“I don’t know yet,” she replied.

“I think it’s going to be great,” he said. “Murder camp, living in a tree, not seeing anyone. This is my summer. This is when I shine. I’m going to achieve peak me. And there are no tunnels here, so you probably won’t get trapped underground. I feel good about it. I think?”

That Nate was feeling so positive should have served as a warning, but people rarely recognize signs when they appear.

July 7, 1978

8:05 a.m.

SHERIFF ELLIOT REYNOLDS AND HIS DEPUTY, DON MCGURK, TURNED down the drive into Camp Wonder Falls. Don tapped absently on the passenger’s side window.

“What do you think it is?” Don asked. “Drowning?”

“I hope not,” Sheriff Reynolds replied.

“Can’t be someone dead. Eight in the morning at the camp?”

It didn’t make sense to Sheriff Reynolds either. From the sound of the confused message he had gotten over the radio, something very bad had gone down. A serious accident, no ambulance needed. But, as Don pointed out, it seemed unlikely that there was a dead person at the camp on a sunny weekday morning.

Then again, since Michael Penhale, Sheriff Reynolds had felt something turn in Barlow Corners. Of course, accidents happened everywhere. But that business—it had tainted things, tainted his reputation. A barely perceptible but inescapable whiff of rot had taken over this once-pristine little corner of America.

Damn that business. Damn it to hell. Everything about it was terrible—but what was the point of ruining a young man’s life like that? Who would it have helped?

No. He really did not want another dead kid in Barlow Corners.

Susan Marks was waiting for them by the camp entrance along with a weeping Patty Horne. The look on her face confirmed the worst. When he stopped the car Susan immediately opened the back door and shooed Patty inside, then followed.

“What’s going on, Sue?” the sheriff asked.

“One of the counselors is dead. Eric Wilde. He’s been murdered.”

“Come on,” Don said.

“I’ve just about been able to keep this place under control. He’s up on the path toward the woods. Keep going and this road will join up with it. Hurry.”

Sheriff Reynolds didn’t have to be told twice. He started up the road with as much speed as he could manage without risking hitting a wayward camper.

“There’s more,” Susan said. “We have three more missing. Apparently they went out into the woods last night.”

“Who’s missing?” he said, glancing at her in the rearview mirror.

“Diane McClure, Todd Cooper, and Sabrina Abbott.”

“Sabrina Abbott? And Todd Cooper?”

“Shit,” Don said quietly.

The sheriff shot him a glance.

“Patty,” Susan said. “Explain to them what you told me.”

Patty burst into a torrent of sobs.

“Come on, Patty,” Susan said firmly but not unkindly. “We can’t waste any time. Tell them.”

Patty heaved, then brought herself under enough control to speak. “They went out around eleven. . . . They go out . . . Eric gets the . . .”