chapter 1-The Anxiety

Camping - you either hate it or love it. I, for one, hated it. From the uncomfortable lifestyle to the shared accommodations with classmates, it wasn't a pleasant experience nor did it feel like a field trip. 

Some might consider me selfish in this regard,My name is James Walker, and I am who I am.

Many people agree that school life is hard, yet I am one of the very few who don't agree. Not because I have a tendency to be different or have a passion for overworking myself, but because I found school to be an escape from a difficult household, you see my family isn't the friendly type to others or to themselves.

"Rule one: Keep your thoughts to yourself. Rule two: Always look down at your feet when talking to my parents, don't talk back, don't fight back, and definitely don't even think of escaping them. They have legal rights over you. Yes, you heard correctly, I have an abusive household. I am ashamed by that fact, I wish things were different. Though abusive households are not common, it's overlooked by many in society, especially those in law enforcement. The whole bunch doesn't give a rat's ass.

School is my escape, my safe place. That means that camping is also a big part of school. It's my final year, our last year of camping, and school altogether. I deemed this necessary, even with my dislike.

"Jayjay, did you bring it? Tonight's gonna be fuckin' lit!" A voice beside me said, whispering in my ear.

 Not wanting to make a scene on the bus, I respond in kind in a whisper. 

"You fuckin' fatass, don't you have any self-control? I ain't your tuber driver, Tommy," I said. 

"Nah, send it mate, you bring the snacks," Tommy Ford, the legend, the myth, the number one pain in my ass, my best friend. He's a football player, more buff than most his age, tan skin, brown hair. Yet even with such a track record from getting caught smoking and vaping in the bathroom, he was probably the smartest mate I ever knew. Maybe the highest grades in our year. When he would come over, my parents would behave. 

The sheer size of the dog can put anyone on good behaviour, except himself, always causing trouble. Well, mainly because of me. I influence most of his life, so spreading my bad habits is common between us.

 "Jayjay, if I hear another song about wheels of the fuckin' bus, I am gonna grab that tiny red hammer, pull it out of its safety box, and smash it on the window. Then I'm gonna jump out. I'm gonna have another brain cell rot inside my head if I hear another 'round and round.'" 

"Look, put headphones on, I got the snacks, don't worry. Once we get there, everybody's gonna sing another song."I said  "Stuff me, mate, not another song."

I watch the passing scenery fly past, the green field and river lakes. It awes me sometimes, and frightens me that we are destroying the world, our world. Yet I ain't no environmentalist, but I do know who is. I look past the many seats, the multiple bobbing heads. I focus on a blue-highlighted head, a thin silhouette with black headphones, with no partner next to them. 

Though I was tempted to take that seat when we boarded the bus, I knew my place. It's not that she's popular, but she likes her personal space. I try to respect that. Every Monday we talk as we go to the same tutor, yet besides that, every other day she's got her own thing going on. Not even Tommy knows my feelings. 

Another reason school is an escape from my shitting life is because she's there. She ain't smart or outgoing. 

She's mindful, quiet, and keeps to herself a lot. She is an introvert, but once you engage her on a topic she's passionate about, she turns one hundred and eighty degrees, and becomes an extrovert.I lean back in my seat. Maybe camping ain't all that bad.

Two hours later: "You will be divided into six groups. We have a list of names. For the next four days, you will be rotating different activities together. First activity: lake voyage. Hope you brought your swimming gear. Second activity: rock climbing. Th..." I listen to my teacher try to instruct the rest of the classroom. I brought my own gear, as well as everyone else. It ain't hard to do so.

We have reached Weerona Park. 

I look around at the green, lush forest surrounding our group. At least, looking at the weather, it ain't gonna rain.

 "Yo, we're in the same group, let's go!"

 I look at the list board the teacher shows us. From groups one to six, I was in the third row, as well as six others. 

I was pretty much friendly and chill with Mr. Peterson, so he placed Tommy in the same group. And I also notice her as well, the name Ellie. I would be lying to myself that I wasn't excited. I look at her, and what I see is a small figure carrying a large baggage on her back. It was quite the contrast. 

She seemed prepared. She looks at me and nods, acknowledging we were in fact in the same group. Then she walks to the meeting area where we will be discussing the future plan of the camping trip. 

The day was quite the hike. Our instructor, Debbie, said she took this path often with many different schools, yet she kept getting sidetracked. 

I thought, was she even an instructor here? We got lost more than once. After that, we had to do parkour and hiking trips, seeing the mountains, the majestic view , beautiful especially Ellie. 

The others in the group were doing their own thing. Tommy hated cardio, even though he was a unit himself, kept blabbing about "bulking season," he would often say when he was overeating.

The entrance to weerona park.

 "Mr. Peterson, it's an honour for your school to choose our camping site again! And again every year. Ever thought of changing?" Marco said, standing in front of Mr. Peterson.

 "We are content Marco, it's beautiful. I'm sure my students will remember this experience. I made sure everybody has their essentials: water and clothing." 

"Yes, yes. About... there seemed to be a problem. Not with the essentials, but one of my workers, the instructors, they called in sick today.I emailed you about it, and how we had to reorganise the groups and split them evenly among the rest to make space.I didn't get a response, but it seemed like you got it sorted," Marco said. 

"Huh, I don't know what you mean?"

 "Huh, I emailed you yesterday. Did you not receive it?" Marco said, confused.

 "I don't recall. I created groups, and all had their instructors waiting. Once we got here, they will be leading them into different campsites and doing different activities." A silence echoes between them. Something was off, something was not right. Mr. Peterson grabs his phone.

 "Shit, no signal. I can't call the students. Do you have contact with your people?"

 A walkie-talkie was on the side of Marco's belt. Using it, "Respond, do we have a word? Respond with name and group assigned, urgent. Do you copy?"

 "Jamie here, assigned group six." 

"Alice responding, I was assigned group four." As five responses came back, the last one didn't respond. No callback. Waiting more than a minute, Mr. Peterson, was shaking his leg in anxiety.

"Please, please." 

If anything bad happened to his students, then he didn't know how he'd react. He can't. He needed to do something. If they are not responding, then that means only one thing. Actually, a lot of things, but still, it all meant his students were in danger. 

The only group that has not responded is group three. If the instructor is sick, then who in the hell is leading them? He remembered her name was Debbie. 

"Marco, her name, the one that led group three, her name was Debbie. Do you have any records of her?" 

"Debbie? That name isn't recorded here. There is no one named Debbie under my supervision….."