Going Over There
He said, “Let’s go over there.” Like he was some old friend of Joey’s reconciling with him.
They were on the warm, yet windy beach where everyone spent most of their time at the camp. It was a gray day, serene, tranquil.
Mr. Tillman looked at Joey, who knew all too well the covert meaning of what he had just said in his scary, snaky, surreptitious manner. He knew the outcome–it happened to every kid at the camp. He didn’t remember how many times he’d seen them walk away with one of the counselors, never to return. Everyone had to go. There was no way to fight it. The best way to cope was to just enjoy yourself and wait your turn. Now, it was his turn.
He looked up at Mr. Tillman.
Mr. Tillman said, “C’mon, Joey. Let’s go over there.” He pointed to an area where the kids weren’t allowed to go, the place they never saw.
“Them’s the words, ain’t they?”
“Yes, Joey. Those are the words.” He was simple with the kids, but he never talked down to them. He wasn’t one to undermine.
“Well, I guess I’ll go now,” he said, and took a deep breath.
He walked away with Counselor Tillman.
Rita and Doris were playing hopscotch at the playground just off the beach. They watched Joey walking away and called out, “Are you going over there?”
“Yeah, I’m going over there.”
Joey, normally a prankster, was resigned to his fate. He was famous for his numerous exploits against the camp authorities, but he knew there was no sense in trying not to go “over there.”
There were only stories about what took place over there. Some said that it was an alien feeding ground where the kids were the live feed. Others said that it was a meat processing plant where the kids were ground up for food and eaten by the other kids the next day. Tom thought it was a medical testing lab where they experimented on the children. Whatever it was, it was not good.
He walked along the path passing Jerry and Will. They were playing a game of Vikings, plundering and pillaging the sand box. They knew where he was going.
They came to a large metallic structure that looked like a corn silo at a mill. Mr. Tillman manipulated the lock, then slowly pressed the door open.
“Now go inside.”
There would be no last-minute retaliation. He was over there.