Book Five, Chapter 120: The Scholar

🔴 REC    SEP 25, 2018 07:35:02    [▮▮▮▮▯ 80%]

 

I arrived to a Camp Dyer in chaos.

I could hear screaming in the woods, and I set myself on filming it. Of course, not getting caught was important too—I did technically have the lowest plot armor. If Camden was really here, that would mean we were tied. In a way, I liked that because it meant I could protect him.

I just had to find him first.

That wasn’t the hardest thing ever.

I could see his handiwork everywhere.

Canonically, they had been here for a day or so. Maybe a bit more, but as I surveyed the traps sprung around the camp, I realized that this could not have all been done in that time. He and Anna must have worked Off-Screen.

One Generation Killer hung by the ankle from a rope. Another one was trying to help him down.

In the distance, about half a football field away, I saw a Generation Killer crawling out of a hole and cursing someone in the distance. As I ran toward him, I saw that the hole had been dug into the sand at the volleyball pit next to the forest, right across from Dyer’s Lodge.

Zooming in, I saw a tarp had been placed over it. As I got closer, I saw him clutching his leg, which had been skewered by a sharpened stick.

Suddenly, the red jewel he wore around his neck started to glow, and in an instant, he disappeared.

Moments later, another Generation Killer walked out of the woods with a slight limp, stared down at the hole, and said, “I’m going to have to make you pay for that, there, sport.”

Suddenly, I realized why they had the trope Headshots Only. Any major damage you did to them would allow them to time travel, recover, and then return.

And since they were also immune to any trap they had fallen for or seen someone fall for, they would never be hurt by that trap again.

I was far enough away that he didn’t see me.

He also didn’t see when Antoine ran up behind him and pushed him back into the hole.

I ran over in that direction, and as I filmed into the hole, it was clear that this time, he was not going to get back out.

A stake had embedded itself in his chest.

I stepped down into the hole, carefully avoiding the sharpened sticks, grabbed the jewel from around his neck, and shoved it into my pocket.

My plan had been to grab them off as many of the men as I could, but ideally, I would be grabbing them off living Generation Killers, not dead ones.

Still, I saw the shiny thing, and I grabbed it, following my plan.

A strange thing happened afterward.

The Generation Killer I had just stolen the jewel from disappeared—but not like he had previously when he time traveled.

It almost looked like he was washed away, as if some invisible wave had just pushed him across the ground, dragging the spike that had skewered his heart with him. And as he was dragged, he sank into the ground until I didn’t see him anymore.

I looked up at Antoine, and he looked down at me.

“What the heck?” he said.

“I have no idea,” I said, shaking my head. “We have to go find the others.”

Antoine nodded.

We started to run into the woods, toward a group of buildings where Anna said Camden would be.

In the distance, I saw a small cabin, and through the window, there was a red glow.

That would be Anna—the original Anna—disappearing. She had chopped her own fingers off or at least one of them.

Not far from this cabin was a larger building, a cantina, where the campers could buy food and other treats.

There were four Generation Killers standing at the entrance.

Camden was somewhere inside.

They banged on the door and screamed at him, saying something I couldn’t quite hear. But it didn’t strike the normal tone—it was that off, slightly friendly manner that would creep anyone out if they heard it.

There was no response, so one of the men grabbed the door handle and opened the door.

That was a mistake.

As he opened the door, something up above them fell out of a window. It had a string tied to it. A simple trap.

That thing was a giant pot of boiling oil.

It fell directly onto the Generation Killers standing there.

They all started to scream in agony, with two of them moving quickly away from the building as they started to glow red and disappeared.

The other two just dropped to the ground, grasping their faces as their skin melted off until they passed out—whether from pain, blood loss, or whatever it is that kills you when you have boiling oil dumped on you.

Then the strange phenomenon I had noticed before happened again.

One of them—one that looked like he had died first—started to move along the ground, as if being pushed. He slowly fell into the ground, leaving behind a bracelet with a red jewel on it.

Not twenty seconds later, the other one—the one that had gotten the worst of the oil—did the same. He scooted along the ground as if being pushed by a gentle wave until he phased below the earth, leaving behind a necklace with a jewel on it.

I didn’t know what to make of that.

Shortly after, two more Generation Killers ran toward the building, both of them sporting burn scars on their faces.

They had traveled to a different time, healed up, and then returned.

This time, they entered the building with a vengeance.

“Where are the others?” I asked Antoine.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“There must be more Killers around here,” I said. “Hopefully everyone is safe.”

“Hopefully he’s safe,” Antoine said, eyeing the building where we knew Camden to be.

I could hear him screaming in there, but not a scream of pain—more of rage.

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“If you come any closer, I’m going to make you wish you had killed me!” Camden yelled.

Antoine and I were too far away to get there quickly.

We ducked behind a bush when a group of Generation Killers approached the building.

“What do we do?” Antoine asked. “They’re about to kill him.”

I would have agreed.

Except I saw something that all the Generation Killers had not.

There was a trampoline set up on the side of the building, right next to the side where the boiling oil had been spilled.

The trampoline was right beneath one of the upstairs windows.

“Quick, follow me,” I said.

Instead of going directly toward the building, we angled around and circled it so that we could run toward the trampoline.

Sure enough, moments after we started running toward it, the window opened, and my childhood best friend jumped out.

He landed on the trampoline with a pained look on his face, bounced a few times, then rolled off the side.

He had blood all over himself. His Hawaiian shirt had been torn in several places. The blood was largely dried. He looked pale and sweaty. His arm was missing at the elbow, but it had been bandaged up.

As soon as he was off the trampoline, he reached into his pocket, withdrew a small silver object, flicked it, and then held it up—a Zippo lighter.

He gently tossed it through a first-floor window, right next to the trampoline, then turned and ran.

The surprise on his face when he saw me and Antoine was genuine—and a bit out of character, because his character wouldn’t know us.

Still, he ran to us quickly.

I thought he was going for a hug, but clearly, he was trying to usher us away from the building.

And for good reason.

We turned and ran with him—

—just as the building behind us became engulfed in flames with a loud roar of an explosion.

The force was so strong that it pushed us forward, and I fell to the ground, protecting the camera—making sure to turn back and get a good look at the wreckage.

Only one burst of red light. From about seven men who were inside.

Not a bad ratio.

As we stood up, Camden started to say something, but Antoine interrupted him.

“Your friend Anna came and told us that we had to save you.”

Camden froze for a moment, then started nodding his head.

“Yeah? You know Anna? Where is she? Is she okay?”

“She was fine last time we saw her,” I said. “Come on. We have to go. We have to meet the others at the rendezvous point.”

■ STOP

 

I turned off the camera so that we could have a moment with Camden.

Both Antoine and I hugged him, and Camden got emotional.

“You came… I can’t believe it worked,” he said. “I can’t believe it all worked.”

He had theoretically died believing rescue tropes were a thing of the past and had clung to the hope that what he read in the Atlas was true. The relief he was feeling was palpable.

“All because of you,” I said. “We got it figured out as best as we could. We couldn’t have done any of it without you.”

“So… everyone else at Camp Dyer…?” he started to say.

“Everything went according to plan,” I said, “and we have a lot of rescuing to do—starting with you.”

He nodded and stared down at the ground.

“These guys are fucking crazy, Riley,” he said.

“Yeah, and you’re going to tell us all about it too—but first, we have to get out of here.”

“Yeah. Let’s go,” he said. “Honestly, I thought that if I asked Anna to bring you guys back here to save me, that Carousel would do something terrible.”

“There’s still time,” I said.