I hear a group of workers on the other side of the fence behind me, and I turn around to let them know I need to leave the camp for a little while and I ask them to keep an eye on things until I get back.
“Who’s that? He’s driving like an asshole,” one of the women says.
I look back over my shoulder to where she’s pointing and see a small black car come flying down the driveway, veering off at the fork in it and heading right this way.
“I have no idea,” I mutter, turning fully around and walking in that direction.
We don’t have any scheduled deliveries today, and there are signs all along the main driveway that tell visitors to pull up to the turnaround at the main house so they can check in and get a visitor badge. There are also signs along this driveway that say it’s for camp workers only. This driveway leads right to the stables, and there’s no reason for any visitors to be on it.
The car kicks up even more dust than before when it slams to a stop and I cross my arms in front of me, watching a man get out from behind the wheel. He looks familiar, but something about him doesn’t seem right.
He doesn’t bother closing the car door behind him, and he stumbles a little as he walks in my direction, not noticing me standing here as his eyes search the grounds to his left. He’s wearing a white T-shirt with stains all over the front of it, and a pair of dirty jeans that have seen better days. His short, dark blond hair is sticking up in all directions on top of his head, and his face looks like it hasn’t seen a razor in weeks.
The closer he gets, the more nervous I start to become. Glancing quickly around, I find Jason standing a few hundred yards away, still talking on his phone with his back to me.
“Sir, can I help you?” I finally call out loudly, taking a few steps forward.
He doesn’t answer me as he continues walking in my direction, but my voice causes his head to come up and he looks right at me. Even from this far away I can see anger written all over his face.
“Get the kids off the horses and lock everyone inside the stables—now,” I say softly over my shoulder to the handful of workers who are still standing behind me on the other side of the fence. “Radio out to everyone in the middle of activities and tell them Code 10.”
We have several secret codes in place for security at the camp, and Code 10 is the most important one. It means there is a threat at the camp and everyone should get to safety and stay put until further notice.
Maybe I’m making a big deal about nothing, and this is just some guy who’s lost and needs direction, but I won’t take any chances with my workers or these kids.
All of a sudden, the man still walking toward me lifts his arm, and a few of the workers who haven’t left yet and are talking on their radios start to scream.
My stomach flops when I see the gun in his hand, pointed right at my chest as he continues stalking toward me and then suddenly comes to a stop about twenty yards away.
His eyes are cold, hard, and bloodshot, and they’re locked right on mine. I try not to show fear, I try to remain as calm as possible, but my heart is beating so fast I’m afraid he might hear it. My hands are shaking so badly as I lift them in the air in a sign of peace that I know he sees it.
“Are you Cameron James?” he asks in a low, angry voice, his upper lip curling with disgust when he says my name.
“Sir, please put the gun down. We have children here. If you can just—”
“ARE YOU CAMERON JAMES?!” he screams, cutting me off, spittle flying from his mouth as he takes another step toward me, the gun in his hand starting to shake as he continues aiming it right at me.
My body starts shaking from head to toe and my mouth opens and closes several times as I try to think about what I should say.
“Please put the gun down,” I whisper brokenly, my throat cracking through my words.
“You’re the one who ruined my life. I know it’s you, so just admit it. Admit what you did,” he says, a muscle ticking in his jaw when he speaks through clenched teeth.
“Sir, please,” I beg, wanting to turn and run, but knowing there’s nowhere I can go.
I can’t outrun a gun.
“I told you. I TOLD YOU that you’d regret what you did.”
His words make the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and I realize I’m standing in front of the man responsible for sending those letters.
My eyes dart to the side of him when I see a familiar truck come barreling down the main driveway, but he quickly moves and blocks my line of sight.
“I’m sorry. I don’t—”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” he screams, taking another step toward me. “It’s too late for apologies. You ruined everything, and now you need to pay.”
A million thoughts run through my head in a split second. Things I should say to him to get him to put the gun down, but I don’t have time to say any of them.
There’s a blur of movement out of the corner of my eye. The man and I both glance that way, and before I can process what’s happening, before I can even open my mouth and scream, the explosive sound of the gun going off rings through my ears.