest of their lives, she and these girls she despised would be forever chained
together by the secrets and lies they’d created.
“Shit,” she whispered and continued along the ridge of this wind-sculpted
dune to an area where the trail wound slightly downward in a ragged loop
toward the camp. She was more careful, her eyes scouring the darkness when
she spied the boulder that marked the end of another pathway, now overgrown,
once used and now nearly forgotten.
Here, the beach grass grew heavy between the twisted trunks while salal grew
in towering clumps, encroaching on the trail. Brambles and berry vines clutched
at her bare legs, scratching and scraping the skin, while, as she ran, small, dry
pine cones crunched beneath the soles of her running shoes. To ensure that she
was on the right path, she pulled a small flashlight from her pocket, risked
shining the beam on the ground, then tucked it away and moved forward.
Inside her mind, the clock was ticking, sand flowing quickly in the hour glass.
The others—the bitches—were probably even now, wondering if she were going
to show, if something had happened to her, or if she were just standing them up.
Too bad. She had something she has to do, something important. Something . .
. life changing. She just had to—
“Ouch!” She stepped into some kind of animal hole in the path and twisted her
ankle, losing her balance and tumbling forward, going down on all fours. “Damn
it all to hell!” she cried, pain throbbing in the wrenched joint. Just what she
needed, a damned sprained or broken ankle.
Sitting on the path, she risked the light again, seeing she’d scraped her knee
on a protruding rock. She rubbed the ankle, massaging away the pain as she
thought of Tyler. Would he be waiting for her? She let out her breath in a heavy
sigh. She’d fallen for him. So hard. So fast. With such wild abandon that she’d
been mad with lust for him and hadn’t cared about the fact that he wasn’t exactly
available.
Oh, fuck it. That was all in the past.

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Wincing, she tried moving her ankle, decided it wasn’t broken nor severely
sprained, just tweaked, so she gingerly climbed to her feet and turned off the
flashlight. She didn’t have time for any distractions or delays. Starting out again,
she was more careful, still jogging but cognizant of the rocks and roots that
could trip her, and more aware of the other dips and valleys in the trail.
Tyler.
Would he be waiting?
After the last time they’d met, when she’d given him the news and he’d been
stunned, she half-expected he wouldn’t show. Absently she rubbed her flat
abdomen and thought about what lay within, beneath the layers of skin and
muscle. Tears threatened her eyes, but she steadfastly pushed them back as the
grass tickled her calves and she nearly tripped on a fallen log, but somehow
managed to leap across it and land softly on the far side.