Protector of Children - 11. Chapter 11: Camp Genesis

Camp Genesis

They were ruled by superstition rather than science,
and religion rather than reason.
—David McLeod

Camp Genesis, Near Glen Rose, Texas

“Inside this container, our scientists have replicated the conditions that supposedly existed on Earth four billion years ago—Yes, Aaron?”

“But, sir, isn’t the world only eight thousand twenty one years old … or will be next October?”

“Don’t interrupt, Aaron! As I was saying, the mixture of gasses, the ultraviolet radiation, as well as the sparks simulating lightning, replicate the conditions that supposedly existed on Earth four billion years ago, according to atheist scientists. It is they who claim that the world is that old, because only then could their theory of evolution have even the slightest chance of working.

“These soul-less scientists believe that lightning and radiation converted gasses such as methane into living molecules that became single-cell animals and plants that then evolved into apes which then evolved into humans. This experiment, here, has been going on continuously for twenty-five years; so far, nothing, not even green slime, has been created. This is just one of the many things you will see that prove that evolution is false.”

Absence of proof is not proof of absence, Nemesis thought. And Aaron is cute, for a skinny kid with a bowl-cut. The counselor’s voice brought him back to the present.

“Your luggage has been put in your assigned cabins. You have until eleven thirty to unpack. Your CITs—counselors in training—will provide directions and bunk assignments. At eleven o’clock, you will assemble in the pavilion for worship followed by lunch.”

The cabins were old military barracks. They consisted of a long room with bunks and lockers lining each wall. There were smaller, private rooms at one end that had been the Platoon Sergeants’ rooms back when they had been part of an Army post. Now the rooms were for the CITs. The original, wide open shower room across from the CITs room had been modified to create four individual showers with changing rooms. The changing rooms could be closed off off with a curtain. Curtains had been put on the cubicles containing the toilets, as well, and the long, trench urinal had been replaced with individual urinals separated by partitions.

“Bunk assignments are alphabetical,” one of the CITs announced, and began reading names as he pointed to bunks. He’d gotten through the L’s before starting on the second row of bunks. He pointed to Nemesis. “Aaron Madison, Bunk 11; Phillip Nichols, Bunk 12 . . . ."

Nemesis, now Phillip Nichols hid his grin at being assigned the bunk next to Aaron. The two boys unpacked and stuffed shorts, underwear, socks and T-shirts in the numbered drawers in their shared locker.

Nemesis

“I thought that was a good question,” I told Aaron. “Oh, I’m Phillip, but you can call me Phil.” I held out my hand to be shaken.

“A man void of understanding shaketh hands,” Aaron said. “Proverbs 17:18. Besides, didn’t you read the rules? We’re not to touch one another under any circumstances.” He turned away.

WTF? I thought. Yeah, I had read the rules about not touching, but a handshake? And the Bible says not to do it? And he’s memorized that verse? WTF!

The pre-lunch worship service was scary. I had to use my powers to keep from being called on to testify. Wasn’t hard, I just made sure they didn’t see me when they were calling on people.

I thought that testimony was just going to be a quick eclaration of faith, but some of these kids … listen to this one.

“I used to pretend to be sick, or to have a homework assignment, or anything to keep from going to church. My older sister was devout, and used to chide me, but she loved me enough to cover for me with our parents. She was so good, they figured that her word was good enough.

“Then, she died. I looked at her in her coffin and saw the smile on her face and knew that she was with Jesus. I knelt down and that day took Jesus into my heart as my personal savior.”

I guess it makes him feel good and, if Uncle George is right, his sister is probably living in an eternal praise and worship service. Hope she likes that; hope he will. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got nothing against these people’s belief in their afterlife. I’ve seen the Hell they’ve created—rather, the one I created for myself based on the same Bible they read. I was brought up in one of Yahweh’s cults, and probably knew as much about their beliefs as they did. They would understand my Hell. I just thought there ought to be more in life—and death—than Hell or worship.

I wasn’t here because of their beliefs, but because we’d gotten a report that some kids had been abused by the counselors and CITs. I was here to find out if that were true and call in reinforcements. Aaron poked me in the ribs.

“Hey! Wake up. Where were you?” he said.

The hundred-plus campers were following their CITs to the dining hall.

“Don’t worry, everybody gets caught up in it, sometime,” Aaron added. “Once, I . . . ."

He told me about standing in rapture for nearly an hour after a service had ended. His parents had sat with him until he came out of it.

“It was wonderful! I’ll testify to it when I’m called on,” he said.

# # # # #

Gary

I wasn’t too worried about Nemesis. He was operating within the parameters of his powers as Retribution. Based on what we’d seen, and on what George had told us, any of us operating that way were invulnerable. Still, I worried, and wondered if he’d find any friends there. I was pretty sure, given the demographics of the campers and counselors, he’d not find anyone to have sex with. I grinned, and imagined our reunion when he returned.

The Glen Rose job had come to us from Calvin. He had been at the stockyards in the Ft. Worth—Dallas complex, and had overheard a kid telling his father he didn’t want to go back to the camp. Something in the kid’s voice gave Calvin license to pry, and he saw the reason: in the kid’s mind was a picture of himself standing in a galvanized bucket full of ice water, naked, while counselors and CITs cursed him and whipped the back of his legs and buttocks with something that resembled cat-o-nine-tails. Why this was happening was not clear, but the kid had a strong feeling it had been unjustified.

“I’m sorry I didn’t find out who he was,” Calvin said. “It was over so quickly, and his father dragged him away just as the guy we were buying from came up.”

“Then, we’ll have to get evidence some other way,” I said.

“I used to go to a church camp,” Nemesis said. I felt the pain as this old memory was dredged up. It happened, sometimes, and there was no way to predict what would bring back some memory. He had happy memories, like the one that prompted him to offer his arm to Dike and escort her to a restaurant table; most of his memories, though, were painful.

“I should go to this camp, get on the inside, find out what’s going on. If it’s retribution that is needed, I can handle that. If children need to be removed, I’ll call Gary.”

His eyes were glowing, telling me that he knew he had a mission, one that I could not keep him from, no matter how strong our love, and no matter how dependent on me he was. All I could do was nod, and when I put him on the bus for Glen Rose, remind him to be careful.

It was Leroy who figured out how to get Nemesis into the camp. Leroy and his family had been members of a fundamentalist Christian mega-church. His family still were, but Leroy hadn’t seen them since he became assistant to Nomos.

“There used to be applications for the camp in the church library. Racks and racks of stuff like that. You know, creationist stuff: brochures for traveling creationism shows, and applications for the Glen Rose camp,” he said.

“What’s so special about Glen Rose?” Nomos asked. We were in my kitchen for a Saturday breakfast. Even though it was supposed to be a social event, everyone had brought some business that needed to be discussed.

“It’s near that river where some people claim that fossils of dinosaur and human footprints were laid down at the same time, in mud that turned to rock,” Leroy snorted. He was a funny boy. He could talk like a college professor or the leader of a black street gang. He’d never been a professor, though.

“The scientific consensus,” Leroy continued, “ is that the dinosaur footprints are real. Other dinosaur fossils have been found nearby and in the same geographic strata. The scientific consensus is that the human footprints were originally kettle holes, cut by water, which were then carved into their current shape by a man who also carved fake fossils to sell to tourists. Most creationists will tell you that the issue is undecided, but should be presented in the text books as if it were possible. Other creationists suggest that while the footprints are real, it would be difficult to prove it, and that even if there were proof, the godless anti-creationism scientists wouldn’t accept it.”

I was stunned. “Leroy? You ran a street gang and, according to Viktor and Kenny, cut school more than you attended. Yet you just presented a cogent intellectual argument that I would expect from a college professor like Paul Kendrick.”

Leroy seemed to shrink back into his chair. He reached for Nomos’ hand and leaned into the police captain’s side. Nomos put his arm around Leroy. I realized I’d wakened something that should not have been wakened. He must have bad memories, just as Nemesis does.

“Leroy, I’m sorry … I didn’t know,” I said.

Nomos answered for the boy. “Leroy and I are working through a lot of things. Our relationship, his past, and his future. We could not do this unless we loved one another.

“May I tell them?” Nomos looked at the boy. Leroy nodded.

“Leroy was jerked from pillar-to-post by his parents—his mother, mostly. She changed belief systems more often than the seasons. She, and Leroy, were Buddhist, Catholic, Wiccan, Mormon, Baptist, Muslim, Animist of several types, Hindu, and every other thing you have ever heard of. Every time she changed belief systems, Leroy changed schools to one run by the current group. He saw what was wrong with his mother, and made it a point to educate himself … including by watching some of the TV shows that Paul scripted.”

“He did a couple of shows that debunked creationism,” Leroy said. “I didn’t know it was he, of course, but after I met him, I looked it up.”

“I’m sorry I wakened bad memories,” I said.

Leroy giggled. Yeah, he was one of the oldest of the boys, although, like them all, he looked and sometimes acted as if he were much younger. It was good to hear him giggle.

“It’s okay, Gary,” he said. “Nomos and I will talk it out, tonight while we cuddle, and … well, he’s really good, and after that, there will be one less thing left to hurt me.”

# # # # #

Aiden helped with the application, and created records to show that a certain Phillip Nichols had been born into a fundamentalist family, had been orphaned and put into the orphanage that had burned but had survived. The loss of the orphanage’s records in the fire helped. Creating a foster family for him was easy, since Aiden’s father had been the chief Family Court Judge before being appointed to the Seventh Circuit of the US Court of Appeals. Circuit used to mean that the judges had to travel, on horseback. Nowadays, because of terrorist threats, real or imagined, the judges sat only in Chicago behind several layers of security.

Nemesis and I translocated to Ft. Worth, and I put him on a Trailways bus to Glen Rose where he’d be met by transportation to the camp. His duffle held all that the camp required, mostly play clothes, towels, sheets, a notebook and pencils, and a Bible. We’d debated sneaking in a cell phone, but Nemesis really didn’t need one. All he had to do was think of me, Uncle George, or one of the others, and we’d be there in less time than the thought.

# # # # #

Nemesis

I woke up during the first night at camp. It was three o’clock. The room was dark except for a single night-light, plugged into the wall at the end of the barracks. It was supposed to be enough to find our way to the toilets.

What had wakened me? Then, I heard it. The unmistakable sound of a boy jacking off. It was across the center aisle from me and down a couple of bunks.

The noise must have wakened the CITs, too. I heard the boy’s grunt when he came, and then heavy footsteps as the CITs came boiling out of their room. They switched on the overhead lights, illuminating the boy, still tumescent, cum-covered hand raised to his mouth. Oh, shit, I thought.

Daniel

I couldn’t jack off at home, not much, anyway. My two brothers and I shared a room, two beds, and a bathroom, and one of them was always underfoot. I thought, maybe, in the single bunk at camp, I could do it. I had just shot, when the lights came on. Oh, shit, I thought. And thought I heard someone else say it, too.

The CITs threw off the blanket and yanked me out of the bunk, yelling things like “filthy boy,” “sinner,” and “evil” while they dragged me, one on each arm, to the shower room. My pajama bottoms had come off. My bare bottom burned from rubbing across the wood floor. My penis … I guess it was fear, but my penis had shrunk down to practically nothing.

The other boys were all awake. It was like a running a gauntlet of stares and gasps before the CITs got me into the shower room. One tore off my pajama top. They kept quoting stuff from the Bible about the sin of Onan, and the one in Leviticus about homosexuality. I wanted to say I wasn’t queer, I was just jacking off, but I didn’t dare.

They threw me in the shower and turned on the water—cold. I shivered and my penis got even smaller. I didn’t think that was possible! One of the CITs left and came back with a brush with a long wooden handle and a bar of yellow soap.

The bristles of the brush were hard and I whimpered, even cried, as the two scraped me with the brush. I saw red in the water, and felt the sting of the soap, and knew they’d rubbed me raw in a couple of places. Oh, shit, I thought. If they use that brush on my penis…

As if he knew what I was thinking, one of the CITs said, “Last year, we’d have washed your privates with the brush but some kid got an infection. Here,” he handed me a sponge, “wash yourself, and wash it well.”

I scrubbed my dick. I was scared and I hurt and I’d just jacked off, but it got hard, anyway. I gasped and then yelled when Jacob smacked my dick, hard, with the brush. My stiffy went down, and I figured I’d washed, enough.

Nemesis

I felt and saw everything that was going on in the bathroom. I had to bite my lip not to pop in and knock a couple of CITs’ heads together. They were little fish, and what they were doing, while harsh, was mild compared to what Calvin had described. I waited.

The next morning, the boy who had been jacking off was put in front of the entire camp and forced to tell of his sin, to repent, and to ask the forgiveness of the counselors, CITs, campers, and—oddly, I thought, Yahweh. Hmmm. Thought Yahweh would have been first on the list.

It took more than jacking off to get the senior counselors involved. On the third day, some kid was caught stealing. Two senior counselors beat him with harness-leather belts. I felt it, and knew they’d left welts on his butt. Yeah … they’d made him drop his shorts and boxers and beaten his bare bottom. It hurt me, too, ’cause I could feel it. But it wasn’t enough.

I supposed that blasphemy might have worked, and almost tried that. I didn’t, though, because of what Aiden had told me about disinterested and dispassionate. I couldn’t be disinterested if I were a party to the events. Ever since I’d gotten my powers, and felt Bobby when that man was about to force sex on him, I’ve never been able to be dispassionate.

On Day Five I found out that blasphemy did work. Some kid in another cabin had his finger in the locker door when another kid slammed the door. The first kid’s god-damn was enough to call out the big guns. The CITs took the kid to the admin building and were invited to witness the punishment.

They strapped the kid to a cross. A Latin cross, just like the one all the counselors and CITs and most of the kids wore around their necks. They strapped his arms and legs so he was facing the cross, and pulled down his shorts so they could whip him. This time, they used leather thongs; this time, they drew blood. Still, I waited. I promised myself I’d get these kids some counseling when this was over. Or ask Uncle George to reset reality.

I’m glad I waited, even though it hurt a lot. The next day, we hiked to the riverbed where the dinosaur footprints were. We got to play on the rocks, put our feet into the holes they said were human footprints, and splash in the water. It was kind of hard for me to focus. A lot of the kids’ shorts got wet enough that they stuck to butts and outlined dicks. I was looking at a particular hot butt—Daniel’s—when I felt it.

Two of the boys had slipped away from the riverbed into the brush. One was on his knees, giving the other a blow-job, when the counselors found them. One of the counselors blew his whistle in a long-short-long pattern. The CITs rounded up the kids, counted us, and made us sit on the riverbank while the counselors responded to the whistle.

I knew who the two boys were, but I still looked at the other campers to be sure. Aaron … the boy I’d tried to befriend, and who’d poked me in the ribs, in violation of the rules. He’d been the one on his knees—

And he was in pain, serious pain! It was, as Bobby once said, chiton time. I popped and appeared between the counselors and the boys, in chiton and with sword in hand.

A couple of the counselors recognized me. One overcame his shock to ask, “Phillip Nichols, what do you think you’re doing! Return this minute—”

I waved my hand and shut him up.

“Not Phillip Nichols, but Nemesis, god of retribution, servant of Dike, goddess of Justice, son of Gary, Avatar of Artemis and Protector of Children. Speaking of whom, Gary? Phillip? I need you.”

Behind me lay Aaron and another boy … ah, Simon … in the few minutes from the time the first counselors had arrived until I had appeared, they’d been beaten nearly senseless.

I sensed Phillip appear behind me. I hope he wasn’t in his usual blue jeans and Bulls sweatshirt. I wanted him to scare these assholes. At the same instant, Gary appeared beside me. He refused to wear a chiton, tunic, toga, or robe, but he’d taken a lesson from Uncle George and was dressed all in black: pants, shirt, leather jacket, boots. His blond hair glowed. I figured mine did too, with the sun behind us, and all.

Gary usually didn’t carry a sword, either, although he had one, and had gone to classes with me to learn how to use it. Today, he did. He held his sword, a Claymore, in both hands, point between his feet, the hilt reaching to his chest.

It’s your show, kiddo, he thought to me. I’m just the special effects. The kids are safe, for now.

Kiddo? I’ll get you for that! I said.

“Mene, Mene, Trekul u-Pharsin,” I said. I deepened my voice and added an echo like Death did. Just enough to impress, not enough to make it hard to understand. “Your days are numbered. You have been weighed on the scales of Justice and found wanting. Your powers and property will be taken from you.”

Using their cruelty as justification, I entered their minds, one by one. I saw what I had seen during the past week, as well as things they’d done in previous years. I saw the ones who had flogged the boy who stood in the bucket of ice water. I saw boys die from the abuse. I saw counselors and home-town pastors cover up the deaths. I saw boys who had been sodomized relating that to their parents and pastors, and being called liars, and worse.

My sword flashed, three of the men fell, dead. Two others, who had sexually abused campers or CITs, were castrated. The others received appropriate pain—exactly what they hadd inflicted on campers. Of course, I didn’t have time to waste, so they experienced it all at once. Several would need hospitalization. At least one would likely not survive. Others would probably be catatonic for the rest of their lives.

I looked at what I had done, and saw that was good.

Richard had finished treating Aaron and Simon. All that remained was to clean things up … including getting a hundred and fifty boys back to camp, and then closing down the camp, getting the boys home, explaining to Aaron and Simon’s parents that the boys were gay, finding out that Simon and his family were in denial but that Aaron’s parents didn’t want anything to do with him, getting Aaron enrolled in Erewhon and introducing him to a couple of boys who would befriend him and, when he was ready, teach him what he needed to know, serving papers on the officers of the corporation that owned the camp, showing them that our evidence of their wrong-doing might not stand up in court but that we were our own court and then getting them to agree to turn the property over to a nature conservancy, and getting psychological help for the boys who had been abused. All in a day’s work.

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