Glamping Gourmet

Like a bloodcrazed steamroller, the black cherry Ram 2500 trudgingly made its way through the woods.

Literally made its way.

Faithful to its name, it rammed down bushes, small trees, and any critter paralyzed in awe of such a monstrosity: all vanquished and flattened into the new road, defacing nature's sanctuary and pushing deep into the heart of Shady Grove.

Not one squirrel too soon, the monster found its destination, and with a few final growls and maneuvers, positioned its towed cargo in the small glade by the river. Then it shuddered and went silent, before spewing people and luggage onto the flattened grass.

The first ones to touch the ground were two young men.

One was tall and slender, with a clean-shaven head and a thick, sculpted beard. The other, a whole head shorter than his friend, wore a beanie and had several colorful tattoos on his overly muscular arms.

It's not that they were overly massive per se, but they stood in comic contrast to the rest of his body. It was clear that he exercised only the muscles he could see in a mirror, and that his mirror hung high above the ground.

The guys immediately went to work, detaching, unrolling, assembling... So much had to be done to ensure a comfortable stay.

Immediately after the guys, a small brunette stumbled out of the backseat.

"Turner, you asshole! — She complained in between fits of dry heaving. — You've got to be the worst driver in the history of humankind!"

"Them's the rules: my truck, me driving. — The tattooed guy grinned — Get over it and start unpacking, Trish!" He didn't even look towards her.

Wrinkles filled the tall man's nose as his body tensed with disapproval. But he said nothing.

"If you feel sick, get the hell away from the clearing! — the last member of the group yelled while dismounting the truck — I don't want you to stink it up!"

"Yes, Cara", Trish sighed, wobbling off into the woods.

Cara was their leader.

She wanted the caravan's tent set up to perfection, so she barked orders at the guys, but didn't consider for a second to lend them a perfectly manicured hand.

Instead, she let the symmetrical curls of her blond ponytails bounce to music only she heard, while dancing in front of her phone. With every bounce, her deliciously curvy body jiggled and diffused an aroma of vanilla and cotton candy into the air.

In the cuisine of life, she was dessert.

"Why are you even recording? We don't have any connection out here!" Turner protested, under the weight of Cara's luggage.

"That's right: you don't. I have this bad bitch! — She giggled, pointing at the rectangular white dish on the ground, then hollered — STARLINK, BABY! The boss wanted me covered for work emergencies!"

Turner raised a precisely shaped eyebrow towards her.

"What? — She winked at him with fake innocence — Keeping my followers posted is a work emergency. Personal work, but still work."

Then she raised the phone high into the sky, squeezing herself between the two guys.

"Say: Glamping is awesome, bitches!"

"Are you taking selfies without me?" Trish whined as she emerged from the woods.

"We can take more later — Cara scoffed — can't post them anyway." She rolled her eyes before using them to command the guys to keep quiet about the device.

Like the brochure of one of those too-rich-for-the-wilderness campings, the huge tent was set up to "perfection". It sported four separate rooms, a common area with big plastic windows, and all sorts of furniture and decorations in a boho chic style. The final touch was a net of ambient lights, dotting the roof of the tent, like a starry sky.

Behind the sleeping area, it was connected to a luxurious caravan that provided another common area, a fully functional kitchen, and a shower.

The kitchen had a gas stove.

Once Cara was satisfied with the team's efforts, she expressed her approval by using up the remainder of the sunlight to take copious pictures of the place — her creation.

"Urgh! I need to buy a new phone, this battery lasts nothing!" The blonde grunted at the end of the photoshoot.

As if to anticipate her next command, the tall guy logged a big plastic box towards her. He tugged repeatedly at a dangling chord, and the box shivered to life. Its constant purr destroyed the natural silence.

The air was filled with the acrid stench of car's fodder.

"Aw, Philip, my hero!" Cara squealed before plugging her phone's charging cord into the generator.

He blushed and silently pulled at the tight curls of his beard.

"Let's get this party... a-started!" Screamed the short guy, rolling out a black plastic tower, almost as tall as him. He plugged it into the generator, and it produced an obnoxiously loud hammering sound.

The birds, poor things, scattered in all directions.

"Woop woop!" The girls joined in the noise and started wiggling their juicy bottoms.

"Yo, Philip? Where's the booze, my man?" Turner's voice came from inside the tent again, accompanied by a whole lot of rummaging.

"Dunno. You did the unpacking." The tall man scuffed.

"Fuck sake, Phil! You forgot the booze!" Turner's voice grew louder as he joined the others outside.

"I. Did. Not." Philip growled the words out one by one, like a dog confronting its abusive master.

A homicidal spark flickered in his eyes. Then he closed them and took a deep breath. A smile stretched his plump lips.

"I put it in the green duffel bag."

"There was no green duffel bag!"

"There was! I put it in the tent when we arrived!"

"I'm telling you, Phil, you must be confusing it with something else. There isn't any green bag." Turner spoke in a diplomatic tone. Then, whispered through his teeth, "Fucking screw up..."

"What did you say?" Philip leaped towards the guy, towering menacingly over him, that homicidal spark back in his eyes.

"I said, how could you forget the booze? What are we going to do the whole weekend?" Turner didn't dare raise his eyes.

"I said, I did not," Philip growled.

"Then where is it?" The guy's voice calmed down, and he sounded genuinely curious.

"Dunno!" Philip's face twitched with the effort to contain a scream. He was about to add something when Trish chimed in:

"Guys, come on! Let's just take it chill for tonight. We can review our filming ideas over dinner, and plan a trip to the closest store for tomorrow."

At the sound of her voice, the muscles in Philip's face relaxed.

"Right. Work instead of party. Good job, Phil!" Turner mumbled under his breath—this time Philip chose not to engage.

"Let's get this party... un-started," Huffed Cara, killing the loud music.

"Ok. Let's check the map and plan a bit. — smiled Trish, patting her pockets. Then her smile wavered — Who has the map?"

"Come on, man, seriously? — Turner sniveled — First the booze and now the map?"

The party marched inside the tent and scanned it from top to bottom. When every nook and cranny of the tent had been checked, they thoroughly searched the caravan, then even the truck.

No booze.

No map.

No fun.

For them.

"I bet Trish lost it in the woods when she went retching," Cara concluded, and mockingly produced a puking sound.

Trish opened her mouth, paused, and closed it again.

"Maybe. Let's just start a fire and have dinner for now. Shall we?" She finally said, submissively.

While Trish and Turner gathered wood for a fire, and Cara checked herself in her phone's camera, Philip ducked into the tent and reappeared shortly after empty-handed.

Cara gave him an understanding look. Philip sighed and started fixing a rock circle in front of her.

When the other two came back, they started a small fire and sat around it to rest.

"So... where's the food, Turner?" Cara broke the silence.

"I thought you guys got it," He shrugged.

"I checked the kitchen, and there was nothing. Turner... — Philip said, a hint of karma-is-a-bitch satisfaction in his voice — did you forget the food?"

"I didn't! I swear!" the guy moaned.

"I'm hungry — Cara protested — do something!"

"Well, I have snacks in my handbag — said Trish — It's in my room."

Once again, they marched into the tent all together.

"Turner...? — Philip exclaimed, picking up something from the floor — Is this... — His eyes wide with disbelief — Did you fucking eat our stuff?"

All blood drained from the short guy's face as he looked up towards Philip, who, armed with an empty packaging of family-sized beef jerky, tore through the fabric door of his room.

"Fuck! It's all here! — Philip screamed. — You and your fucking protein count! Shit!"

"No! — Wailed Turner, having regained color, scuttling after him — You put it there while I was gathering wood."

"Fuck did you say?" Philip spun around so quickly that his chest bumped into Turner's head, sending him forcefully against the room's fabric wall.

The tent shook like oversized Jell-O.

The girls suddenly shrieked.

Turner, with uncharacteristic speed, jumped up, bear-hugging Philip at the waist, and brought him down. The guy's head hit the wardrobe's light, foldable frame, bending it in half. Its stability compromised, the whole thing came down, raining clothes on the two guys.

Philip, recovered from the surprise attack, was about to swing for Turner's face when Cara's voice boomed over them.

"ENOUGH!"

The guys froze, looking at each other with disdain for a moment. Then Turner stood up and gave his hand to Philip, helping him up.

Cara started chuckling.

"So... Let's get this straight. Philip forgot the booze. Trish lost the map. And Turner is a fucking protein junkie who ate all of our food.... — Her chuckle grew into full-on belly-shaking laughter — We're such a mess... Just like the old times!"

Laughter roared from the whole group.

"Come on, let's get the snacks and go rekindle the fire before it dies. — She said, drying tears from the corners of her eyes. — We can tell ghost stories, play truth or dare, or whatever."

Still shaking with sporadic chuckles, the band moved to Trish's room.

"The bag's empty!" The brunette gasped in disbelief, turning her bag upside down as if to prove it to her friends. "I don't understand..."

"Here..." Philip picked up a silver wrapper from the floor. "And another one..."

Scattered like a trail of breadcrumbs, several colorful wrappers lead them straight into Cara's room. Where the bulk of them lay on the bed.

"Seriously, Cara? Who's the..." Turner started, but she stopped him with the flick of a hand.

She looked worried.

"I have not been inside alone today. And you all know it."

Shit.

"Now, look me in the eye and tell me this isn't a prank from one of you." Her voice was shaking.

The group exchanged charged looks.

"I don't like this." Trish broke the tense silence. "Let's...." Her voice was broken off by a sharp electrical crack, followed by all the lights dying around them.

For the first time today, there was complete silence.

The little light left from the dying fire outside cast distorted shadows all around them. Hard to distinguish, four human shapes stood, lightly shaking in the dark, trying to muffle their breaths.

Four hearts beating faster and faster.

Nobody dared to do anything until a sharp squeal pierced the air.

"What the fuck, Turner?"

"What did I do now?"

"You touched my butt!"

"I did not."

A cone of light shone from Trish's phone, revealing a pouty Cara, shaking with indignation. She was ready to scold the guys when she realized that none of them was close enough to have touched her.

Cara's eyes widened as a frantic clapping sound rose behind her.

It was close.

It was relentless.

It was not human.

Cara whimpered, tears fogging her sight, like a child lost in a crowd; she couldn't move and silently begged for help.

A few seconds felt like an eternity.

But when the sound didn't get any closer, Trish braved herself to step towards it.

There was a huge tear in the fabric wall of the room, and the flaps were shaking, powerless at the wind's mercy.

"I think some kind of animal was here," Trish broke the tension, pointing at the hole.

"We are so out of here!" Cara, still shaking, blinked her tears back, trying to regain control.

"It is dark. We have no map. We risk slamming into a tree or falling into the river. It was probably a wild boar or something. If we rekindle the fire and mount guard, it won't come back. We can leave in the morning." Trish detailed pragmatically.

"No. I don't like this, so we're leaving. End of story." Cara paused for a moment, looking the others in the eyes, waiting for someone to challenge her authority.

When no challenge came, she resumed her planning.

"I have a satellite connection for my phone. Turner, come with me, we'll go set it up on the car. You guys wrap everything up as quickly as possible. Chop-chop!"

By the light of Turner's phone, Cara led the way.

Stumbling behind her, Turner was shaken to his core by an abrupt blood-freezing howl.

The torchlight dived into the ground and disappeared.

Clumsily, he patted the ground and found his phone. He pointed its light forward, revealing a distraught Cara sobbing on her knees.

The generator, satellite dish, and her phone lay broken on the ground in front of her.

"It was smashed," The guy whispered.

"I know! — She sobbed louder —I haven't backed up in months. Months, Turner!"

"No, Cara... it was all smashed. Like, with a rock."

Smart.

"RUN!" Like a frenzied jack-in-the-box, she sprang to her feet and blindly ran for the truck. She didn't dare think until she was sitting in the driver's seat, all doors locked.

"Go! Go! Go!" Turner hyperventilated next to her.

Cara's hand lingered on the ignition key for a moment, then stopped.

"No. — She recomposed herself — You are scared and overreacting. We are not leaving the others."

"We go. And look for help. And get the police. And..." Turner's voice was rendered a feeble squeak by the shallow breathing.

"Turner, look at me! Breathe." She mimicked a deep inhale-exhale sequence with her arms.

Turner closed his eyes, and his chest expanded in all its oversized glory. Then his nose twitched.

"Do you smell booze?" A smile shily stretched his thin lips.

"I don't. — She transfixed him with a glance. — Now, let's reason it out. Something tore a hole in our tent and ate all of our supplies. Probably something big and clumsy. A wild boar or a bear, perhaps. It must have stomped on our tech on the way out, causing the generator to short-circuit."

"Makes sense... still dangerous though." Color was back on the guy's face, and so was his usual grin. "Are you sure you don't smell booze?"

"The two of us are not gonna go hide in a bar somewhere. — Cara reprimanded him. — The four of us are gonna get the hell out of here. So shut up, and let's go help the others pack."

They made their way back, only to find their friends standing inside the tent's entrance, embracing.

"So... is this your idea of packing?" Cara smirked towards them. A clear note of jealousy in her voice.

"Oh, Sorry!" Trish pulled away from Philip, her cheeks burning red like a ripe apple.

"Do you smell gas?" Turner asked nobody in particular.

"Phone's out. No light. — Philip shrugged — Heard sounds. Got scared." He seemed to be studying his shoes intently.

"Sure. Sure." The blonde's eyes narrowed.

"Do you... smell gas?" Asked Turner again, backing towards the exit.

"We don't have time for your fart jokes, Turner!" Philip growled at him.

"I don't..." Cara started replying impatiently.

"Turner?" Philip looked around, but his friend was no longer there.

"Can you even smell anything? After your nose surgery?" Trish scoffed maliciously, crossing her arms.

Juicy gossip.

"OUT!" Philip — panic exploding in his voice — pushed the girls outside.

Behind them, something else exploded.

Their caravan.

Flame tongues licked the roof of the huge tent, eating their way towards the unsettled campers.

"Damn boar! Must have nicked the gas cables in the kitchen." Cara panted, staring into the dancing inferno.

"We need to put the fire out!" Trish flailed her arms around.

"Extinguisher. In the truck... let's get it started, too. Recharge our phones." Philp grabbed one of her arms and dragged her towards the truck.

"You had nose surgery?" Turner asked Cara, as she let her body slide towards the ground, like melting cheese.

"What does it matter now?" She propped her chin on her knees and hugged them tight.

"Everything!" He yelled, his eyes showing a disproportionate amount of white sclera.

"Geez, weirdo. I had a deviated septum, ok? "

"Shit!"

He bolted away from her as if he were on fire himself.

"Get away from the truck!" He stumbled and screamed to his friends. He wasn't a good runner.

"Step back!" He screamed again.

He almost made it.

Almost.

He arrived just in time to see Philip's puzzled face at the wheel of the truck before hungry flames devoured it.

Turner and Trish were thrown in the air by the explosion of the truck. Bruised and battered, Trish's hands caught on fire, too. She quickly jumped into the river, twitching with pain.

That might have been the reason why she started screaming.

But it was not the reason why she kept screaming.

Oops.

I think she got a glimpse of me.

Mama always said not to play with my food.

But then again, that was before I ate her.