Nightmare Academy (19 page)

They returned to Borland, a former mining town trying to put on a new face for tourists. There were tackle shops, Joe Pike's Borland Resort, a mine tour, trout ponds, and a tourist center that offered snowmobiling in the winter and river rafting in the summer.

“What happened to it?” Nate asked.
“It couldn't have just rotted away,
not in so short a time”

Joe treated them to lunch in his restaurant. “Sure. I can remember busloads of kids coming in for a few weeks at the academy. They'd stop in here for snacks and film and to use the restroom, but after that we never saw them. They'd spend all their time up there.”

“And how many years was it here?” Sarah asked between bites of salad.

Joe gave a strange, apologetic look. “Just one.”

Both Nate and Sarah had to double-check, leaning over the table toward him.
"Just one?"

Steve Mackleberg, the owner of the local filling station, shed a little more light on it. “There was a work camp up there for several years, and then the government came in and fixed the whole place up like a YMCA camp. We saw the big yellow buses go by, full of kids, and then two weeks later we saw them all go by again, heading home. I'm not sure what they were doing up there. But you know, you ought to talk to Vicky Johnson, the hairdresser. She and Gus worked up there.”

Vicky Johnson, a local lady who did hair, polished nails, and raised trout, talked while she cut a customer's hair in her one chair beauty shop. “My husband and I got on as assistant caretakers—you know, cutting the grass, sweeping the walks, hauling the garbage, whatever. We worked there for a month to get the place ready for the kids, and then kept it up for the two weeks while the kids were there.”

“Just two weeks?” Nate asked.

“And then they said thank you and ran us out of there. We got our paychecks, put a new roof on the house, and the next thing we knew, the academy wasn't there anymore. Your tax dollars at work.”

“Where did the kids come from?” Sarah asked, ready to write down the answer.

“Oh, all over the country. I know we had a few kids from Denver. The academy recruited kids in the high schools.”

“Um . . . any
particular
schools?”

“Oh, you'd have to talk to—what was her name, anyway? She was the recruiter, in charge of getting kids signed up.”

Sarah looked at the back of the brochure again. “Suzanne Doming?”

“No, no, it was something like Katy or Kathy . . .” With her scissors, she pointed out one of the many photographs and snapshots she had taped to the walls. “Well that's her right there, standing between me and Gus.” Sarah and Nate took a close able lesson and that, once each person had had time to search his or her heart, the solution to the whole problem would become clear to everyone. Mr. Booker didn't care to hear any whining about it and forbade anyone to talk about it, at least in his class. “This is your world,” he said. “You made the bed; you can sleep in it.” Mrs. Meeks and Mr. Stern weren't quite as detached; they just handed the whole problem back with the challenge, “This is your world and you know best. See what you can do and we'll back you.”

“Where did the kids come from?”

That evening, the music was playing as loud as ever in the recreation center, but half the video games were blurping, beeping, and roaring with no one there to hear them and the pool table was deserted. Most of the kids didn't want to leave their rooms for fear that what little possessions they had would not be there when they returned. The talk had gotten around and everyone expected trouble.

It came. Only moments after Elijah had finished his report and hidden his radio, he heard a loud rapping on his window.

“Elijah! Elijah!” It was his sister.

He cracked the window open. “What are you doing here?”

“You're going to be raided! Brett and a whole gang of kids are on their way over here right now!”

Elijah heard a terrible crash at the end of the hall. “I think they've arrived.”

“Don't let them find your radio!”

“Don't worry.”

“I'm going to get somebody in charge. We can't let this go on.”

“Go for it.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don't know—see if I can keep anybody from getting killed, I guess.”

He could already hear a terrible tumult in the hallway. He quickly stepped outside his door, closed it behind him, and stood there, overwhelmed.

There were no fun and games out here. A mob of guys, maybe two dozen strong, were muscling their way into the rooms, getting shoved back by the occupants, kicking the occupants. Two guys trying to push their way into room 13 were rammed backward by a chair in their gut, then tripped over two other guys wrestling and slugging on the floor. Alex was in the hall, taking on all comers with what appeared to be a chair leg. A drawer from a dresser came flying out of room 9, tumbling and spilling shirts and socks on the floor. Brett and a hulking buddy burst from room 10, bellowing in triumph as they stuffed KMs in their pockets, and immediately began trying to shove their way into room 8, right next door to Elijah. It was all happening so fast, so noisily. There were so many bodies running everywhere, banging, throwing, shoving, kicking, hitting. The hallway was filling with drawers, clothing, shoes, bars of soap, towels, anything that could be tossed, trashed, or spilled just to rile the owner. Another chair came flying into the hall, then three drawers, and then a mattress. By now there might have been five all-out fistfights going on, but the fighters were changing opponents so often it was hard to keep track.

Three of Elijah's neighbors, from rooms 3, 4, and 5, were now in the hallway, visibly frightened as they stood near their doors watching a wave of violence come their way

Elijah knew what to do in their case. He spread his arms toward them like a cop doing crowd control. “Guys, get out of here. It isn't worth it.”

Shawn, a meek and mixed-up kid severely lacking in muscle, took Elijah's advice and fled out the far door. Jim, big enough to hold his own but too timid to try it, followed him. That left Warren, the neighborly kid Elijah'd gotten to know. Warren was angry, and stood his ground. “They're not taking my stuff.”

Elijah turned just in time to see three guys coming their way, ready to challenge that. “Warren, it isn't worth it.”

The guy in front, an obvious scrapper with a missing tooth and a face full of pimples, looked at Warren and announced, “Hey, I like those pants!”

It took only microseconds for Elijah to think it through: three against one; if Warren runs, they'll chase him and get what they want. Three against two? Well, at least the odds were better.

“It's worth it,” he concluded, and stepped into their path.

8

CRUSADES AND
INQUISITIONS

E
LISHA WAS FURIOUS as she stormed across the field toward her own dorm building, rehearsing in her mind what argument—or wrestling hold—she would use to get that stupid, inept, irresponsible wimp-of-a-woman Mrs. Meeks to get off her relativistic rump and
do
something about all this! Whether Meeks was in her room or anywhere else, Elisha was going to find her, and no matter what cutesy, feel-good, we-are-the-world, global village glop Meeks might use to excuse all this nonsense, Elisha was going to get some action!