Free The Camp by kit Crumb

surged past the hole into calm waters. Layton pulled with the right oar while keeping the left oar out of the water, spinning the raft around.
    The two men had unzipped their wet suits; Belly sat still, scanning the water with his gun.
    “He’s dead. Nobody could hold his breath that long. Now put the fucking gun away.”
    “Shut up and steer the boat. Cindy said to make sure.”
    Layton shipped the oars. “If you shoot him, there will be a gunshot wound, and when they find him, all bloated but with a hole in him, they’re going to wonder what happened. And then the police will come snooping around. Now, put the fucking gun away.”
    Belly looked over at the guide and reaching into the top of his open wetsuit, pulled out a large baggie, slipped the twenty-two in, and sealed it shut.

    Rye was in the kitchen finishing a bowl of soup and about to bite into half a tuna sandwich when Claire walked in.
    “How’d class go?”
    She sat down and took up the remaining half of the sandwich. “Great. Tuna, my favorite. I’m starved.” She took a bite got up walked to the fridge and returned with a beer. “What you meant to say was how was Amy? And did I ask her if she’d had sex?”
    Rye bobbed his head as he took another bite of the sandwich.  
    “Do we have oral sex?”
    He spasmodically swallowed. “What?”
    Claire grinned and pretended to examine her next bit. “Actually, ‘what?’ is what I said. Amy asked about the oral sex.” She took another bite.
    Rye scrambled to think on his feet. “Why don’t we ask her along for the Illinois thing?”
    She twisted off the beer cap. “So you can ask her more about her sex life?”
    “No. I thought maybe to reestablish our friendly neutrality.”  
    Claire took a sip and slid the bottle across the table. “I’ll check in with Paul, but you invite her. I think it would seem strange if it came from me,” she said smiling.

Chapter Thirteen
    Ellen hated driving with her mother. Dorothy was short and looked through the steering wheel instead of over it. She must have gotten her height from her father. Dorothy’s hands were always inches from each other at the top of the steering wheel. God, and when she turned—instead of hand over hand, she fed the steering wheel with one hand into the other.
    Other parents drove more like Steven: hand over hand. Ellen stopped herself mid-thought. Why was she even using his name, the name of the boy who had ruined her life? She forgot about her mother’s driving and raged through the memories of the carnage his leaving her had resulted in. When she reached the topic of Camp Hiouchi, she hated her mother again.
    “Tell me one more time why you surrendered your custody of me?”
    Her mother dared not turn her head to even glance at her daughter for fear that a car might dart out in front of her at just that moment.
    “Fifty-one percent. You are still my daughter. Mrs. Johnson says that for Camp Hiouchi to receive full state and federal benefits, I must sign over fifty-one percent custody for one year.”
    Ellen folded her arms tight over her chest, scrunched her butt farther back against the seat. “Jesus Christ. One year, and I don’t even get summer vacation.”
    “Ellen, please. We have already talked of this. One year to finish your education, perhaps one year to get un-mad. You would rather go back and talk with Mrs. Stafford?”
    She could feel her ears burn at the mention of the Vice Principal.
    “You will see. Hiouchi is a nice place.”
    Ellen wanted to throw the folder Johnson had given her mother out the window. School five days a week. “Everyone at Camp Hiouchi works.” She said in her most nasal and sarcastic voice. “Tell me just one more time why I’m going to be working in the kitchen?”
    “I signed you up for this because you can cook and the only other choice was maid and I was reminded of your room.” Dorothy chuckled at this.
    “I don’t find any of this funny. These people who I don’t even know