Three escaped convicts stumble across a summer camp and decide to get some rest in an abandoned cabin. They'll be staying longer than they planned.
Chapter Description: Three escaped convicts stumble across a summer camp. They'll be staying a while.
R for language, violence and sexual situations.
This story may be posted at free sites provided proper attribution is given.
WELCOME TO CAMP GATCHASAKA
Copyright 2004 by Scott K. Jamison
The three escapees slogged through the forest, alternately blessing and cursing the half-moon’s light.
"How long since we left the car, Gregors?" asked the tallest.
"By where the moon is, I’d say about three hours. But I ain’t no Boy Scout anymore, Polanski."
"My feet are sore. Can’t we rest soon?" whined the shortest of the trio.
Polanski snarled. "It’s your own fault for letting the gas run out,
Shuster. Little punk. If you hadn’t been Gregors’ cellmate, and needed to spook the security system, I’d have waxed you like we did that guard."
"You didn’t have to kill him," insisted Shuster. "Just knock him out a little."
Gregors cuffed the smaller man in the head. "Shut up, Shuster! Just ’cause you ain’t got the guts to commit murder don’t give you the right to act all superior."
Shuster cringed before his cellmate, then began walking forward again. Life just wasn’t fair. He kept getting pushed around and -- "Ow! Motherfucker!"
"What now, Shuster?" Polanski advanced cautiously. "Oh, I get it, barbed wire. Must be private property near here."
Now that they were looking for it, the fence was easy to spot in the half-light. Judging by the amount of underbrush nearby, it hadn’t been well-maintained, but it still had sharp barbs.
Gregors ran a hand along his stubbled scalp. "Shit, and right where we want to go, too. You want to go around, Polanski?"
"No, my cousin’s place is still a good thirty miles in this direction, and who knows how far out of our goddamn way that might take us. I say we look for a good place to sneak through the fence. And if anyone spots us, well, I still got five bullets in the gun."
The two men laughed harshly, with Shuster belatedly joining in.
It didn’t take them long to find a place where the wires sagged and could be pulled enough to let a man through. There was a sign on the fence a few yards away.
"What’s it say, Gregors?"
"Not a whole lot, Polanski. Hunters musta been using it for target practice. Uhh... ’erty o’ Camp Gatchasaka, Tre’assers wi’ be -- that’s it."
The tall man grunted. "Great. Some kind of summer camp I guess. We’ll have to be real quiet."
"Think we can get some teenage snatch while we’re here?" asked Gregors.
"We haven’t got *time*," said Shuster, knowing that objecting on moral grounds would be fruitless.
"Shrimp’s right," admitted Polanski. "Besides, it might be a boys’ camp."
Once through the fence, the men quickly found a trail headed in the direction they wanted. After another three-quarters of an hour of cautious walking, a rectangular shadow loomed ahead of them.
Gregors motioned for silence, then scouted forward. He returned a few minutes later.
"It’s a cabin for the campers. ’G’ on the door. But it looks like no
The door was unlocked, and opened with a whisper. As Gregors had said, the cabin had no one inside. But the bunks were made, twelve short ones and one larger one for a counselor. The counselor’s trunk held several working flashlights, and feminine clothing.
Shuster played his flashlight over the bunks, careful not to point it at the windows. "Yep, this is a girls’ cabin. Guess they’re on an all-night hike or something."
Polanski stretched himself and cracked his neck. "Hey, I got an idea. Let’s hole up here for a few hours. Get some rest, then head out before dawn. And Shuster, you’re going to rustle us some grub."
"How am I going to do that without getting spotted?"
"See that big building over there? That should be the mess hall. And you’re not going to be wearing that orange jumpsuit."
"Huh?" Shuster saw a malicious grin on Polanski’s face as the bigger man held up a denim miniskirt. "No fucking way!"
Gregors grabbed Shuster’s arm. "You’re the only one of us small enough to wear those clothes, so you gotta be the one to do it. I’m hungry too, you know. Now strip!"
Intimidated, Shuster was soon down to his skivvies.
"Those, too," commanded Polanski. "You’re going to do this right."
The cotton panties were nearly at the limit of their elastic around
Shuster’s waist, but there was sagging at the butt. Handfuls of tissue paper filled out a modest bra, over which went a "Camp Gatchasaka" T-shirt. The denim skirt had much the same problem as the panties, but did provide a more feminine silhouette. Sandals with a bit of heel went on Shuster’s small feet, and a curly blonde wig topped the outfit off.
"Why’s she got a wig?" wondered Shuster.
Polanski shrugged. "Who can understand women? You make a pretty ugly dame, but if anyone sees you that close up, you’re probably sunk already."
"I don’t know, I think she looks fuckable," sneered Gregors.
"So did that police decoy," shot back Shuster.
"Just get going, already."
As Shuster crept out the door, Polanski picked up a paperback that had been lying on one of the bunks. "Sugar Mountain Junior High: Dating Daze" was the title.
"Gregors, you get a little shut-eye. I’ll keep watch until the sissy-boy gets back."
Gregors lay back on one of the bunks, his feet sticking well over the end. "Yeah, it’s been a long day."
Shuster walked until he found a tree big enough to block line of sight from the cabin, then ducked behind it. He pulled a pack of Camels and a matchbook from the skirt’s pocket.
"Typical. I didn’t arrange to bring along food or money, but I just
*gotta* have my smokes."
His mind drifted back to the first time he’d tried cigarettes, only a few years back. Not too long after Shuster had come to the joint, he’d gotten the shakes pretty badly, and the nicotine helped calm the cocaine cravings.
"Oh, yeah, I’ve always been weak, haven’t I?"
He’d told himself he could kick the cocaine after his first conviction, the one with the suspended sentence. But Shuster had been weak, and soon he was right back on the nose candy, with a habit bad enough that he’d had to embezzle to cover the cost. The judge had thrown the book at him, not that he hadn’t deserved it. And now he’d added escaping from prison and accessory to murder.
Shuster lit a match. "If they catch me, I’m going up forever. Damn, I wish I was a better person." He touched the match to his cigarette, and took a deep drag.
And went into a convulsive coughing fit. He doubled over with the force of his coughing, and spit out the cigarette. "Shit, that tasted awful." Must have been a bad batch of tobacco or something, he thought.
Raising a sandaled foot, Shuster ground out the cigarette with his
heel, and spit a few times. Nothing was going right tonight. He reached inside the T-shirt, and pulled a tissue out of the bra. In there tighter than he thought, he’d had to tug on it. Shuster wiped his chin and inside his mouth, trying to lessen the foul taste.
"It’s like I never smoked before or something. Well, better get going; Polanski’s going to get impatient."
Polanski was a bit surprised to see the shadow of Shuster moving again so soon. Usually the little punk took four, five minutes to smoke. (The flare of a match had tipped Polanski off.) He was amused to see that the sandals were apparently giving Shuster a little wiggle in his walk.
Well, back to the book. Jasmine’s archrival Tiffany had tricked Josh into thinking that Jasmine had been grounded, so that he would ask her to the dance instead.
Polanski knew what he would do in that situation. An "accident" with a butcher knife would put paid to that Tiffany bitch. Just like it had with his ex-wife. Or maybe an electrical cord, like he’d used on his ex’s new boyfriend. Certainly he wouldn’t just sit around and mope like Jasmine was.
"Hey, Polanski?" Gregors’ voice was unusually soft for him.
Without turning around, Polanski grunted, "Yeah?"
"I need to piss."
"There’s an outhouse over that way," said Polanski, pointing into the darkness.
"Alone?" Gregors sounded much higher-pitched.
Polanski snorted. "You scared, Gregors? We got flashlights, don’t we?"
"N-no! I’m not scared!" Gregors went out the door.
Polanski returned to his book. It was getting really good, which amazed him in something written for little girls.
Gregors’ hand shook as he tried to narrow the flashlight’s beam so it wouldn’t be seen from other cabins. For some reason, he was scared. The darkness frightened him, and the wind blowing through the trees made a moaning sound like ghosts.
"Come on, Gregors, it’s not like you’re a little kid!" A chill ran up
his spine as the wind came through his sleeveholes.
"Think happy thoughts."
Gregors thought of women. Soft, inviting women with enormous breasts, and vaginas slick with readiness for his thrusting. His loins stirred, and his courage increased.
"Yeah, as soon as I’m out of this prison outfit, I’m gonna score me some babes. Find me a nice pretty one, who’s just asking for it, and sweep her away to a private place, so we can party, just her and me."
But this time he was going to make sure she didn’t have a gun and a badge first.
That promise in mind, Gregors reached the outhouse, with its
traditional crescent moon insignia, and characteristic stink. His nose wrinkled, but he’d smelled a lot worse in prison.
Inside, Gregors put down the flashlight, and opened the Velcro on his fly. To his surprise, he couldn’t seem to find his penis to whip it out.
"Must be more tired than I thought. Okay, I’ll take a dump first."
He pulled down the jumpsuit, which fell off more easily than usual, as though Gregors had lost weight. Then he sat down on the hole, grateful for a reasonably clean toilet seat.
A couple of loafs later, Gregors heard a scuttling noise in the darker corner of the outhouse. It made him nervous, and he grabbed the flashlight to get a better look.
A spider! Gregors shrieked a little in panic, and the pee gushed out. Strangely, it all seemed to be going down the hole rather than across the room. But that was okay by him. He wiped, and reassembled the jumpsuit.
"Man, I really must have crapped a ton of shit, with how baggy this thing is."
Apparently, the jumpsuit had stretched too, and Gregors was forced to roll up the sleeves and legs to move properly.
It was still dark and scary outside, and Gregors started thinking good thoughts again. Of women -- no, Mommy, with her large breasts and "child-bearing hips".
"I can hardly wait until I have my own boobies. Then boys will treat me nice like they do the older girls."
Polanski was still reading his book when Gregors came back in. He was looking much smaller, and Gregors blinked. She must be getting sleepy again. Polanski sure would be in trouble if the counselor caught him up reading so late.
Gregors shed the jumpsuit, not really sure why she’d had it on in the first place, and changed into her Powerpuff Girls pajamas. She slid gratefully under the covers, and soon was fast asleep.
The flashlight was getting awfully heavy, as were Polanski’s eyelids. But he had to stay up to make sure Shuster didn’t screw up. Besides, this story was really good. For some reason, the author’s choice of words had gotten much more sophisticated, and Polanski was finding it much slower going. He was very impressed that such advanced vocabulary was in a kiddie book.
He brushed his hair out of his face again. Maybe he should put it in a braid or something tomorrow, it was always getting in the way. Polanski wondered if Josh, Jasmine’s boyfriend, liked braids. He sounded so dreamy.
What was taking Shuster so long? There was only one more chapter in the book, and Polanski had to know... how it... turned...
The flashlight and book fell to the bunk, and the cabin was filled with the sound of gentle snoring.
Shuster felt his way along the mess hall wall on the shadowed side until he found a door. Locked, of course, but it looked like a really cheap lock. He pulled a hairpin from the wig, which thankfully stayed in place, and bent it a bit.
"Breaking and entering now. What you learn in stir... there!"
He’d guessed right, this was the kitchen storage area. Of course, as he looked around, Shuster realized this wasn’t going to be that easy.
"Yeah, they’ve got a lot of campers, so everything’s in bulk. Lessee, what’s portable?"
After a few minutes of searching, Shuster decided on two loaves of white bread and several handfuls of raisins in a garbage sack.
Shuster was halfway back to Cabin G when he heard a fatal, "Hey! Who’s there!" and had a flashlight beam play across him. He froze in his tracks, dropping the sack.
"Is that you, Shelley?" asked the voice, now clearly identifiable as male.
Shuster pitched his voice high, "Yes, it’s me." Wow, that had come out somewhere in bat-screech territory.
"You don’t need to be that nervous. It’s just me, Ted." The man played the flashlight beam over himself.
All right, the word "man" might have been a touch much, thought Shuster. Ted was more like a very tall boy. His skin still hadn’t entirely cleared up, and that thing on his upper lip wasn’t really a mustache. But he had a nice firm jawline, and the tight T-shirt and camp shorts really showed off his ripped muscles. Despite himself, Shuster was a little jealous.
"What are you doing out here after lights out, Shelley? You know that’s not allowed."
Shuster shuffled a foot and twirled a bit of the wig around his finger, trying to keep Ted from seeing his face clearly.
"Well, the kids were really, really hungry, so I thought I’d get them a midnight snack."
"That’s against the rules, too, Shelley. But I might be persuaded to forget it... if you gave me a little sugar." Ted moved a lot closer.
Shuster backed up. "I really don’t think that’s such a good idea."
Though Ted’s presence was oddly... exciting.
"We don’t want to have to wake up the Director, do we? That would be bad for all of us." Ted advanced again, gently taking hold of Shuster’s left wrist.
"Well, I suppose, just a little." Shuster figured that if the kid
caught wise, it’d be easier to knock him out at close range.
Ted pulled Shuster closer, putting his other arm around the shorter man’s waist, then planted a kiss on his lips. Up close he smelled of mosquito repellent and sweat. Shuster could feel what he hoped was a roll of quarters pressing against his hip.
The kiss felt really good, and Shuster started to panic. "Not gay, not gay."
"What was that, Shelley?" Ted’s hand drifted south. "You have a nice ass."
Shuster shivered. Gregors had said the same thing a few times,
supposedly joking. He tried to push Ted away, only to squish his chest against the boy’s. There was the rustling sound of tissues being squashed.
"Uhh, I stuff my bra. You won’t tell anyone, will you, Ted?"
The hand on Shuster’s buttocks was drifting towards the front of his skirt. "More than a mouthful’s a waste anyways."
Okay, now it was getting dangerous. No way Shuster could let Ted find out what was under the hood. "Sorry, but that’s enough sugar for one night... Sugar. The kids are going to be wondering what happened to me."
"C’mon, just a little more..."
"No!" Shuster pushed hard enough to finally pry Ted off. "I’m going now!"
"Same time tomorrow night?" called Ted.
Shuster flipped him the bird.
Shuster was feeling decidedly weird. He’d started out worried about being spotted as a man in drag, gone to worrying about being a queer, and now he was just mostly mad at Ted for being such a pushy jerk. His chest heaved, and the tissue paper scratched under the bra. Shuster pulled out most of it as he reached the cabin. Odd, it almost felt like there were real breasts under there.
Inside the cabin, Shuster picked up the lit flashlight on the bunk.
Polanski looked so cute when she was asleep. Shuster stripped off her enormous jumpsuit, maneuvered her into a Barbie nightshirt, and tucked her into her bunk. Thankfully, Gregors had put herself to bed.
Shuster sighed as she folded the jumpsuits and arranged them in a neat pile, with the dead guard’s gun on top. She’d have to do something with those later. But right now Shuster needed to sit down and rest for just a moment...
Shelley wasn’t very happy when the sunshine forced its way under her eyelids in the early morning. It didn’t feel like she’d slept more than a couple of hours. But as a counselor, she had responsibilities.
"Up and at ’em, munchkins! Time for breakfast!"
Polly and Gigi acted about as sleepy as Shelley felt, but at least they seemed to be over the tummyaches that had prevented them from going on the overnight hike.
Shelley supervised dressing (she decided to wear the same outfit; true, she’d slept in it, but it wasn’t too bad), toilet time and washing up at the outdoor fountain. Then it was off to the mess hall. It looked like someone had picked up the bag Shelley had dropped last night.
She stopped a moment, confused. Shelley couldn’t quite recall why she’d gone to the mess hall last night. Come to think of it, why had Ted been out after lights out? He wasn’t the duty patrol counselor. It was all a little fuzzy. Shelley shrugged and followed her charges into the hall.
A hearty breakfast made all of them feel considerably better, at least until the Director came by the table. He towered over Shelley, and said, "Miss Shuster, I’d like you to bring Polly and Griselda by my office when you’re done eating."
"My name’s Gigi!" protested the younger girl.
The Director smiled. "Of course it is."
Shelley felt a little nervous. Had the Director found out about her excursion the previous night? She hoped he wouldn’t fire her; she needed the money for her college fund.
Outside the Director’s office was a little boy Shelley didn’t
immediately recognize, though he seemed familiar. He was kicking his heels against the legs of the chair he was sitting in.
"Oh, hi, Shelley." But he recognized her. "The Director says you and the stupid girls can go right in."
Polly stuck her tongue out at the boy, who replied in kind.
Shelley was slightly awed by the Director’s office. She’d never seen so many sports and hunting trophies in one place before.
"Close the door behind you."
"I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve called you all here today." The Director snapped his fingers.
Polanski started. "Son of a bitch!"
"Where’s my fucking dick?" asked Gregors in an incongruous chirp.
It was as though a light went on in Shuster’s head. Suddenly he
remembered who he was, and who he’d been for the last few hours.
"You... you did this?"
"Yep." The Director grinned. "Once you crossed the line on to my
property, I could do anything I wanted to you. Did you really think stopping in a cabin was a good idea? Let alone dressing a grown man in a teenage girl’s clothing?"
"Turn us back now, motherfucker, or I’ll -- "
The Director stood. He was a very tall man. "I’d watch my language if I were you, little girl. And you’re certainly in no position to make threats."
Polanski was undeterred. "Get him!" He grabbed a bowling trophy off a nearly shelf as a weapon, while Gregors just launched himself forward, fists flying.
The combat was brief, lasting only as long as necessary for the
Director to grab the two escapees and deposit them back next to
Shuster. Neither of them had managed to land a single blow.
"Shuster, you yellow bastard! You’re still the same size, why didn’t you help us?" squeaked Gregors.
"He turned us into girls, you fucking rapist! You think he’d let us in here if we could actually hurt him? Besides, I kind of want to hear what he has to say."
The Director sat on a corner of his desk. "Very astute of you, Shuster. Let me lay it out for you ladies this way. On this land, I am judge, jury and executioner. There is no ’fair trial’, no higher appeal. Only my entirely arbitrary decisions."
"What are you, anyway?" asked Polanski.
"Some of my colleagues like to call themselves gods. I’m not so sure. What I am, is in charge. I amuse myself by interfering in the lives of lesser beings such as yourselves."
"I’m not so sure I want to be amusing," said Shuster. "What do we have to do to get our real bodies back?"
The Director smiled broadly. "You make a choice. You *could* go back to being who you were, escaped convicts facing life in prison -- at best, and you will be waking up in custody. Or you could take the new lives I’ve picked for you and start with a clean slate."
"Wait," said Gregors. "You’re saying the cops won’t know we look different now? No one’s going to be looking for us?"
"Three corpses in prison uniforms will be found at the bottom of a cliff not too far from here. A tragic accident, but I don’t think there will be too many tears shed."
Polanski had a sly expression on his cute face. "You only control what happens in this camp, right?"
"Yes." The Director gestured at a map on the wall. "Once you’re beyond the borders of Gatchasaka, you’ll be free to do whatever you want. Oh, and it’s not ’all or none.’ If any of you chooses to go back to the old life, that one will be found miraculously alive. Though you might have to do some fancy explaining about the corpses."
Shuster thought furiously. He wasn’t too keen on being a woman, but what good was a penis behind bars? Besides, Shelley was only sixteen. He could make something of himself as her, if he could keep off the cocaine. Then Shuster realized that he hadn’t craved cocaine once since he’d woken up this morning. Or cigarettes. Or even booze. For the first time in years, he was clean. Why go back to a wasted life?
"I’m willing to go for it."
The Director nodded. "Very well, Shuster. And you two?"
Polanski and Gregors had their heads together and were whispering furiously. "We got to decide right now?" asked Polanski.
There was more whispering, and the pair turned to the Director, trying to look innocent. "We’ll take it," said Gregors.
"Say goodbye to your old lives, then," instructed the Director. After a dramatic pause, he snapped his fingers again.
It wasn’t so much that the lights turned off in Shuster’s head, as that the mental furniture was rearranged. She knew that she was Shelley, and that she was a sixteen-year-old girl, and that she wanted to have sex with a man someday. But she also remembered that she’d once been a man herself, and what it had felt like to be him and make love to a woman. It was very disconcerting.
The Director reached down and tousled the hair of the two smaller girls. "Now, Polly, Griselda, are you going to be *good* little girls?"
"Yes, Mr. Director!"
"My name’s Gigi!"
"Excellent! Then off with you two, I hear you’re making Popsicle stick birdhouses in crafts today."
"Yay!" chorused Polly and Gigi. Working together, they were able to get the office door open and went skipping off.
Shelley eased the door closed again. "Are you sure you can trust
Gregors and Polanski?"
"I don’t have to. They’re dead."
Shelley felt her heart chill. "But, but they just -- "
The Director went back behind his desk. "Polly and Gigi are completely different from the people they were before. No common genetic material, no memories, no similarity of personality. True, the lifeforce is the same, but for all practical purposes, it’s a death sentence."
Shelley shuddered. "You did that -- "
"Some of my colleagues would call it mercy," said the Director,
shrugging. "You’re not getting off that easily."
"That was easily?"
"Those two had no intention of reforming. They were just going to lie low long enough for their bodies to catch up with their plans, and go right back to a life of crime. Their new personalities are much less likely to take that path. You, on the other hand, actually want to make good on a new life. So I’m giving you that chance. You’ll have to live with the memories of who you were, and struggle every day not to fall back into the old ways."
Shelley could breathe again. "I... see. I’ll try not to let you down."
"See that you don’t. Oh, and could you take Teddy over to Cabin C and get him settled in?"
The little boy was still kicking his chair in the waiting room. He
looked very familiar, and suddenly Shelley realized where she’d seen him before.
He looked up. "Took you long enough. Sorry about trying to force you last night. That was wrong."
"And the Director did this to you?" asked Shelley.
"Yup. I can be a counselor again in a week or so, if I can keep out of trouble. But that’s the way it goes around here. Welcome to Camp ’Gotcha, sucker’."
They laughed all the way out of the building.
Comments, questions? SKJAM!