Beans crouches down and studies him for a couple of long seconds. “The bones seem awfully clean. Where’s the skin and the decay?”
I cringe. “Yuck.”
“Maybe the beetles picked it clean,” Rocky says, and Beans gives a thoughtful nod.
“Okay, gross.” Scarlett gags. “Stop talking about it.”
“What do you suppose he was doing in here?” Fynn asks. “Wait a minute. Do you think someone put him in here? Do you think someone murdered him?”
No one says anything for a good solid moment as the enormity of that question sinks in. Murder? Uneasiness creeps up my backbone and I swallow a lump of dread in my throat. Does his family know he’s missing? Surely they have to know by now. Judging from his skeleton, he’s been here awhile.
I think about Beans’s question and try to remember the last time I saw Old Man Basinger. I think it’s been about a month. He’s been missing a month? Why haven’t any of us heard about it?
“Or maybe it was just old age,” Rocky quietly says. “The guy was ancient.”
Old age. Murder.
I like old age a lot better.
“It could have been the Mason Mountain Clan.” Fynn grabs the flashlight and shines it in Beans’s face. “I told you they’re real. They killed him and stowed his body in here.”
I suck in a breath. He’s right. They could’ve killed Old Man Basinger.
Beans holds his hand up against the light and with a tolerant look says, “Don’t be ridiculous. There is no Mason Mountain Clan.”
“But you don’t know for sure,” I say.
Suddenly a loud fluttering fills the air. Like flapping wings in stereo, times a million.
Scarlett backs away. “Wha-a-at is that?”
The noise gets louder. Louder. And louder. Then out of I-don’t-know-where come a zillion bats. Flipping and flapping and spiraling through the air like a black tornado.
Fynn drops the flashlight and it rolls across the cave floor. The beam bounces off the bats’ bodies, and distorted shadows swirl across the walls of the cave.
One of them dive-bombs me, and I shout, “Run!”
I manage to snatch the flashlight off the floor, and we take off sprinting across the cave, slipping and sliding and screaming and pushing against one another. Fynn dives into the passageway first. Then Scarlett and me, followed by Rocky and Beans. I move faster than I think I probably ever have in my life.
“Go!” Beans shouts, shoving all of us from behind.
The beating wings echo around us in the crawl space as we frantically fight our way toward the daylight, finally scrambling from the hole.
“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod,” Scarlett chants hysterically, dancing around as Fynn shakes his arms like he’s got the heebie-jeebies.
Gripping the flashlight, I lean my hands on my knees and try to catch my breath. I’ve never seen a bat that close up before!
“Those were real,” Beans says to us all, like we didn’t just see the flying bloodsuckers.
More calm than he should be, Rocky folds his arms and surveys us. “What a bunch of wimps.”
“What?” I yell. “You were running, too!”
Rocky huffs. “Not even.”
Scarlett holds her hands up. “You remember I was talking about a rabid squirrel earlier? There was also this bat—”
Beans interrupts her. “Bats really won’t hurt you. They work off sound. We were too loud. We disturbed them.” His eyes get really big and excited. “Let’s go back in and look around some more.”
Scarlett shakes her head. “I’m not going back in there.”
Fynn backs up. “Me neither. Clearly, you don’t know what kind of diseases they carry.”
I pause, watching Fynn and Scarlett disappear into the trees, thinking now that I’m out here (and calmer) and I know what’s in there—a really cool cave, Basinger’s skeleton, and bats that will calm down soon—yeah, okay, I’ll go back.
“Let’s do this,” Rocky says. “Just the three of us.”
I nod. “I’m in.”
But then Scarlett’s scream cuts through the trees, and we take off running.
CHAPTER 7
“All our stuff is gone!” Scarlett screeches, and all I can do is stand in complete dumbfounded shock, staring at the patch of sunny grass where we left everything.
Everything.
My purple pocketknife. Our waterlogged flashlights. Sleeping bags. What little food we had left. My favorite bandana. Beans’s map.
Oh, no, the map!
Fynn and Beans stomp up and down the bank of the river, yelling and throwing their hands up. Rocky charges into the woods looking for, I assume, whoever took our stuff. Scarlett keeps screeching. And I can’t seem to move. My dad gave me that pocketknife just yesterday.
“You kids okay?”
I whip around to see a boy standing across the river. Shirtless with jeans and boots, he wears a ball cap backward and has dark hair. I’d say he’s probably sixteen.
And he’s really cute.
Really cute. Wait a minute, where did that thought come from?
Fynn, Beans, and Scarlett stop what they’re doing and turn to look at him. The boy smiles, and I feel my face get hot.
“You kids okay?” he repeats.
“Someone took all of our stuff!” Scarlett screeches. I really wish she would stop with the screeching.
Rocky comes barreling back out of the woods and halts to a stop. The boy across the river takes us all in, and I can only imagine what we must look like. Fynn’s penny loafers, Scarlett’s torn spandex, my matted hair, Rocky’s bloody knee, and Beans’s muddy high-waters. Yeah, I’m sure we look like we know what we’re doing.
“What kind of stuff?” he asks.
“Your dog only has three legs,” Beans says instead, and I just now realize there’s a small white and black mutt standing beside the boy. With, sure enough, only three legs.
The dog cocks his head and wags his tail. Aw. Super cute. Just like his owner.
The boy leans down and pats the dog’s head. “This is Hoppy. My name’s Edge.”
“Edge,” Rocky mumbles. “What kind of name is Edge?”
“What kind of name is Rocky?” I mumble back, and earn a glower.
“Where you kids headed?” Edge asks.
“To the me—”
Beans slaps his hand over Fynn’s mouth. “Nowhere. Just out playing.”
Edge gives us another perusal, and his lips twitch like he thinks we’re funny.
“I heard screaming a few minutes ago. Are you sure everything’s okay? You haven’t seen anything odd, have you?”
“Just act casual,” Rocky mutters before shouting, “Nope! We’re fine.”
“All right. Well, you kids be safe. There are a lot of dangers in the woods.” With that, Edge and Hoppy sidle off.
Fynn shoves Beans. “Don’t ever put your nasty hand on my mouth.”
“You were going to blow our cover,” Beans says.
I keep watching Edge all the way until he disappears around the bend of the river. He was definitely cute. Scarlett sighs, and I turn to see her watching him, too. I narrow my eyes. Hey, now.
Rocky scoffs. “I bet he took our stuff.”
“How is that even possible?” I defend a cute boy I don’t even know. “He’s over there. We’re over here. There’s a whole river between us. And ‘act casual’? What was that all about?”
“I swear, have I not taught you all anything over the years? People are suspicious when you don’t act normal, casual, like you’re supposed to be doing whatever it is you’re doing. Now, listen,” Rocky says. “Whoever took our stuff couldn’t have gotten far. We need to track them down and get everything back.”
“But what if the people who took our stuff are mean?” I ask the obvious question.
No one responds to that, and then Fynn quietly says, “Like the Masons.”
I swallow. He’s right. And if not the Masons, then someone equally despicable.
> Beans sighs. “How many times do I have to tell you the Masons don’t exist? Here’s the thing”—he takes on this rational tone that he sometimes uses on us, like he thinks it will convince us to believe whatever he is telling us—“we were in the cave. Our stuff was out here. Whoever wandered by probably thought our stuff had been abandoned. We’ll ask for it back and they’ll give it because they ultimately didn’t realize it belonged to someone. Okay?”
I glance over to Fynn and catch his skeptical look. Good, he’s not buying this plan, either.
“I think we should go home,” Scarlett says.
I agree. She should go home.
“I could take you,” Rocky volunteers, and I groan.
“Besides,” Rocky says. “This trip is too dangerous for a lady.”
I snort. A lady? “Now, wait a minute. You can’t leave. The Scouts are supposed to be in this together.”
“But I’m not a Scout,” Scarlett says.
Correct, which means she should go home. I want to point across the river and to the way home, but if I do, I’m pretty sure Rocky will leave with her, and that will just stink. It’s all or none. It’s always been all or none.
Okay. Whether I like it or not, Scarlett is coming. So I change tactics. “Look, the tree fell, so you can’t get back across the river. Let’s just—”
“We’re stranded!” Scarlett slams her hands over her heart. “We don’t have any food, or water, or the map. We’re going to die out here!” Her bottom lip wobbles.
Rocky puts his arm around her, and something prickly and jealous curls through me. “Don’t cry,” he says. “We’ll just walk upriver and find a new spot to cross. Then we’ll go home.”
Scarlett sniffles, and I swear I see her bat her lashes. “Are you sure?”
“Fine!” I shout, throwing my hands up. “Be a bunch of babies. All of y’all go home. I’ll find the meteor without you.” I stomp off, hoping to God I’m going in the right direction.
This just stinks. This adventure was supposed to be great, and so far nothing is great about it. Between Scarlett coming along, the bear that nearly ate us, me almost drowning, losing all of our stuff, finding dead Old Man Basinger, being attacked by bats, Rocky being all sullen about his dad dating Fynn’s mom, and Beans’s bad news, this has been no fun at all.
Speaking of, Beans should be the one insisting we keep going. He should tell them we need to find the meteor, sell it for some money or get a reward or something, so he can stay here and not have to move in with his dad. He should be right here stomping with me. Because, frankly, I’m about ready to go home, too.
They can do their football camp and Vacation Bible School and science thing. I’ll find some new friends. Ones that won’t be a pain in my butt.
“Is she going the right way?” I hear Fynn ask Beans.
“Yeah,” he says. “She is.”
Good. At least there’s that.
I keep right on stomping, putting all my temper into each step. Scarlett is definitely ruining everything. Rocky would never try to abandon us if she weren’t here. And, again, why won’t Beans just tell everyone what’s going on with his mom and his house?
I don’t know how much time goes by, but somewhere up the river I realize I’m not stomping anymore, and I also realize my friends are behind me.
“I hear in seventh grade we have to start taking showers after PE,” Fynn says. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not getting naked.”
“What, are you afraid of everyone seeing your small wiener?” Rocky teases.
“Shut up!” Fynn says, and Scarlett giggles.
Beans falls in step beside me. “Thanks,” he whispers.
I glance over at him. “Why don’t you just tell them?”
“Because, Annie, I don’t want to. Okay?”
I try to think about it from Beans’s point of view—like if we were losing our house—but I would definitely tell Rocky and Fynn. I wouldn’t keep it a secret from my friends.
Scarlett pipes up from right behind me. “Edge was so cute. I’ve got a major thing for older boys.”
Inside, I smile. I hope Rocky’s paying attention, because he’s definitely not older.
Fynn sniffs. “He wasn’t that cute.”
I grin over my shoulder. “Jealous someone’s prettier than you?”
“No.” Fynn makes a face at me.
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I—” Fynn pauses. “Hey!”
I laugh, feeling more like myself now. “I get you every time with that.”
“I’m hungry,” Beans gripes, which makes my own stomach growl.
“Wish we still had some of my cookies,” Fynn says.
Me, too. “Actually, I wish we had some of your brownies. The ones with macadamia nuts and chocolate chunks on top.”
Everyone groans. Yep, Fynn does make some good brownies. Well, except for that time he made an Ex-lax batch…
Fynn got on the bus carrying a baggie of brownies and plopped down in our usual seat.
Beans and Rocky and I all lit up. “Ooh, can we have one?”
Fynn shook his head. “Nope.”
I folded my arms. “You’re mean.”
Gary, the bus bully, reached over the seat and shoved Fynn in the head. “Boys aren’t supposed to make brownies.”
“Now, wait a minute!” I started to defend Fynn and he shot me a look. I knew that look. He was up to something.
Gary snatched the brownie bag from Fynn’s hands.
“Hey,” Fynn protested halfheartedly as Gary tore open the bag, grabbed a handful, and shoved them into his big mouth.
With a sneaky smile, Fynn settled down beside us.
Beans lifted his brows. “Well?”
“Ex-lax,” Fynn whispered, and we all snickered.
Gary didn’t stop his caveman ways, but he never stole food from any of us again.
Voices floating through the trees cut through my memory and bring us to a stop.
“Them there stupid kids.” A man’s phlegmy laugh echoes through the morning, and we stop to listen. “Leavin’ all that stuff out fer us to git.”
A woman’s cackle follows the man’s, and the deep, raspy sound of it makes me swallow hard. That cackle does not sound like it comes from a very nice woman. “Maybe we’s need to teach ’em a good ol’-fashioned Mason lesson.”
“Guys,” Fynn whispers in terror. “It’s the Mason Mountain Clan!”
CHAPTER 8
Rocky motions for us to drop to our hands and knees, and together we crawl forward to peek through the bushes and into a clearing. Why we crawl forward, I’m not sure. It makes much more sense to go in the other direction. But the Scouts and I aren’t always so great about using common sense.
There’s a campfire with a few tree stumps around it in the middle of the clearing. Over to the right sits a trailer with a porch hanging half on, half off. Beside that stands a big black tank with hoses in the top and a valve sticking out the front.
Nearby looms a huge junk pile with an old wagon wheel, a large cracked vase, a rusted bike, a car frame painted with blue and yellow daisies, a hanging wind chime made out of assorted chunks of pottery, a rocking chair with only two slats on the back, a mounted deer head with one eyeball, and so many other things, it’s impossible to figure out what it all is.
Honestly, it’s all kind of cool, and under other circumstances I might enjoy exploring the junk pile.
Rocky whispers, “I heard the Mason Clan cuts the heads off kids and sticks them on poles in their front yards.”
Fynn murmurs, “And they make stew of the kids’ meat and bones.”
Beans swallows. “I’m going to throw up.”
Scarlett’s eyes go wide. “Let’s get out of here!” she whispers.
I shoot Beans a dirty look. “We told you the Mason Clan existed.”
“Who cares who said what?” Rocky mumbles.
“I’
m going to throw up.” Beans swallows again.
Obviously the Mason Mountain Clan is not something our parents made up. They are real, and they are right there, just yards away. We need to get out of here. I point back the direction we came and start crawling away.
Behind me, Fynn gasps for air.
Not now! I turn to look at him. “Don’t have an asthma attack!” I whisper.
“Well, whatter we have ’ere?”
My friends scream, and I freeze.
Then slowly, very carefully, I turn my head, and I drag my gaze over two black rubber boots, up a couple of very big hairy legs, past a dirty flowered dress, around an impressive gut, and into the face of the most enormous woman I have ever seen. From behind her steps a man and three teenage boys.
“What’re you just standin’ there fer?” says the woman. “Grab ’em!”
I move quickly, trying to scramble away, but she bends over and snatches my arm. One of the boys gets Scarlett. Another, Beans. The man snags Fynn. And as the other boy lunges for Rocky, he takes off sprinting in the other direction.
“Rocky!” I shout, but he doesn’t turn around as he races through the trees and disappears. What is he doing? He can’t let them take us! “Rocky!” I yell again, hoping to God he’s running for help.
The Mason Clan drags us in the other direction, flailing and screaming through the woods.
I claw at the woman’s meaty hand, twisting and writhing my body. “Let me go!”
“Shut up,” she snaps, giving me a hard shake.
I catch glimpses of trees, sky, my friends, the woman’s dress, leaves, a pile of stuff, a shed, a lawn chair, a slow-burning fire, a bag of Twinkies. My guts whirl. What are they going to do to us?
And then she slings me forward, and I go sliding into a skunky-smelling, shadowy shed.
Fynn lands on top of me. Then Scarlett. Then Beans.
Cackling, the woman slings the metal door closed, and whatever daylight was in there goes out.
Scarlett screams.
Beans projectile vomits.
Fynn wheezes for air.
And I start crying.
CHAPTER 9
Scouts Page 5