Crap, I left Robertson's shirt soaking in the stream. I put a rock on it to keep it from washing away. I hope the damn shirt is still there.Again, he ...eard the eerie scream in the distance. Is that bastard closer? he wondered. Goose bumps formed on his neck and arms as he looked toward the entrance. The boulder that must have rolled down the mountain sometime in the distant past had partially sealed the opening of the cave. Dirt, either coming with it or from a later slide, had buried most of. As I have said before, the buck stops here. If I didn't pull this off, well, it simply would just be the end of the fucking world. As I just stood there, holding onto the back of one of the bleachers, a voice calls out to me. “Dillon” ! I turn around, and my jaw dropped, and my heart stopped, all at once. “Maurice” I almost yelled it. It was by no means excitement—if you recall in Jock Tales, Freshman year, it was Maurice, along with Mark Mattox, and my fuckin DAD, had their way with me a few. More

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