Thread: Welcome to Camp Hell (Kassy & brenda brunette)

Kassy Moon plugged her phone into the car stereo and tried to cue up her music catalog. Shit, no service ...this is gonna suck soooo bad! I knew I shouldn't have listened to you. I should have taken that part time job in the mall food court. Instead I agreed to listen to my dumb brother and take some job to work out in the middle of fucking nowhere, no cell service and there is probably gonna be bugs and snakes and bears...THIS IS GONNA FUCKING SUCK! She whined. I told you, you should have preloaded your phone with some tunes, you laugh at me for still having a MP3 player, but now look who's laughing. And if you think working like some dimwit in the food court is gonna be better than this then you really are as blonde as they say. This is gonna fucking rock, we get to rehab this camp, make money and hang out in the woods with other cool people. Johhny Moon said pulling the small black device out of his pocket and handing it to his younger step sister. She grabbed it and quickly scrolled through his catalog of music, Oh this is all shit...don't you have any Missy Elliot or Nikki Minaj? Hell no, here put this on. He said taking his eyes off the long dirt road just long enough to point out an artist on the digital screen. Jesus Johnny keep your eyes on the road, you're gonna put us in the ditch and kill us both! Kassy scolded her older brother, smacking his hand away. Who the hell is Sturgil Simpson anyway...I've never heard of him. He won a grammy for the best new country artist this year. He's the real deal too, not any of the 'bro-country' bullshit. Johnny responded, swerving back onto the road. eww, country music is gross. Why can't you listen to Scream metal like all the other guys your age? Kassy joked, picking on her brother. Can we atleast roll up the windows and put on the AC, it's hotter than hell. Gimme that! Johnny said, grabbing his MP3 player back. No AC it's broken Kass, and if you think it's hot now, wait till we get out to the woods and start working. Johnny added in, again taking his eyes off the road to fiddled with the electronic device. He cued up His Sturgil Simpson playlist HOLY FUCK JOHN, LOOK OUT! Kassy suddenly screamed, and John looked up with terrified speed, seeing someone in the road. He swerved the car, almost loosing control. The evasive maneuver wasn't enough and John would have hit the man if he hadn't jumped out of the way at the last second. John spiked the breaks and the car came to a dusty skidding halt 50 yards down the road. What the fuck was that? John asked in a gasping tone. A hitchhiker...and you almost fucking killed him, you moron. Kassy answered, also heaving with adrenaline. We gotta see if he's okay. He's getting up, he's prolly alright. Besides we are full up with gear, we couldn't give him a ride even if we wanted to. Johnny said, letting off the brake and letting the car start to roll forward again. You are such a jerk. Kassy scolded. Hank Weller had been hitchhiking for the passed three hours. His pack was loaded with gear and the temperature was nearing 100 degrees by noon. Walking in heat had never been a problem for him though, he'd done 4 tours in the Afgan desert, but that was a dry heat, this was an oppressive humid heat and he was feeling it pretty hard. Unfortunately the only car he'd seen had almost hit him. He'd jumped out of the way and come tumbling down into the ditch, by the time he'd crawled out they'd left him high and dry without so much as even asking if he was alright. Hank had been discharged from the Marines a few months ago thanks to some Psychiatrist's diagnosis of PTSD. Seeing your whole platoon get wiped out in an ambush will have that effect on a man. He'd worked odd jobs when he'd gotten back to the states, and when he saw the ad for an experienced camp counselor with handy man skills he jumped at the chance. If he could command soldiers then telling a bunch of kids what to do should be a walk in the park. Hank looked at his watch, huffing he set his pack down and opened the side pouch. Inside was his shaving kit, he opened it and pulled out the brown bottle of prescription pills the doctor had superscribed him. He didn't like taking them, but the doctor had insisted, anti-psychotics. He'd forgone telling his new employers about them, as he didn't see it as any of their business. He swallowed them down with a drink off of his canteen and replaced the shave kit, tucking it back in, right next to the .45 Colt. He still had miles to go before he reached the camp, and he just hoped someone, a far more responsible driver hopefully, might come down the road and let him catch a ride.