Scarlett’s gone, too. All of her stuff is gone!
Stealthily, Fynn crawls over to Beans, puts his hand over his mouth, and does the same thing I did—mouths, Bear. Beans isn’t nearly as covert as he quickly scrambles out and up. The movement and the rustling catch the bear’s attention and it glances up from the wrapper. I feel my eyelids freeze in place as I stare into the animal’s black, round, ominous eyes.
In my peripheral vision I see Rocky step from the trees, and I nearly cry for joy. He’s alive! “Holy hell,” he whispers, and starts backing up into the trees he just came from.
The bear looks away from us and goes right back to the snacks, and I thank God those wrappers are childproof as the animal claws and tries to get at what’s underneath.
“Annie,” Fynn whispers from behind me. “Get over here.”
I try to move, but I can’t. It’s like my body and my brain have completely frozen. Don’t they say that when you see a bear, you should pretend to be dead? If that’s true, I’m doing a great job.
The bear glances up from the food again and gives me a very long stare, and as I look into its eyes, I swear I can read its mind: Mmm, that one looks tasty. I stay frozen, mentally responding to the bear: I promise those moon pies are way yummier than me.
“Annie!” Beans whispers. “What are you doing?”
I feel something on my arm and jump before I realize it’s Fynn, and he’s now pulling me back. “Come. On.”
Slowly, very carefully, I get to my feet and start moving toward the woods. As I do, my gaze darts around our camping spot. Where’s Scarlett?
“Up,” Rocky quietly says, and I realize he’s climbing a tree.
Beans starts scrambling up Rocky’s tree, and Fynn and I scale the one beside it. Seconds later we’re hidden in the limbs and leaves, staring down at the bear that I’m just now realizing isn’t full grown. It’s not a cub, though. More of a toddler, I guess. Not that it matters. It’s still a bear! And Mama Bear can’t be far.
I watch as the bear successfully finishes one snack and moves on to another.
“Where’s Scarlett?” I whisper.
Fynn’s eyes immediately flick down to her empty spot. “I don’t know.”
I look at Beans and Rocky, and they both helplessly shrug.
We go back to looking at the bear, but all I can think about is Scarlett. What if this bear, or maybe another one, dragged her off? But then, where’s all of her stuff? It’s not like a bear would neatly pack it up or something.
“It’s leaving,” Fynn says, and we all let out a collective relieved breath. The bear sidles off down the river, and as it rounds the corner and disappears, sunlight glints off something silver dusting its fur. I turn to ask the guys if they see it, too, when Fynn yells, “Scarlett!”
Silence.
“Scarlett!” Beans hollers.
Silence.
“Scarlett!” Rocky bellows.
Silence.
“SCARLETT!” I scream.
“What. Do. You. Want?” she snaps from the other side of the river.
I take in her dirty tank top, torn spandex, and tangled blond hair, and I nearly fall out of the tree with relief. “How did you get over there?”
She points up the river. “Downed tree. I crawled across. Why are you all in the trees?”
“Bear,” Fynn calls over to her.
She jumps back. “What?”
“It’s on our side,” Rocky says. “Do you see it?”
Wildly, her head whips around. “No.” She waves us over with both hands. “Get over here!”
“Are you sure you don’t see it?” I ask.
“No! But hurry in case it comes back.”
Good point. We scramble down, our gazes watching the area where the bear disappeared, and quickly gather our things. At least once we’re over there with Scarlett, the river will be between us and the bear. Okay, maybe crossing the river isn’t such a bad idea after all.
We follow Scarlett’s directions, racing along beside the river, and sure enough, there’s a tree that’s fallen across. It looks fairly new, which is good. Not rotted.
But it’s only about a foot in diameter. I crouch and look first at one end, then trail my eyes the twenty feet or so to the other. Both sides seem solidly wedged into the dirt banks.
I eye the water next, bubbling and swirling four feet or so below the tree, and uneasiness crawls through my guts.
Rocky turns and looks at me. “You can do this.”
On the other side, Scarlett stands watching us. My uneasiness morphs into full-on nerves, and I start biting my thumbnail. “What if I slip?”
Rocky slides his backpack off, unzips it, and pulls out some rope. “I’ll tie you to me, and we’ll cross together.”
Beans steps up. “I can do it.”
“Uh…” Rocky looks at me, and I know what he’s thinking. Beans is no bigger than me. If I’m going to be tied to someone, I want it to be Rocky.
I give Beans a playful nudge. “Thanks, but Rocky’s got it.”
Beans gets all quiet and bummed and I feel horrible, but seriously, there’s no way Beans could support my weight. Surely he knows that.
I watch as Rocky unravels the rope, and I get more and more nervous. My hands start to shake and I clench them to try to feel tougher. When he’s done, he ties us together through our belt loops and gives both ends of the rope a good tug.
“We’ll go first,” he says. “Fynn and Beans, you follow.”
Good idea. That way they can catch me if I slip.
“Who made you the boss?” Fynn grumbles, tucking in his shirt, and idly I wonder why he’s tucking in his shirt. We’re crossing a log. Does he think an untucked shirt is somehow going to make him ineligible for the neat and tidy award?
“Just do what he says,” I say. “It’s a good plan.”
Then, in tandem, Rocky and I inch our way over the embankment and down onto the tree. It gives a little under our weight, and my whole body locks up.
Rocky crawls forward, but I don’t follow. He glances back and lifts his dark brows, and I swallow an enormous anxiety-filled lump in my throat. “I felt it move,” I tell him.
Fynn nudges me from behind. “It’s okay. It’s just settling in.”
“It did that with me, too,” Scarlett says from the other side of the bank.
I grit my teeth. “I don’t need you being helpful right now.” She’s throwing it in my face that she crossed all by herself.
She holds her hands up. “Whatever.”
Whatever.
I take a deep breath and blow it out and give Rocky a go-ahead nod. He starts to move forward again, and slowly, I make myself follow. Inch by inch we carefully crawl.
It did that with me, too.
And she’s just one single person. But with the combined weight of all the Scouts…
The tree shifts a little on our bank, and my muscles cinch tight. “M-maybe Fynn and Beans should wait until we cross and then they can go.”
“We’re fine,” Rocky assures me as he keeps crawling and the rope between us tightens. “Annie,” he whines. “We need to keep moving.”
The tree wobbles again, and all the air leaves my lungs. I halt, petrified.
“Annie!” Beans shouts from behind. “Move!”
But I can’t. I’m frozen.
Another lurch, and this time the tree breaks free from the bank, and my world spins.
Our end drops four feet straight down into the water, and the other end precariously dangles from the bank as it clings to its roots.
Water rushes over me. Under me. Around me. It floods my mouth.
I cling to the tree and scream.
And choke.
And scream again.
We’re going to die!
Then my body moves, and I realize Rocky is dragging me up the tree. Behind me, Fynn grunts as he wedges his shoulder into my butt and pushes. I hear Beans splash and gurgle, and I look over my shoulder to see him fighting his way up t
he tree behind Fynn and out of the water.
Someone death-grips my wrists and I swerve my gaze to see Scarlett dragging me the last few feet across the trunk. I’m dimly aware of the bark scratching my cheek. Then I’m on dry ground, still tethered to Rocky, and I dig my fingers into the dirt and gulp for air.
Beans starts throwing up—dry heaving, really. He does that when he’s really scared. Wheezing cuts through the air next, and I jump into action, tugging Rocky along with me. I rip off Fynn’s wet backpack, grab his inhaler, and push it into his hand.
Rocky begins untying us. “Annie, we have got to teach you to swim.”
“Jesus.” Fynn gasps for air. “We could have all died.”
Tears well in my eyes and I angrily shove them away. “I’m sorry!”
Rocky dumps everything out of his backpack, and it’s all soaked. As I’m sure all of our stuff is, too. He picks up his sopping wet sleeping bag and shoots me a look.
I jump to my feet. “Oh, y’all aren’t so perfect!”
No one says anything for a few furious seconds as I loom in front of them, breathing heavily, my hands fisted and shaking. I yank the wet bandana off my head and throw it down.
Beans stops dry heaving, and Fynn stops wheezing as he unzips his pack and dumps out his stuff, too. I watch as he picks up a river-logged box of Band-Aids and tosses them aside. This is followed by all of his medicines. He opens a bottle of allergy pills, tilts it, and water pours out. I cringe. Maybe he should have sealed it better.
Fynn lifts fuming eyes to me. “If I get impetigo, you are so to blame.”
“I’m sorry.” I do feel bad.
Fynn keeps digging through his bag and pulls out—uh-oh—his Walkman. I watch as he holds it up and water dribbles from its seam.
Beans takes his portable player out of a waterproof case and holds it up. “No worries. I’ve got mine.”
“‘I’ve got mine,’” Fynn mimics. “Figures your Walkman is fine. This was my birthday present.” He tosses the now useless thing onto the ground.
Scarlett intercedes, and for once I’m happy to hear her speak. “Let’s lay everything out in the sun. I have something to show you all. And when we come back, it’ll all be dry. Okay?”
“My Walkman will not be okay,” Fynn snaps.
No one says anything to that, and I get a few more dirty looks.
“Yeah, okay,” Rocky finally relents, and we lay our stuff out in the sun.
Still, no one speaks to me as we fall in step behind Scarlett. I really hate being the one they’re mad at. I’m the one who referees their arguments. I’m not the one they’re usually irritated with.
“What do you want to show us?” asks Beans.
Scarlett turns, and her green eyes dance with delight. “Just wait!”
CHAPTER 6
Scarlett pushes aside kudzu vines covering a hill. “Look what I found!”
Rocky folds his arms as he stares at the dark opening in the side of the hill. “Did you already go in?”
“Well, no.” Scarlett grimaces. “I was too scared. I was waiting on you.”
Rocky’s mouth cocks up into a little macho smile.
She blushes. “All of you guys, of course.”
Oh, my God. If I have to spend this whole trek watching the two of them flirting, I’m going to strangle myself. And then I’m going to strangle them. Wait. Make that the other way around. Them first, then me.
Plus, it was my hand he was holding last night. Not hers.
“What if there’s someone in there?” Beans asks.
Crouching, I study the opening. It’s big enough for an adult to crawl through. There could be someone in there. Or a wild animal. A bear. Yeah, there might be another bear.
“Hey, maybe it’s like Indiana Jones,” Fynn suggests. “And it’s a trick cave with a treasure.”
“Ooh,” we all say.
And that’s all it takes to have us simultaneously move toward the opening.
With our one and only waterproof flashlight, Rocky drops to all fours and takes the lead, like he usually does. I’m next, and Scarlett is right behind me.
“Smells like cat piss in here,” Rocky says.
I inhale and immediately crinkle my nose. He’s right.
The flashlight beam bounces off the dark walls and floor, and I get glimpses of dirt and twigs. The farther we crawl, the more the temperature drops and the dirt and twigs transition into mud. I went to Carlsbad Caverns a couple of years ago on our family vacation, but it was nothing like this. This cave looks like it’s still undiscovered.
“This is a live cave,” says Beans from behind.
“What’s that mean?” asks Scarlett.
I want to remind her she won a science award and should probably know, but I don’t.
“There’s a water source,” Beans answers. “Otherwise there wouldn’t be mud.”
“All I know is that it’s nasty,” mutters Fynn.
“What, are you afraid of getting your polo dirty?” I tease.
“Ha… ha… ha.” Fynn’s voice echoes around me, and I smile.
Rocky stops crawling, and I nearly run smack into his butt. He shines his light back and forth, illuminating whatever waits ahead. “That is so totally wicked,” he says.
I peek around him and suck in a shocked breath. “Go.” I give him a nudge. “I want to see.”
He drops out of the passageway and into an enormous room that’s about the size of half a football field.
Slowly, Rocky scans his light around the room and I take it all in—the walls glistening with dribbles of water; pointy rocks hanging from the ceiling; other ones growing up from the floor; and a small pool of water dead center in the room.
“Wow,” Beans breathes once the whole gang has exited the passageway. “I bet this is just one room of a whole chain.”
He snatches the flashlight out of Rocky’s hand and walks the perimeter of the area as we fall in step behind him. “Stalactites and stalagmites.” Beans points up and down. “Created by water and limestone drippings.”
He swings the flashlight beam into our faces. “Don’t touch them!”
I hold up my hands.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Rocky jumps, kicking his Nikes. “R-r-rat!”
I hop back and look down to see an itty-bitty mouse scurry by. Rat? What rat?
“Where there’s one,” Fynn teases, “there will be others.”
Rocky flips him the middle finger. He hates mice. One time he was at my house and we were in the kitchen. A baby mouse raced by, hovering along the baseboard, and Rocky nearly had a heart attack. He even jumped up on one of our kitchen chairs and squealed—actually squealed—like he was a little old grandmother or something.
I have no clue why he hates mice so much. I should ask him sometime. Then again, spiders freak me out, and I don’t know why. They just do.
“Hello-o-o!” Beans calls, and his voice bounces all around us.
“Indiana Jo-o-ones!” I follow.
“Rocky loves mi-i-ice!” Fynn yells.
“Fynn’s stu-u-upid!” Rocky shouts.
“La la-a-a,” Scarlett finishes, and we laugh and listen as our voices ping-pong all around us before gradually becoming quiet again.
Then Beans stops walking. Rocky bumps into him. I bump into Rocky. And Scarlett and Fynn bump into me.
“Um…” Beans mutters, slowly backing up.
The flashlight beam shakes, and I follow its yellow glow all the way over to the wall, where something is on the ground. Something that looks an awful lot like a—
“Sk-sk-skeleton!” Fynn stammers.
Curiosity has my feet moving forward before they register I should probably be freaked there is a dead person right here. Rocky moves closer, too.
Holy moly. It is a skeleton.
With clothes. Overalls, to be exact, and a John Deere hat.
Reaching forward, I take the bill of its cap—
“What are you doing?” Scarlett gasps.
—an
d I lift off the hat. Beetles roll down its skull.
“Aaah!” I jump back, and the beetles disappear through the skeleton’s eye sockets and gaped mouth.
Then something under its overalls moves. Something bigger than a beetle, and I watch in weird anticipation as whatever’s under there slowly moves down the skeleton’s denim-covered leg and emerges from the cuff.
Rocky leaps back as, yes, this time a small rat turns away from us and lumbers off into the dark. Clearly, it’s not scared of us.
“Um, when was the last time any of you actually saw Old Man Basinger?” Beans asks.
I turn to him. “Why?”
He points his flashlight to the John Deere hat that I’m still holding. BILL BASINGER is printed in bold black marker on the inside.
I gasp. “Oh, no! This is Old Man Basinger. But how—” I glance back to his skeleton and a pang of sorrow hits me. I’m not sure why. It’s not like I even knew him, and every time I did see him, he was mean.
But there was that time I saw him on his tractor parked under a tree reading an old paperback book. And that time I saw him on a bench downtown smoking a pipe. Both times he’d seemed so normal and old. Like a grandfather.
But what about all the other times? Like when he chased us off his land because we were climbing his hay bales. And that time he yelled at us for building a snow dinosaur in his back pasture. And when he caught Rocky sneaking into his orchard and taking peaches for all of us.
Yeah, I guess we were annoying to the old guy. But he has the best land around here to play on. And it’s not like we were destroying anything. We were just goofing around.
I hear something click and then wind, and I turn to see Beans taking pictures with a camera he had in a waterproof plastic bag. I don’t know if he should be doing that. Isn’t it wrong to take pictures of a skeleton?
“When we get back, we need to tell somebody we found him,” Rocky says.
True. “But then that’ll give away the fact we’re out doing something we’re not supposed to be doing.”
“I can’t get in trouble over this,” Fynn says. “We’ll do an anonymous letter or something.”
We all nod and go back to pondering Old Man Basinger. A few seconds later I put his hat back onto his skull and adjust the brim so it’s sitting a little cocked, like I imagine he would wear it.
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