The Midnight Market

by Beth McMullen

  “Tree climbing,” Hannah says with glee. “That’s more dangerous than rock climbing.” As Hannah is our designated team adrenaline junkie, she finds the idea of tree-climbing delightful.

  But not so much Jin. He goes a shade pale. “Paul said I should stay home. He said that I’m not the right kid for this.”

  “Bodhi said I should stay home too,” Hannah says. “He said he would die from missing me. I told him that seemed extreme and he better get it together. Anyway, Paul is an idiot.” Bodhi might also be an idiot, but I keep that to myself. “And quit worrying. Tree climbing is going to be excellent. We have ropes to dangle from, so you’ll be fine.”

  Jin buries his head in his hands. “Dangling from ropes?” he moans. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Look.” I hold up a quick-dry towel and a tube of environmentally friendly soap. “We get towels. And soap.” Normal stuff has to be calming, right?

  “Which I won’t need after I plummet to my death off a dangling rope,” Jin replies. Okay. Maybe not calming.

  “My father would not let us do this if he thought there was any chance of, you know, ending up dead.” I say this with much more confidence than it deserves. Dad is not exactly a conventional parent. He once took me along in a tiny submersible to investigate a sunken ship that was supposed to hold treasures beyond the imagination. (For the record, it did not. The only thing it contained was marine life, happily gurgling around and eating stuff.) Normally, an investigation like this would be done by video, where you, or me in this case, stayed safely aboard a ship watching the whole thing unfold on a bunch of television screens. But no. The ship was not very deep, and Dad wanted to “see it with his own eyes.”

  “A bird in the hand, Lola,” he told me, “is worth two in the bush.” Birds? There are no birds under the sea! But he would not be dissuaded. Down we went. And when the tiny submarine sprang a leak, he told me to hold my breath. So while my father would not purposely send us into harm’s way, it would be very easy for him to do so by accident.

  “There will be other kids at the camp,” I say finally. “It can’t be that bad. Their reputation would suffer if everyone died.”

  Jin mumbles and grows paler with each item on the camp packing list. On high alert for anything that might derail our decision to go to camp (like fear of death), I decide it’s time to go on the offensive. I slap down my list and leap to my feet. “You guys,” I say.

  “Uh-oh,” Hannah responds, waggling her eyebrows at Jin. “I sense a lecture coming.”

  “It’s not a lecture,” I say. “It’s a pep talk.”

  “That might be worse than scurvy,” Jin replies.

  I put my hands on my hips. “This is our chance to make them realize they simply cannot live without us.”

  “They might have to live without us because we might be dead,” Jin mutters.

  “I will not accept fear from either of you,” I say sternly.

  Hannah stiffens. “Who said I’m afraid?”

  “Well, not you. Mostly Jin.”

  “Thanks, Lola.” Jin glares at me.

  As pep talks go, this one is not going to win any awards. I plow forward anyway.

  “We need to get psyched. We need to show up there dripping with confidence.”

  “That sounds gross,” Hannah says. “Does confidence smell bad?”

  “Just so I have this straight,” Jin clarifies. “Fear is unacceptable and I might bleed from my eyeballs and I’ll be dripping with… something?”

  Oh boy. We might be doomed. But out of nowhere, laughter bubbles up inside me like a burp and explodes. Soon Hannah and Jin are cackling like hyenas, and Zeus is buzzing around the room, shrieking.

  And for a flash, after such a long time, it feels almost like normal.

  CHAPTER 8 STAR AND FISH GET SURPRISED

  STAR: Did you get my last text? How did this happen?? I am a good treasure hunter, top of my class, a superstar, the best! I have worked my butt off for this organization, giving them everything. I mean, I have not even complained about being in Siberia! I am that much of a team player!

  FISH: Are you sure you want to say that part about not complaining? It might be a lie.

  STAR: You are missing the point! Those annoying kids have been invited to Camp Timber Wolf!

  FISH: NO

  STAR: Yes!

  FISH: But that is where I got my start treasure hunting. It’s for special, talented, remarkable, hardworking, diligent people, and those kids are not special, talented, remarkable, hardworking, or diligent. They are just trouble, plain and simple. How did this happen? Getting invited to Camp Timber Wolf is no easy thing, and they were banned for life, last time I checked.

  STAR: I’m so mad I could spit. Actually, I did spit, but it froze before it hit the ground. Aren’t you the one who told me that famous treasure hunter Lawrence Benko no longer had any influence over the International Task Force for the Cooperative Protection of Entities with Questionable Provenance?

  FISH: I don’t think I ever said that.

  STAR: I’m sure you did.

  FISH: No.

  STAR: Yes.

  FISH: Fine. But remember Lawrence is the best treasure hunter there is and maybe ever was. Well, except for Phoenix and Gryphon, and we know how that ended up.

  STAR: Don’t say the name Phoenix. It gives me chills. Besides, you said that was just a made-up story! As for Lawrence, I never liked that guy. He totally went behind our backs on this.

  FISH: How would he even find us to ask our thoughts? Does anyone know we’re here? Oh, this is turning into a bad day.

  STAR: Sometimes I want to quit.

  FISH: And do what?

  STAR: I have no idea. So while the brats go to camp, buff up their tarnished reputations, and redeem themselves, we sit here patiently and freeze to death? I’m not sure I can do it.

  FISH: Don’t give up. Not yet. Remember, they redeem themselves only if they succeed. And camp is hard. There is a good chance that they fail. A really good chance. In fact, I can almost guarantee it.

  STAR: Are you saying what I think you’re saying?

  FISH: What do you think I’m saying?

  STAR: I don’t want to say.

  FISH: Probably you are right, then. We start with Moose.

  STAR: Will he agree?

  FISH: He owes me a favor. He’ll do what I ask. Plus, he’s not overly fond of children, so he might find the experience pleasurable. Running the little brats out of camp and all.

  STAR: Isn’t the whole camp full of little brats?

  FISH: Yes. But that is not the point. I want him to focus on our little brats. Leave it to me.

  STAR: I’m going to call you. Where are you?

  FISH: Ice fishing.

  STAR: Is that code for something?

  FISH: No. It’s when you dig a hole in the ice, drop a line, and fish.

  STAR: I have to go.

  CHAPTER 9 MOOSE THE BABYSITTER

  THE LOGISTICS OF GETTING TO camp timber wolf are easy. Fly from San Francisco International Airport to New York’s John F. Kennedy Airport. Transfer to a smaller plane and make our way to upstate New York. A babysitter will pick us up. The official itinerary used the word “chaperone.” What it failed to mention is that plane number two is actually a tin can with wings. Jin almost faints.

  “We are getting in that?” he moans. “Does it have parachutes? I think Paul was right. I am not the kid for this.” The flight attendant gives him a soothing mantra to repeat while we board the tiny aircraft, something like “The plane flies like an eagle, I fly like an eagle in the plane. The plane flies like an eagle, I fly like an eagle in the plane.” After about ten minutes of Jin’s muttering, Hannah threatens to toss him out a window to see if he really can fly like an eagle. Fortunately, it’s a short flight and soon our tin can lands on a bumpy airstrip in the middle of what appears to be an enormous military base.

  “Welcome to Fort Big Bang,” the pilot says. “The pride of upstate New York. Y
ou are now on the twentieth-biggest military base in the United States.” If I came in twentieth, I might not brag. But I guess Camp Timber Wolf is on good enough terms with the United States military that they allow access to their airstrip. From a certain perspective, this is scary.

  The place is hopping. As we climb down a steep set of stairs to the tarmac, green military trucks whiz by and troops march in formation, chanting and singing. A white van zooms up and practically runs us over. When the driver unfolds from behind the wheel, we get a glimpse of his three-foot-wide shoulders and bulging biceps roughly the same circumference as my waist. His shiny bald head reflects the bright sunlight. I cannot tell his eye color because he wears extra-large black sunglasses, the kind you see on old people after they get cataract surgery. This guy is no Mary Poppins.

  “Moose,” he grunts, jabbing a thumb into his chest. Does this mean his name is Moose? If so, we can all agree this is a very apt name. Mountain works too. Or Colossus. He holds out a large hand.

  “All electronics.” Right. Camp Timber Wolf is strictly electronics-free. This is because they do not want you to be able to call for help.

  “Wait!” Jin yelps, pounding out a final text so fast his thumbs might start to smoke. “Let me tell Paul that I’m signing off for a little while so he doesn’t worry.”

  Hannah rolls her eyes. “Bodhi is the one who should worry. With all the tree climbing and stuff, I’m going to come back way faster and stronger and leave him in the dust.” For the first time, I feel a twinge of empathy for Bodhi, but I barely have time to consider it before Moose is barking at us. Actually, moose bellow. They don’t bark. Whatever, it is loud.

  “Devices. Now!” Reluctantly, we turn them over. Jin adds a tablet, muttering something about how I promised this was going to be fun but obviously I lied. Moose asks for a verbal pledge that we do not have additional devices stashed in our gear bags. We swear we do not. Grumbling, so we know he doesn’t quite believe us, he tosses our belongings into the van as if they weigh nothing and gestures for us to climb in.

  And off we go. Moose is not chatty. In fact, he says nothing. Maybe he’s dead? But if I look closely, I can see the subtle rise and fall of his huge shoulders indicating he’s still breathing. Plus, we haven’t careened off the road, so not dead. A cyborg? That’s a real possibility. Jin stares at the back of Moose’s giant head as if trying to see into his brain while Hannah lolls in her seat, eyes closed, a tiny bit of drool at the corner of her mouth.

  I gaze out the window as the van trundles along a ribbon of road unfurled over the flat landscape and disappearing into a cloudless afternoon. There is not much out here, and by that, I mean, nothing. The fields are dotted with cows. We pass a few picturesque farmhouses with wide wraparound porches and purple flowers growing in pots on the steps. The upright silos are abandoned in favor of silage bags, plastic-wrapped livestock feed the shape and size of a silo but lying on the ground. They look like a bunch of Jurassic-era earthworms up and died. But that is it. No cars. No people. No towns. Nothing but stretches of flat farmland.

  Jin nudges me. “What do you think Moose will say if I ask for a pee break?”

  I squint at our driver. As he is made of concrete, he probably has no sympathy for bodily functions. “No,” I reply. “He will definitely say no.”

  “I should ask anyway.” Jin fidgets beside me. “Should I ask? I really gotta go. Hey, I have an idea. You ask.”

  Wait a minute. “Me?”

  “Yeah. Camp was your idea. Besides, you’re good at that sort of thing.”

  “Asking for bathroom breaks?”

  “No. You know what I mean.”

  “I have to go too,” Hannah pipes up, even though her eyes are closed and her head is squished uncomfortably against the glass window. “Bad.”

  Great. But Jin and Hannah are only here because I begged them, so I guess it’s my job to take one for the team. “Excuse me?” I begin. “Mr. Moose? We, and I mean all three of us, need to use the bathroom. And kids aren’t supposed to hold it for very long because that is unhealthy.”

  Jin raises his eyebrows at me and I shrug. Maybe Moose is a data-driven person. The mere fact of us having to go to the bathroom might not be good enough. The tires beat out a rhythmic white noise on the narrow road. Nervous sweat gathers at my temples. Did he not hear me? Hannah nudges me with an elbow. Ask again, she mouths.

  “Mr. Moose?” I say tentatively.

  After a pause, “Moose. Just Moose. No ‘mister.’ ”

  Six whole syllables! Progress! “Sorry, sir,” I reply quickly.

  “No ‘sir.’ No ‘mister.’ Just Moose.”

  Oh boy, I’m screwing this up and getting on the giant mountain man’s nerves and that is not good. And now I have to go to the bathroom too, although it might be anxiety. Hannah’s face is doing that weird thing it does right before she cracks up. If she laughs now, we will catch it like a virus and be cackling like a bunch of hyenas in no time, at which point peeing our pants becomes a real possibility. And call it intuition, but I’m guessing Moose won’t like being laughed at. He will toss us out of this van on our collective butts, and our dreams of treasure-hunter glory will be over. I clear my throat and sit up straighter.

  “Moose,” I say. “If you don’t mind, we’d appreciate a bathroom stop. When it’s convenient for you, of course.” He does not acknowledge me at all. Doesn’t he know the rules of babysitting? You can’t pretend the kids you are caring for don’t exist.

  Babysitters. What are you going to do?

  I’m about to get mad and do, well, I don’t know what I’m going to do, but it turns out it doesn’t matter because abruptly Moose steers the big white van onto the sandy shoulder, sending up a cloud of dust. The seat belt strains against my chest.

  Jin grunts. Hannah puts her hands out as if she might fly into the front seat. Moose turns to us, large black sunglasses low on his nose. He nods to the door.

  “Go.”

  We glance at one another. “Go?” Hannah asks. Now, Moose could mean get out of this van forever or he could mean go and pee on nature. I’m hoping for the latter. I scramble over Jin and pull open the van door.

  “Out!” I bark, pushing him.

  “Oh!” Jin says, the light bulb coming on. “He means pee in the woods. Sick!” I can’t know for sure if Moose rolls his eyes, but I’d bet twenty bucks on it anyway. As Hannah climbs out, she mutters, “Of course, girls are at a distinct disadvantage when it comes to peeing in the woods. Everyone knows that.”

  And something about her comment lights a fire under our dear monosyllabic mountain of a Moose man. And let me be clear. That is not a good thing.

  CHAPTER 10 #VANLIFE

  MOOSE PIVOTS IN THE FRONT seat, which is no easy maneuver for a man of his size. And when he takes off his big sunglasses, I know we are in serious trouble. Beside me, Jin swallows repeatedly.

  “If you can’t handle peeing in the woods,” Moose snarls, “you will not make it through your first day of camp. The director will send you packing.” The moose tattoo along his forearm ripples in a very unsettling way. How is it possible that we’ve ruined this relationship just by sitting in his van? Does he treat everyone he chauffeurs around in this way?

  “We can handle it,” Hannah shoots back. “I was only pointing out the inequity of the situation.”

  Moose holds up a hand to silence her. “Let me think about how much I care about your opinion. Oh right. Not at all.”

  No one moves a muscle. Moose scans us with dark, intense eyes. Beside me, Jin crosses his legs. Things are critical. “There are rules,” Moose says finally, “for being in my van.”

  Come on, Moose! We’re going to do rules now?

  “Number one: speak only when you are spoken to.” Wow. How very 1950s of him—a child should be seen but never heard. “Nod if you understand.” Our heads bob up and down in unison.

  “Number two: no barfing. Barf can never truly be cleaned from a car. It’s ruinous. Game over–level
disaster.” He wants us to promise not to puke in his car? Okay, I guess. We nod again.

  “Third: don’t cause trouble. That should be a given, but I’ve heard about you three from reliable sources. I have your number. I’m watching.” Oh dang. How did I not see this one coming? His “reliable sources” can only be Star and Fish.

  Moose is a minion! His marching orders are probably to get rid of us by whatever means necessary. Talk about high stakes. Getting my friends to camp was important, but in order for us to really get back to what we were, we need to succeed at camp. We need to crush it. We need to be inevitable. Moose levels us with a nasty glare. “If you wanted easy, you should have stayed home.” Silence descends on the van. You can hear a pin drop.

  Or a parrot squawk?

  “Let me out! Let me out! Let me out!” My stowed gear bag wiggles and rustles. Oh. No.

  Moose’s thin, sharp eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “What was that?”

  “Nothing?” I offer. Does Moose growl at me? Possibly.

  “Frogs,” Jin says quickly.

  “Frogs don’t talk.” Moose unclips his seat belt and climbs into the back of the van.

  “Out! Out! Out!” the gear bag shouts.

  Moose digs in, finds the talking bag, and unzips it. And out leaps Zeus, feathers ruffled, glossy eyes indignant. “Jin!” Our stowaway parrot flaps joyously to Jin’s shoulder.

  “He really likes you,” Hannah says flatly.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Moose demands. “A parrot?”

  All eyes settle on me, including Zeus’s. “Um… he’s an emotional support parrot?” I don’t explain that it is actually Zeus’s emotions that require supporting. “Someone was supposed to tell you.”

  He knows I’m lying. I can tell by the way he flexes his jaw muscles. Because who carries a parrot around in a bag? But he can’t very well chuck the family parrot out the window and call it good, can he? Besides, runaway parrots can have a devastating effect on the local ecology. No matter. Moose looks ready to blow.

  “They told me I had to do this for the organization,” he mutters, gaze fixed on Zeus. “They told me if I took one for the team, I’d be rewarded later. I’d get to go on the good treasure hunts. I’d get respect. They told me it would be easy. Kids. What’s the big deal? Piece of cake. But nobody told me there would be parrots.”