Time passed and dawn broke to a symphony of screams, which ebbed to catatonic whimpers with each passing hour. Neither Aryl, nor Sebastian ever showed. Yet someone else did. A girl. A woman. Her name was Carmen. Though his timing was off, Sarafyn’s foresight had finally come to pass.

Carmen took care to approach silently. The noises were unmistakable, but still not everyone could be in such a state. They weren’t. Everyone else was silent with sleep, barely warmed now by the glowing embers. Rather, they were taken by exhaustion. She recognized everyone, except for the man whose face was gone. There was blood everywhere, but it was mostly frozen now.

Todd lay dead, having suffered what could only be described as disemboweling. Yet his guts hadn’t fallen out. They were just gone. He was nearly torn in half, with only a bit of frozen skin and muscle attaching his upper and lower halves. It wasn’t pretty but she’d seen worse. Hell, she’d done worse. Not once, did her cast-iron stomach churn toward vomit.

Marcus also lay dead, but she couldn’t tell for sure if it was really him. He was just a frozen, contorted child in clothes much too large. She’d never given a damn about these people and wasn’t about to start now. Sure, she’d seen to Aryl’s death, but she wasn’t taking sides. It wasn’t her war anymore. Maybe once it was, years and years ago, but not now. Not anymore.

A much younger Tamerlane lay sleeping fitfully. She thought it would’ve been nice to kill him, but why bother. He was no direct threat the way Aryl was. He was far too pathetic for that. Well, maybe if he’d been awake. Asleep was as kind as he’d ever been, but still she didn’t want to get involved.

Delacroix looked the same as he’d always looked . . . butt ugly. He retained no angelic qualities in sleep. She saw a dart protruding from his right leg. She knew what that meant, but just because the effects wore off didn’t mean he wasn’t still tired.

Then there was the fucking moron, Arden, also sleeping away, but with streaks of frozen tears staining his face. These fell down into equally frozen pools of tears. But why not? Did he know how to do anything besides cry? Maybe he did. There was a handgun lying next to him. Was he actually responsible for some of this carnage? It seemed unlikely since he’d obviously pissed himself again. Did it matter? No, she decided. Not really. It was just surprising.

As much as she could, Carmen went around the lot of strewn bodies. Some she’d actually stepped over, but she’d been careful. She could’ve gone around, but she hadn’t wanted to add footsteps that could be tracked, so she stayed well within the plethora that already existed. She warmed herself for a moment from the dying embers. They didn’t do much for her.

Then she crossed the bridge she’d been trying to get to all fucking night. She glanced back, but no one had woken. She continued stepping in previously tread footsteps until she noticed four sets of them leaving and only one returning. It was a whole lot more traffic than she’d expected, but then she remembered who was missing. Takei and Xavier had always hung out around that idiot, Tamerlane. Of course, one set belonged to Jason. She was glad to see he’d made it past the self-destructive blockade. She needed to find him. She needed to collect.

At least she knew who she’d be dealing with when she got there.

<><><><>

Delacroix woke first. The sun was high overhead and blinding. Though still minor, a bit of warmth had returned to the area. It wasn’t long before he found the dart in his right leg. It was the pain that guided him. He yanked it out. In doing so the memory from the previous night returned and he wondered how the fuck he’d survived. Then he took a look around.

The immediate area was more red than white. Both Manning and Todd were more than dead. They’d both been brutally murdered by people. It was obvious who they were too. Tamerlane was half his age, but miraculously still alive. Of all people, Marcus had stepped in. It was nice to see he’d become a man before dying a little boy. He would’ve been proud of him if he hadn’t hated him so much. He wouldn’t miss him and neither would his conscience.

He got to his feet and reached out to wake the new and improved Tamerlane. He shook him. That was a mistake. The youthing always made one incredibly sore all over. His previous exhaustion only served to make everything worse. Being his first youthing it was something of a miracle he’d survived at all, but Tamerlane remained physically fit and strong for his age. He woke with a start and yell. He moved suddenly to push the foreign hands away, but that hurt too and he just laid there groaning. He tried momentarily to open his eyes, but it was too damned bright.

He caught a glimpse of no one, but remembered more. In fact he knew everything. He hadn’t passed out from the youthing until at least two hours later. It was horrible. For all his grandstanding, he was literally humbled by the event. He remembered being shot with the sleeper. He remembered wishing sleep would actually take him, but of course it hadn’t. He remembered Arden’s betrayal and Marcus’s sacrifice. Not that he cared. He thought dying for him was the least the idiot could do for all shit he’d given him over the years. Now they were even.

The same couldn’t be said of Arden. That wasn’t because he was still alive. No. Mere death couldn’t settle the score after betrayal. Not even torture could, but it was the best he could do. So, he got his eyes open. Even that hurt, but he did it. Then he saw just who he’d expected to see . . . Delacroix. It hurt to talk, but he forced out the words in a near whisper.

“Don’t let Arden get away.”

Delacroix whispered back through clenched teeth, “Sir, yes sir.”

Naturally Delacroix hadn’t known what happened, but it just smelled like betrayal. Arden was awake too. He’d been startled awake by Tamerlane’s yell. Of course, he knew the score. He knew he wasn’t going to survive this time. So he broke into a run. He didn’t even grab the gun lying next to him. The bridge was all he could think of, so he headed for it. He didn’t have the right frame of mind to consider much of anything else.

Delacroix didn’t say a word. He just picked up his barber, aimed and fired. This time there wasn’t any damned crow to get in his way. The barbed bullet drilled into the back of Arden’s upper left thigh. He screamed approvingly as he fell. Then just to make sure, Delacroix got closer and shot him in the same spot on the other leg. Now he had a matching pair. More lovely screams echoed. Then he put his barber into its holster and grabbed an ankle with each hand. He twisted them around a bit, just for a few more screams and then started dragging him back to the campfire and the impatiently waiting Tamerlane.

Despite the pain, Tamerlane managed to stand up by the time they’d arrived, but still he whispered, only a bit louder. The pain in his voice was evident. Especially when he removed the dart that should’ve put him to sleep, but fucking didn’t. No one knew what he’d said. His whispers were continuously drowned out by Arden’s screaming. So he figured sign language was best. Tamerlane clamped his own hand over his own mouth and then pointed at Arden. The implication was well understood.

Delacroix let Arden go and walked over to Marcus’s frozen corpse. There he cut a sleeve from both his second layered sweater and his first layered shirt. He wouldn’t need it any longer. Both sleeves were soaked now with frozen sweat, which was perfect since one was going in Arden’s mouth. He’d considered slicing off Marcus’s dick and balls and stuffing them down Arden’s throat, but they weren’t big enough anymore.

With the shirt sleeve he moved to tie Arden’s hands behind his back. He resisted as he knew he would. So he calmly unsheathed his barber and aimed it at Arden’s right shoulder. He moved to escape it but didn’t get very far. Then Delacroix told him how things were going to be.

“HEY!!! LISTEN UP, STUPID!!! YOU GET TIED OR YOU GET SHOT!!! YOU’VE GOT THREE SECONDS TO CHOOSE!!! ONE!!! TWO!!!”

Arden suddenly rolled onto his stomach, screaming in pain as he went, and thrust his hands behind his back.

“Cooperation! Good! That’s what I like to see! Now hold the fuck still!”

As he was being tied, Arden chose his only other defense. “I . . . I . . . I could’ve k . . . k . . . killed you!”

“Well, you f . . . f . . . fucking didn’t, you dumb f . . . f . . . fuck! Now you lost your chance and you’re probably going to die for it!”

Then came the pleading. “N . . . N . . . No! P . . . P . . . Please! I . . . I’ll do . . .”

He was interrupted. “You’ll do what?! Anything?! I’ve heard that before! Seems starting a fire wasn’t enough of a lesson! Maybe you’ll learn more from death, huh?! What do you think?!”

“N . . . N . . .”

“Shut the FUCK UP!!!” Then Delacroix kicked him in the side, but he just kept screaming and stuttering. “Hey! I know something that’ll shut you up!”

Delacroix took a glance at Tamerlane and got a nod of approval for his actions so far. He made a motion Arden couldn’t see and was rewarded with a wide smile. So he walked over to what was left of Manning and undid his fly, then another. He pulled the dead man’s pants down as far as he could, which wasn’t that far due to the position he’d frozen into. There hung his frozen set of manly balls. His dick was shriveled but that was to be expected. Dying wasn’t much of a turn on. Delacroix’s expression was one of disgust, but still he whipped out his hunting knife and used the serrated part to saw into Manning’s dick and balls. Once he’d gotten a decent dent into it, he just kicked at it from the side and it cracked off.

This was something Arden saw and he started bitching again . . . bitching and stuttering. He knew where its intended destination was. It didn’t matter. There wasn’t anything he could do about it. His hands were tied tightly behind his back. He’d tried repeatedly to get to his feet, but the pain stopped him every time. He kept screaming and stuttering and screaming and stuttering. Tamerlane found it hilarious and laughed through the pain.

Once Delacroix had gotten him into position, Arden had stopped the screaming and stuttering in favor of closing his mouth and clenching his teeth, probably till they bled, but who could know. It just wasn’t as much fun to try and force it, so Delacroix pulled out his barber once again and aimed it at Arden’s right shoulder. It didn’t work this time. Arden wasn’t opening his mouth. Whatever. Delacroix didn’t care which way he wanted to play it and pulled the trigger.

Suddenly Arden’s mouth opened in a scream as he bounced off the packed, frozen snow. Now his chin was trembling with pain and he kept his mouth open when the barber visited his left shoulder. Now Delacroix smiled and said, “That’s a good boy! It’s your last meal! Chow down!”

With that Delacroix crammed Manning’s dead, frozen dick and balls into Arden’s open, trembling mouth. It didn’t fit, so Delacroix stood up and moved his boot toward Arden’s mouth. He turned his head. Delacroix didn’t hesitate this time. He simply shot his left shoulder. Arden clenched his teeth against the frozen castration, nearly cracking his teeth as he did so. Then he shook his head, spit it out and naturally screamed some more. Delacroix’s response was simple and to the point.

“Eat Manning’s dick or eat your own! Choose! You’ve got three seconds! One!”

That’s all it took. Arden opened his mouth wide. Tears were flowing into rivers and his whole body was wracked with tremors of pain. All Delacroix said was, “That’s a good boy! Eat dick! Lick his fucking balls! You know you like it!”

It was back in his mouth again. This time when Delacroix lifted his foot Arden didn’t turn his head. He placed his boot gently against the red, icy innards and pushed down just a bit. Then a little bit more. Until he heard the satisfying crack of enamel. Then again and again. Arden’s teeth were breaking and he was getting lockjaw. His eyes were wide in alarm, but he could do nothing to stop the atrocity.

Then, when Manning’s balls were thoroughly stuck in Arden’s bleeding mouth, Delacroix stopped. Afterwards he wrapped the sweater sleeve around his mouth and tied it in the back. Then and only then did Tamerlane take over. Of course, Arden wasn’t exactly silent, but he was quieter.

“It didn’t have to be this way, you know. If you hadn’t run. If you hadn’t resisted. IF YOU HADN’T FUCKING BETRAYED ME!!!” Tamerlane took a moment. Screaming brought sharp pains and he coughed his way back to a normal tolerable throb. Then he whispered some more, but bent down to his ear first. “You are going to die. You deserve to die. Marcus paid his dues with death, but he was a fucking hero compared to you. You and I? We will never be even. Not even in hell. The exquisite humiliation you’re enduring now isn’t even enough. But it’s a start. I’d do more, but a body can only take so much. Hey. You know, I see some more crows circling. They look hungry. Hey. Don’t look at me like that. You ate one of them. It’s only fair.” Then he looked at Delacroix and said, “Strip him. Make it easy for the damned birds. They’ll get him or the cold will. We can’t do anymore.”

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“Sir, Yes sir!” Delacroix went to his task . . . eagerly.

<><><><>

Time gave way to explanation and Delacroix learned all he’d slept through. He was only torturing Arden because it was ordered, fun and about fucking time. Delacroix never once believed the two tag-alongs were needed. Obviously he was wrong on that point with Marcus, but Arden was nothing more than whiny extra baggage.

That was all over with. They’d watched and waited while the crows ate. Naturally they picked the fresher, unfrozen meat off the buffet. It was quite a show really. Though, he wished they hadn’t plucked out Arden’s eyes. He wanted the man to watch his own death, but no such luck. Oh well. Can’t have everything. Then suddenly the show was over. Arden was dead and one of the crows started squawking in youthing pains, that would, without a doubt end in DOE. But then this was the idea. They’d eat the crow that killed Arden for breakfast. No. Lunch. Didn’t really matter. Hunger was hunger. The crow knew that now.

During the wait they’d built up another fire in preparation. When it was all said and done the crow was smaller, but neither of them wanted to suffer another youthing from a crow, so they dealt with the smaller meal. Of course it was a tad bit disgusting, because in essence, they were eating Arden. The bird was just the middle man, but food was scarce. They did what they had to do.

During the course of the meal they discussed the one thing still out of place. Aryl and Sebastian. Either they’d never showed, or more likely they had and left. If so, why were Tamerlane and Delacroix still alive? It didn’t make much sense. Even if the plan hadn’t been to kill the bitch, she would’ve taken her revenge for Manning and Todd. Such was not the case and they needed answers. Two down, two to go, but where were they?

They decided there was only one place they could’ve gone . . . back to camp. So that’s where they decided to go. It’d be a long painful walk, but the battle would soon be over. The only question was . . . would there be anyone left to lead?

<><><><>

It was dark again by the time Tamerlane and Delacroix arrived at camp. They’d gotten an unavoidable late start. They left the bridge well after midday and took their time because of Tamerlane’s soreness and general exhaustion. Not that Delacroix felt much better. This meant more than walking slowly. This meant frequent rest stops. Finally, they’d neared the all too familiar campground, so they stopped to refine the details of their takeover. It would’ve been better to wait until they were both at their full strength again, but they didn’t feel they had the time. Or maybe they were just tired of waiting, or both.

Aryl was expected. People were expected. Far more than they saw, which was none. Fires were burning and it was hard to tell if they’d been lit recently or burned all day unattended. There were tents surrounding the main plaza in three concentric rows, just as always. None of them appeared damaged beyond what already occurred during Wferium’s chaotic little gangland war. It was unusual for no one to be wandering about, but it wasn’t unheard of, especially since so many had already died. The bottom line? Whoever was left remained inside their tents, maybe sleeping, though it was a bit early for that.

Their planned coup may be easier than they’d thought. They certainly hoped so. The original plan had Tamerlane attacking with five others, who weren’t all competent, but still. Now down to two, including himself, and both worn out, didn’t exactly help matters. It was almost necessary for such a small raid to play with a handicap. That was a word he never wanted attributed to himself, but there wasn’t anything for it.

What exactly was coming his way? Would they have to check every tent one by one? It was starting to look that way. They’d held their surveillance for well over an hour and saw no one. Of course, none would show if asleep, but this was little better than a ghost town. They’d have to get closer. All they really had to do was kill Aryl and they’d have effectively chopped off the head of the snake. The rest should fall into their collective laps. They knew where her tent was and if she wasn’t there then she’d have moved into Wferium’s tent. They’d check both starting with Wferium’s.

Of course, it could be a trap; a natural assumption. Wferium may no longer be in charge, but that was no guarantee she was dead. He told Delacroix to wait. He had a new plan. They’d each line up with the entrance to both Wferium’s and Aryl’s tents and at a designated time they’d rush them both. No chance for escape, minimum risk and maximum advantage. It seemed good, so they set it up. Tamerlane would take Wferium’s tent and Delacroix would cover Aryl’s. Both were in the innermost circle, which would prove deadly if ambushed, but that couldn’t be helped.

The time came soon after they’d reached their places. The only new thing they saw as they neared was the tree which stood at the center of camp, but it was bathed in shadows. Nothing happened during the interim. No one noticed their movements or come out on their own volition to do anything. It was a concern. There was no signal. The time simply came due and they both ran forward as if they’d soon be closed in and trapped. That didn’t happen. They reached their respective tents at approximately the same time. Neither poked around nor peeked inside. They just threw the flaps open and rushed inside . . . both to nothing.

No one was in either tent, but neither was any sign of life. Everything of value had been packed up or stripped down. All that remained were two dirt floors covered with plastic tarps. They both immediately suspected a trap and rushed outside ready for it. Not that they could’ve been. They half expected to get shot from many different angles until their legs were torn off. That didn’t happen.

In the awkward stillness they suddenly realized the ground around the center of camp was covered in blood . . . pure white snow stained red as if tarnished to the point of damnation. They’d both witnessed various splatters all around the camp as they neared the central ring. This included some rips and tears in the resistant fabric of a few tents, mostly punctuated by more blood . . . all par for the course. It was expected residual damage from the widespread chaos that engulfed the camp shortly before and likely after they’d begun chasing Meraine.

The torches surrounding the central ring highlighted every smear and stain, each of which must’ve ended in death. There were also streaks leading away . . . irrefutable evidence bodies had been dragged away. At a glance these blood trails either stopped or were covered up by snow. It seemed unlikely the bodies would just stop bleeding, so they silently, carefully followed a few of them.

As it turned out they led to the entrance of one nondescript tent. They didn’t stick around long enough to find out who they were. The darkness inside couldn’t hide the flickering light of torches that snuck in once the flaps opened. The fleeting view laid out shadows telling hints of a story. There were three bodies. By their build they were all men. Lastly, everything but the bodies had been removed just the same as in the two tents they’d already checked.

So people died. Shit happens. Especially here it seemed. Even so, it all felt a bit unnerving. They constantly looked around in a paranoia that practically begged an attack, but still none came. Reluctantly, they worked their way back to the center of camp for the quick formulation of a new plan, or perhaps to dare death to revisit the place. Tamerlane wished to clear out the worst, so the others would fall in line behind his rule. Surely, the worst would take place where everything of significance always took place in the accursed camp . . . near or around the “Queen Tree” as Wferium had dubbed it.

Looking up, it soon became obvious the tree was no longer so empty. Something nasty was stuck inside its twisted, bare branches. It was another body, but one torn to shreds and frozen. There was a foot missing among other things. Neither Tamerlane nor Delacroix were doctors or anything near one, but numerous places on the corpse, especially the abdomen, seemed disturbingly empty. This they could tell through the eerie shadows that made this particular scarecrow truly frightening. Nothing was alight around the Queen Tree or they would’ve noticed the body on their first visit. The torches simply illuminated the occasional tent inside the inner circle and the two concentric circles thereafter.

Upon the silent order, Delacroix gulped down an unnatural fear to investigate further. There was however, no “Sir, yes sir!” this time. Stealth demanded silence, but he wasn’t at all sure he would’ve said it anyway. Not this time. It was hard enough just to obey the order. Delacroix wanted to kill the fear particularly because he liked to think he feared nothing. It left an unfamiliar taste throughout his nerve-wracked body. The camp was a graveyard, with who knew how many more bodies stashed away in other tents. The whole place seemed cursed now and ached for just one more death . . . maybe two. Still, he did as ordered with only a slight pause.

Cracks covered the frozen skin surrounding the corpse’s legs. It made him think the thing had been used as some sort of piñata and feared the candy it gave. Then his fears were made plain as his foot bumped into something that gave way. This meant it wasn’t a root. He glanced down to find the missing foot. It had been hit so hard the bone snapped or at least came apart at the joints. It was hard to tell either way in the dim light.

What happened here? Had the body been eaten? It seemed so. Some fingers were gone from both hands as if chewed off and the foot on the ground was missing a few toes or at least the skin around the toe bones. The foot that remained attached to the body was in the best shape, which wasn’t saying much. From what he could tell he guessed the dead thing was once a woman. That was normally a given based on her build and breasts but her body had been ripped open and . . . spread out.

It was impossible to tell just who she once was, but the unspoken question was answered by Tamerlane in a whisper. “That pattern. There.” As he pointed. “No. There. Right there. The bit that isn’t soaked in blood. The infinity tattoo on her ankle. Only one person here is that eccentric.”

Delacroix recognized it the moment he saw it; a triple helix infinity, as if to say she’d live forever . . . and a day. Neither of them needed to say the name. They both suddenly knew as if it should’ve been obvious all along. Who else would be hung on display? Who else would be desiccated to such an extent? Who else but Wferium?

Not that either felt she deserved any less. Even so, it came as somewhat of a shock, especially now that she was here in the frozen flesh staring back at them from eyeless sockets. They hadn’t once considered paying her the respect of taking her down, even though it was becoming more obvious by the second the entire camp was either dead or gone. Merely touching her seemed taboo. Not that they thought she’d come back to life as some sort of zombie, but they both had an inkling of being cursed by her. Honestly, they felt they’d come too far to avoid it, but there was a fine line between a curse and damnation; one they preferred not to cross. Perhaps it was the eeriness of the torchlight playing off the shadows or the silent ambience of the nightlife, but both suddenly backed away from the Queen Tree, feeling it would never again bear fruit.

They just stood there out in the open, practically daring anyone to do anything. It was something they were beginning to need; a sign of life . . . any sign. Fighting, even if it meant to the death, would take their minds off the horror that now forever branded their memories. Either way, they hadn’t walked all the way back to get deserted themselves. Their rational minds doubted everyone was dead. Why wouldn’t they have taken the tents?

Someone had to be here and if not, something had to have been left behind. If only to invent distraction from the obvious, Tamerlane gave a silent signal to search other tents. It no longer mattered which ones. They got to it quickly but soon found exactly what they’d feared . . . nobody and nothing. So they searched more and more. Avoiding the one that harbored the three bodies. Everything was the same, everywhere. Still they kept searching until every last tent was found empty. They were both ready to collapse by the time it was done.

The blackness was illuminated only by the torches that somehow wouldn’t die. They half expected to be haunted, as if it was taboo to stay the night. Would death claim them while they slept? Where was everyone? It was obviously a trick, but why not take the tents? Didn’t they need them? They were all accounted for. Who the fuck was left?

Where was everything? Even before they’d left too many people had died to carry all that remained. They scavenged everything, but it was still too damned much. Something had to have been left behind, if not in camp then just outside of it. Maybe where the frozen dead were stacked awaiting a Spring burial? They’d have to check, but not now. They’d do it in the light of day, hopefully allowing the horror to fade at least a little.

<><><><>

Officially, the camp now consisted of only two people, but not even they stayed. Not that they’d thought the area just beyond was any safer, but who in their right mind would stay the night in a graveyard? Bodies or not, ghosts now dwelled there. Every passing minute the paranoia grew. If they hadn’t known better they’d expect to hear Wferium’s voice in a deathly tone. Neither could help wondering what the fuck happened? Whatever it was, neither wanted to be a part of it any longer. They both decided they wouldn’t wait. There wasn’t anything here anymore. They’d move on and NOT fucking stop.

Neither wanted to wait until morning, but they both needed sleep. Of course that wasn’t possible. Someone had to remain lookout and then switch up, but not here. They packed up everything they had and moved north towards Madison. Safe or not they needed people and some sign of civilization, which wasn’t a decision they could make so rashly. Danger like that required planning and they required rest.

Naturally, Delacroix stayed up for the first watch. That was when something was expected . . . anything. Be it the fucking ghosts of Christmas past, present and future. What the fuck ever. Still, nothing happened . . . even when he’d nodded off, despite the cold. Then it came time for a shift change. Delacroix walked over to wake Tamerlane, but he wouldn’t wake up. No one should sleep this hard under their circumstances. He tried harder, but nothing worked. In fact, he was barely breathing. It seemed he was in a coma. How could that have happened?

Whatever the case Delacroix was alone now. He wasn’t, but he felt alone. He’d have left Tamerlane, but that would’ve made things worse. He didn’t know what to do. Then suddenly he knew exactly what to do. Without another thought he walked behind the nearest tree and began to dig. He had no idea why. He just simply had to. Soon he uncovered something made of metal. He pulled it up and then found another. They were handcuffs.

Part of him knew he was being swayed, but by who? He didn’t know Aryl was this powerful. Wferium was more than dead and wasn’t coming back. He had to keep telling himself that over and over just to keep the fear at bay. Either way, part of him knew this whole thing had been a trap by design. Part of him knew Tamerlane had been swayed to remain asleep. It was after all the easiest time for an ancient to influence people . . . when they were at their most vulnerable. Part of him wanted to scream at himself to wake the fuck up, but he wasn’t asleep. He simply had no control over what he did.

He watched himself only because he was allowed to do so. It was a game and it was just as fun for the ancient as it was for Delacroix to end Arden. It wasn’t a guess. He KNEW this. He KNEW this ancient knew all about what happened at the bridge. He also KNEW this ancient wasn’t Aryl or Wferium’s ghost. Suddenly Delacroix KNEW that Aryl was dead, but this particular thought was accompanied by a sharp pain he couldn’t describe.

Then he was involuntarily putting handcuffs on Tamerlane and then on himself. As he did this he realized something else . . . a feeling more powerful than all the others. More than anything else, he KNEW they never should’ve returned to camp.