The Wildman Read Online Free PDF Page B

was dead.
    “No fuckin’ clue,” Jeff said, not realizing he had just sworn. He didn’t know what the problem was when the counselor at their table—a guy named Ferguson or “Ferggie”—glared at him.
    Years later, Jeff could never remember what the cook had served that night for supper. Probably Spam, but whatever it was, Jeff knew he didn’t eat much … if anything. The knot in his stomach got so bad he thought he might never be able to eat again. He’d probably end up in the infirmary, where Mrs. Stott, the camp nurse, would force him to eat. All he knew was eating wasn’t what he needed.
    What he needed was to find out what had happened to Jimmy. He wished he could block out the terrible thoughts and images that filled his head. But the tension came to an end when Mr. Farnham, the camp director, entered the dining hall just as the designated campers were clearing the tables before dessert.
    The ashen look on Farnham’s face and the fixed, blank stare in his eyes said it all as he walked to the front of the room by the fireplace and, grabbing the nearest chair, leaned against the back of it with both hands clutching the top spindles. Jeff was close enough to see that Farnham’s lower lip was trembling, and his eyes were filmed with tears.
    Oh Jesus, Jeff thought, shrinking into his seat. I knew it! … I knew it!
    Mr. Farnham cleared his throat, but when he began to speak, his voice choked off. Any other time, this would have gotten a ripple of laughter from the boys, but the room remained stone silent.
    “I—ahh …” Farnham’s voice choked off, and he lowered his head and wiped his eyes. After taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and raised his head. After scanning the assembled campers in silence for a moment, he said, “This is perhaps the most difficult thing I have ever had to do.”
    It was obvious he was struggling to maintain control.
    “After searching the campgrounds and the immediate area, we have— we have found Jimmy Foster.”
    Almost everyone in the room either sighed or gasped, but Jeff’s throat closed off with an audible click. He knew what was coming.
    “Unfortunately—” Once again Farnham’s voice cut off, making him sound like someone was strangling him, “Unfortunately he … uhh … he’s had an accident … a serious accident.”
    Now a collective gasp went up from the campers. Someone—Jeff had no idea who—started to cry.
    “Apparently he came down to the swimming area while it was unattended, and he—uh, he fell into the lake. I—I’m sorry to say this, but unfortunately he … he drowned.”
    Another, louder gasp of shock and surprise went through the crowd. Mr. Farnham’s words echoed in Jeff’s ears like a rolling thunderclap. He clenched his hands into fists as the blood drained out of his head. Tiny white dots of light spun crazily across his vision, and all he could think was: I knew it!
    As stunned as everyone else, he looked at his friends, all seated around the table. A feeling of desperate sadness all but overwhelmed him. He locked eyes with Evan for a moment and felt compelled to say something, but he had no idea what he would say or even if he’d be able to speak.
    The thought that his friends … every single one of them—Evan and Fred and Tyler and Mike … even himself—were going to die froze his voice in his throat. He barely had control of his eyes as he shifted them back and forth from friend to friend and tried to comprehend this horrible thought. The coldness that had gripped him all afternoon settled deeper into his stomach, sending tendrils into his chest.
    He wondered if this feeling of dread would ever go away.
    In that instant, something fundamental had changed in him.
    This was the moment he first realized that life is all too real, and we’re all going to die some day. Even then, he knew it was something he would never be able to ignore or forget.
    “Oh my God,” one of the counselors at a table behind him said in a