Barry Jameson sat with his knees drawn up under his chin atop the roof of the maintenance shed, watching the road that wound down into the camp. His eyes were filled with worry and anticipation, and he chewed his lower lip from anxiety. His mind was half on the car he expected to see any minute driving down the road, and half on the remains of the car shrouded by a paint-splattered sheet in a dark corner of the shed beneath him. His heart skipped a beat as he saw the car for which he was waiting turn the corner and burst into view, kicking up great clouds of brown dust in its wake. It passed the sign that read CAMP BERNHARDT and disappeared behind a cluster of trees, then emerged again, closer and larger. Barry closed his eyes and uttered a futile prayer that it had never happened, but when he opened his eyes again, the car was pulling to a stop in front of the camp director's cabin, and the wreck was still in the shed beneath him. He suddenly wished he were hiding someplace, that he had never signed up to be the handicraft director at this godforsaken summer camp, that he was back in the city and had never heard of Gary Kemper or his damned dune buggy. But none of that was possible. Gary had already stepped out of his sedan, gone around to the other side and opened the door for his wife of three days, Lorraine. She stepped out, and Barry momentarily forgot his worries. She was stunning, long blonde hair flowing down to the small of her back, forming curls in the front that framed an expressive, tanned face. She wore a t-shirt, and her breasts pushed against the material, hard enough to show their outline clearly. Her short pants hugged her thighs, and directed one's attention to the long, tapering smoothness of her richly tanned legs. So that's Gary's new wife, Barry thought, then his mind returned to Gary. He and his new wife were breathing deeply of the fresh, clean mountain air, scented of pine and ice. Then Gary saw Barry, and waved. Feebly, Barry waved back. Well, he thought, his heart hammering in his chest. It's now or never....