The Curse of the Campfire Weenies Read Online Free Page A

100.
    When we came in for our ups, I asked Kent, “This game seem strange to you?”
    He shook his head. “Nope.”
    â€œWhat’s the longest you’ve ever gone with extra innings?”
    He frowned. “I don’t know. This time, I guess.”
    â€œI mean not counting this one.” I thought back. Games went ten or eleven innings. Maybe twelve. I wasn’t sure what the pro record was, but I was pretty sure it was a lot less than one hundred innings.
    â€œWhat’s the difference?” Kent asked. “I could play all day and be happy.”
    â€œHot dogs!”
    The guy with the cart was heading toward us. Hot dogs. I always ate them too fast. Choked them down. That’s what my mom would say. Mom? I looked around again. The stands were empty. That was weird. My folks always came to my games.
    â€œThere’s nobody in the stands,” I said.
    Kent shrugged again. I looked at his back. The red splotches had flowed from dark holes. Bullet wounds.
    I gasped. I guess I’d been holding my breath as I stared at Kent’s back. I forced myself to search behind the wall
that protected me from my memories. I’d grabbed a hot dog before the game. Not this game. Another game. I was up in my room, getting my uniform on. I bit off a hunk and gulped it down as I bent over to lace my cleats.
    And realized I couldn’t breathe. For an instant, I didn’t understand what was wrong. Then panic flooded my body. My parents were downstairs, but I couldn’t even make a sound. I tried to get out of the room. That’s the last thing I remember.
    I knew there was no use talking to Kent. He wasn’t ready to remember. Whatever had happened to him, I think it was a lot worse than what happened to me.
    But there was someone I could ask. I was leadoff batter in the 103rd inning. They hadn’t scored. I got on first, which was just where I wanted to be. I didn’t waste words. I might not be on base for long if Ethan got a hit.
    I looked over at Coach Wagner. “Am I dead?”
    He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not yet.”
    â€œSo how do I get out of here?” I watched Ethan head for the batter’s box.
    Coach Wagner sighed. “I was hoping you could tell me.” I noticed that his neck was bent at a strange angle. Instead of a regular belt, he was wearing a seat belt.
    â€œWe have to win or lose sooner or later. Right?”
    â€œI hope so.”
    I realized he didn’t know any more than I did. But I had to do something.
    Or did I? I loved playing ball. I could play forever. I
checked my sock. I had a couple bucks there. I’d always have money for hot dogs. Endless summer.
    I glanced back at Coach Wagner. “I’m going to steal.”
    â€œIt’s your call.”
    â€œCan you help me?” He might not know all the answers, but he was a coach.
    â€œYeah. Take a lead.”
    I moved away from the base and looked back at him.
    â€œOne more step,” he said. “Then wait for my signal.”
    He let the first two pitches go. He gave me the signal on the third. I shot toward second and beat the throw.
    Ethan dribbled a hit, and I made it to third. Marcus struck out. So did Seth. One more out, and my steal would become meaningless. We’d go into inning 104. And then 105, and eventually 1,000 and 10,000 and on and on.
    No way. I loved baseball, but I needed more than that in my life. I watched the first pitch. A ball. As soon as the pitcher went into his windup for the next pitch, I tucked my head and ran like mad. I was going to steal home.
    As I got within sliding distance of home plate, I heard the ball smack into the catcher’s mitt. I dove for the plate, hoping I could avoid the tag.
    An object, hard and round, slammed into my stomach with shocking force.
    I tried to slide, but something was holding me up. No, not something. Someone.
    My feet dangled. I felt a bunched fist plunge into my
gut