"Camp Trash" (chapter 2; adults only, horror/gore, femslash)

Title: "Camp Trash"
Author: Brian Flynn ( hansomealvin @ yahoo.com orflynnparadox @ gmail.com )
Rating: Adults Only
Feedback: Please. Either send it to me direct or postit to the group.
Parts: ? (2/?)
Summary: After some backwoods idiots release Trashfrom an abandoned cannister, she heads towards asummer camp, where a number of fresh victims arewaiting...
Continuity: This story takes place about a year afterthe original "Return of the Living Dead"
Warnings: This story contains graphic descriptions ofsex, gore and violence.
Disclaimer: Characters from "Return of the LivingDead" are the property of Hemdale/Fox Films/MGM. Noownership is implied nor profit recieved by the use ofthem in this context.

"Camp Trash"

By Brian Flynn

Chapter Two: Camp Lilith Lake

3rd June, 1985

Less than a mile away from the lodge, through thedense woods, lay Camp Lilith Lake. Spread out oversixty acres, the camp included one large chunk ofLilith Lake and a good helping of the woods around it. During the off-season, when the camp was closed,there were no caretakers other than Old Coot, who dida patrol of the camp about twice a week. Heessentially did this just to make sure that no largeanimals were making their homes in one of the cabins. This was why the counselors arrived at the camp sometime before the campers – the kiddies, as the staffliked to call them – arrived. They cleaned the placeup, made it livable once again.

Wilson had been right about the camp. It was openingfor the season at the beginning of next week and thecounselors had arrived today, less than twenty-fourhours since Wilson and his friends had been murdered.

The lake was only a mid-sized example of its kind butit was quite deep and its waters were dark andseemingly impenetrable. As with all remote places ofmystery, Lilith Lake was said to be haunted. Storieswere told that on certain nights of the year, strangelights would rise out of the center of the lake andascend to the heavens. Theories about the lightsorigin were numerous. They were caused by some kindof underwater gas. They were actually camouflagedUFOs returning to their mothership. They wereredeemed souls entering Heaven. They were ghosts of people who had drowned in the lake.

These stories made for entertaining campfire stories but, since the phenomena had no regular pattern and had never been documented in anything other than blurry, out-of-focus photographs, no one really tookthem seriously. They were useful tools to keep thekiddies scared and in their beds at night.

William Hannigan stood by the lake, taking in its beauty. He simply loved this camp and wasn’t afraid to go on and on about it at length to anyone who happened to ask him about it. Hannigan ran the summercamp and was always the first to arrive at the lake. He was thirty-eight with dark brown hair, good-lookingin the classic sense and kept himself in great shape.
Hannigan liked to think of himself as progressive whencompared to other camp leaders. He took all types ofcampers: boy scouts, girl scouts, school-organized groups, mentally-handicapped kids. He loved them all. The first group this year was the same group that always opened the season: the boy scouts. But thatwas a week away and much work needed to be done to bring the camp up to Hannigan’s standards before then. That’s where the counselors came in. They should start arriving any moment now.

The sound of shuffling leaves brought Hannigan’s attention to the figure making his way up the lake path towards him and the camp coordinator realized that the first person he would have to deal with was Old Coot. The old man was in his early seventies, Hannigan guessed, tall and thin with not a strand of hair on his head. His skin was as white as a set of fleshly-laundered sheets and, as far as Hannigan could tell, there were about four teeth left in his mouth. The old man did keep in shape, however, and didn’t need a walking stick when he made his rounds.

“How are you, Cooter?” Hannigan asked, waving.

Old Coot’s real name was Jonathan Cooter but nearly everyone called him Old Coot. Lately, that is in the past few years, Hannigan had been trying to buck the trend. Coot waved back as he approached and Hannigan could see that serious look in the old man’s eyes and knew what was coming.

Here we go, Hannigan thought. It’s time for the annual “you’re all going to die” speech.

He was, of course, right. Coot joined Hannigan at the side of the lake and gazed out at its waters.

“Pretty, ain’t it?” the old man said. He spit some kind of vile, brown liquid out of his mouth and onto the ground close to Hannigan’s shoes.

“Yeah,” Hannigan said.

“Pretty but dangerous,” Old Coot said. “Seven people have drowned in this here lake, by my count.”

“That so?” Hannigan said. He had been involved in this exchange so many times now that he was truly beginning to get bored with it.

“Ayuh,” Old Coot said. “That’s to say nothing of all the disappearances in this area of the woods. Ask me, it was a bad idea to ever build a camp here in thefirst place.”

“Think so?”

Old Coot nodded.

“You got kids comin’ in a week’s time,” he said.

“Same as every year,” Hannigan agreed.

“That gives you a week to shut this place down, save a bunch of kid’s lives.”

“Do you have any insight into the nature of the danger this year, Cooter?”

“Not as such. Just a feeling.”

Hannigan nodded.

“That’s pretty much what I figured,” he said.

“I’ll be around,” Old Coot said, reassuring him. “Keepin’ an eye on things.”

“That makes me feel a whole lot better. Thanks.”

“Not a problem ’tall.”

Coot tipped his non-existent hat and went on his way. Hannigan watched the old man leave. Just after Old Coot rounded his way behind the cabins and out of sight, the first of the cars wandered into the camp.

Terri Fletcher, Johnny Greer, Louis Blake, Abby Warren, Greg Young and Ned Houston were all dropped off by their parents. Hannigan stayed by the lake and let the teenagers congregate by the cabins, let them socialize. Alice Miles, his assistant, drove her own car, of course. Roger Utah, another one of the teenagers, also drove his own car. He looked like he was trying to impress, what with his leather jacket and sunglasses. Finally, the van arrived. Hannigan sighed, walked towards the cabin to meet the van.

The van was from the Youth Center. This year, Hannigan had decided to take on three “troubled” kids; wards of the state who lived at the Youth Center and were frequently in trouble for one thing or another.

“Morning, counselors,” Hannigan said to the three teenagers who exited the van.

Lisa Smith, Violet Cartwright and Carl Jenkins gave him a quick glance and returned to their business of shuffling off alone to different corners of the camp. Hannigan sighed again, wondering if his decision had been a mistake. Alice Miles approached him before he could dwell on it for long. She was a strikingly alluring woman with not-quite-normal good looks but an odd beauty about her. She had dark blonde, chin-length hair and was about twenty-three.

“You’ve assembled quite an interesting collection this year,” she said.

“It’s a good group, I think,” Hannigan said.

“Could be,” Alice agreed. “What about the Youth Center kids?”

“It’s a risk, but I think they’ll work out fine.”

Alice nodded.

“Let’s get them together, shall we?” Hannigan said.

“Right,” Alice said.

“Okay, counselors,” Hannigan called, “gather round.”

Hannigan was amused by the assorted way that the counselors gathered. Here was Johnny Greer, Terri Fletcher and Greg Young bounding towards him, their enthusiasm naked and obvious. Here was Louis Blake, Abby Warren, Ned Houston laughing at Roger Utah’s jokes. Hannigan had to call again to get them to gather around him. He was happy to see one of the Youth Center kids, Lisa Smith, lagging only slightlybehind this group, obviously wanting to be included in the fun. The two other Youth Center kids, Violet Cartwright and Carl Jenkins were the last to gather: Carl had been busy looking out into the woods in fascination and Violet had been absorbed in the music that was blaring into her head from the walkman that she wore.

“All right,” Hannigan said. “Good to see that you all got here on time.”

“Right, like my mom gave me any choice,” Abby Warren said, flicking a particularly bothersome strand of hair out of her eyes. Louis Blake laughed at this.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do,” Hannigan continued. “The kids’ll be here in a week. That doesn’t give us a whole lot of time to get everything ready but if you’re willing to work hard and you just have fun with it, we’ll be finished with plenty of time left over to party.”

A cheer rose up from most of them at that point and Hannigan smiled, calmed them down with a few gestures.

“All that,” he said, “and a staggering paycheck of fifty bucks a week.”

Good-hearted laughter from most of them. He always liked to throw in a joke or two. It kept the counselors in good spirits, he thought.

“Now let’s get to work.”

It just needs a few good kicks, really,” Hannigan said as he, Alice and Terri headed into the work shed.

“I tried that,” Terri said. She was a pretty brunette in her late teens.

“Maybe it just needs a man’s touch, then,” Hannigan suggested, a smile on his face.

He approached the generator – a massive, metal monstrosity – and looked it up and down. Taking the pull cord in hand, he gave it a hard pull. Nothing happened.

“Told you,” Terri said.

Alice was trying not to laugh, a hand on her lips.

“Don’t you dare laugh, Alice,” Hannigan said, pointing.

Alice only smiled wide and said nothing. Hannigan went back to work on the generator, looked around it a bit and grabbed the pull cord again.

“Watch out, it’s gonna blow!” a deep, loud male voice said and all three of them jumped.

“Oh, you should see your faces,” Edward Jay Merrick said, holding his rather large stomach and laughed.

“Eddie,” Hannigan said. “You nearly gave me a heartattack.”

“Hey, that’s what happens to old geezers,” Eddie said. He was about thirty with hair that was so blond itwas almost yellow. He had a considerable mustache and beard and bushy eyebrows.

“You want to give it a try, Eddie?” Alice asked.

“Hey, I’m a cook not an electrician,” Eddie said. They all looked at him. “All right, all right, quit looking at me like that. Move out of the way.”

Hannigan moved aside and Eddie moved in. He actually spit on his hands before grasping the pull cord. With a good, strong yank, the generator came alive, making a loud, chugging noise that filled the shed. Hannigan, Alice and Terri cheered and applauded. Eddie turned to the rest of them, took a few little bows.

“You’re a natural, Eddie,” Alice said. “If only something could be done about your cooking.”

Eddie gave her a sarcastic smile, headed out of the shed. The rest followed him.

“How was the trip up?” Hannigan asked.

“Shitty, as usual,” Eddie said. “Highway's a killer.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. This time up, there was a three-car. As I was passing by, a clean-up guy was covering up a man’s severed head. Swear to God.”

“Christ,” Hannigan said.

“It’s a violent world, I tell ya,” Eddie said.

“So,” Alice was saying a few feet behind Hannigan and Eddie, “do you live in town, Terri?”

“Yeah,” Terri said. “My mom moved us here two years ago.”

“You like it?”

Terri shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess. I like summer camp the best. Helping out all the kids, campfires, ghost stories. You know?”

“Oh, I agree. I love it here. I like to take walks alone through the woods in the morning, just after the sun comes up.”

“That’s the only thing that I find hard to get used to,” Terri said. “The mornings. Way too early to me.”

Alice smiled.

“Race you to the cabins,” she said.

“Want to bet on it?” Terri asked.

“I never bet at camp. Too dangerous.”

At that, they were off, running past Hannigan and Eddie as fast as they could towards the main cabins, where there was much work to do. If they knew what was to come, they would have left the campgrounds that very second.

To Be Continued...