by Chris Bostic
“Huh. No way.” Mom smiled wryly. “Anyway, I didn’t think Spotted Owl would seriously let them go.”
To our surprise, a quick nod from Mouse’s dad had been all it took for the new couple to hurry off down the stream. They seemed more about speed than stealth at that point. I hoped they’d at least slow down when they got close to the highway, though Mouse had seemed jacked up on adrenaline. I wondered how she made such a great scout. I’d always thought recon was better suited for the slow and silent types.
Austin and Mouse were probably halfway to the road by the time the rest of the group started moving again. Spotted Owl was in the lead, urging us to follow him down the flat creek. Unlike the mountain streams, this one seemed wider to me, and considerably slower running.
There were no rocky steps to climb on the smooth gradient. Instead, Spotted Owl kept us right along the edge of the water, stepping over rocks and ducking under branches as we hiked toward the road. Every so often, when the brush closed in on one side, Spotted Owl would meander back and forth across the stream, choosing rocks carefully to keep his feet dry.
He held up a hand. I skidded to a halt on a flat rock. Seeing Spotted Owl crouching and unslinging his rifle, I mimicked his posture in every detail, and stared ahead. A gap in the trees seemed to indicate the road, but I couldn’t see around Katelyn’s parents.
Wordlessly, I gestured for Katelyn to slide over a little. She made room on the boulder where she was perched, and I shuffled over next to her to get a cleaner view.
The trees ended about thirty yards ahead before picking up again on the other side of the highway. A dirt embankment holding up the roadway was severed at the creek where the long span of a bridge had once stood.
I had never been so relieved to see a missing bridge. I let loose a breath I’d been holding, and ran a hand through my hair.
“They haven’t fixed this one yet,” I whispered to Katelyn as I hung the rifle back over my shoulder.
“No. But I thought they said the soldiers were close?”
“Could be, I guess. But this seems like good news, so far.”
Suddenly, Mouse and Austin came out of nowhere, bounding down the creek as our group sat there waiting. They moved so fast I thought they might be running from someone. Tension gripped me in its talons.
I dove for the woods, pulling Katelyn behind me. The second a big tree shielded us from the approaching scouts, I unslung the rifle from my shoulder again.
“Easy, bro,” Austin’s voice called out. I peeked around the tree, and he flashed me a thumbs up, nearly sliding off a slippery rock in the process. It was enough to keep him from teasing me about my mini-panic.
Regaining his footing, he hurried to catch up to Mouse. She stopped well short of the group and cupped her hands to her mouth.
“All clear,” she announced loudly, only to be shushed by her dad.
Spotted Owl rose to his feet and waved the rest of us onward. We met just short of the bridge. I crept closer, with five beats of my racing heart to every footstep.
The sun rained down on the opening, making me feel like we were spotlighted. I shook my head to try to dislodge the dark thoughts, but my brain wasn’t having any forgetting.
Katelyn pulled me forward, seeing how I’d frozen just short of the bridge.
“Come on,” she urged, and kept her hand locked on my wrist.
I looked at the devastation numbly as we walked under where the bridge had been. Piles of old masonry littered the bottom of the creek, though much of the debris had apparently washed downstream.
A couple of older, blackened timbers had been pushed up against the side of the stream by the rolling water. Smaller, splintered pieces had been wedged in the remaining rock piles. As I looked at the devastation, the shattered bits told me a story—though it turned out to be one I hadn’t expected. Obviously, the resistance had blown the bridges, not the government, but somehow the story got turned around in my head.
The charred wood and blackened stones were a home. I imagined someone sheltering inside a little building right before it had been blown apart. The splintered wood seemed more like little knives than matchsticks, and the longer pieces swords and lances discarded from a medieval battle.
The bits and pieces of total destruction all took on a life of their own. It reminded me way too much of a missile strike, and my feet froze up again like a stubborn mule.
“Keep up,” Mom called, having already cleared the wreckage and taken off downstream toward the horse camp.
I looked up the slope to the road. Some stone of the old foundation was still standing at the bridge abutments, but most had been wrecked by the blast. The stones had rolled like a cave-in to the streambed and been carried on downstream. Katelyn tugged on my arm, trying to do the same.
“We need to go, Zach.” she pleaded.
“I’m…trying,” I said.
John came back toward the old bridge crossing. Standing at the edge of the woods, he asked, “What’s up? Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” Katelyn replied, and tugged on my arm again.
Embarrassment was a more powerful motivator than anything else. I put my head down and trudged toward the woods before anyone else could call me out for being slow. Still, the images of a ruined village, broken stone and wood, filled my mind.
I imagined helicopters firing missiles into groups of poorly armed, medieval peasants, and it was obvious which group I represented. Two words, suicide mission, started swirling in my head again. Though we would be armed with homemade bombs and rifles, I didn’t see how our little insurgency could hold up against a trained, professional military force.
I blinked, realizing Katelyn had asked me something, but only managed a weak, “Uh huh.”
“You didn’t hear me, did you?”
“Not really,” I replied sheepishly. “Sorry.”
“I didn’t mean to bother you. It was nothing important.’
“I’d rather you did.” I exhaled and quickly surveyed my surroundings. We’d gone so far downstream that I couldn’t see the bridge anymore. The horse camp would be up ahead a little farther. Letting myself get lost in my own head was dangerous when I should’ve been concentrating on my surroundings. Nevertheless, I admitted, “My head’s swirling with all these crazy thoughts.”
She hesitated as if unsure to ask, but finally said, “Like what?”
“Missiles and helicopters and…I dunno.”
“I swear I heard a chopper a minute ago.”
“But we’re still walking…” I looked to the sky, and mentally kicked myself for not paying more attention. “Shouldn’t we be hiding?”
“I know what I heard,” she insisted. “I told John.”
“And he didn’t believe you?”
“No.”
“I believe you.” I squeezed her hand. I stopped walking and cupped my free hand to my ear to listen. “I just don’t know what to believe myself,” I muttered, and pointed to my head. “I’m the one hearing all kinds of crazy things in my brain.”
“I don’t hear it anymore. It might’ve gone a different way.”
“I wish they’d be quiet,” I said, meaning the rest of the group as they tromped down the stream toward the horse camp. Rocks tipped and clanked, and boots pounded the dirt, drowning out any faint noises.
“We should go, Zach.”
“Hold on.” I swore I heard something buzzing in my head, but wasn’t sure if it was my imagination.
“That’s the sound,” she said, her face brightening.
As the volume grew to a roar, Katelyn’s satisfied look quickly erased. I pulled her down into the underbrush. The whopping sound confirmed it was definitely not my imagination.
CHAPTER 20
“Get down!” I yelled ahead to the others.
Bodies crashed through the brush, getting far away from the creek. In the distance, I noticed the much more open forest of the campsite. Luckily, we hadn’t made it that far. But I was no less terrified.
Before I had the chance, the trees swayed all around me. Wind rushed, stirring leaves. I shielded my eyes from the dust. A helicopter came out of nowhere to hover almost directly overhead.
I reached out blindly for Katelyn, and found her arm. My hand locked on her wrist, and pulled her close. The trees whipped violently in the downdraft.
I chanced a look, and was surprised to see the chopper had glided off a little farther to the west. It hovered over the blown out bridge.
Dust got in my eyes, and I had to look away. I blinked rapidly and stole another quick glance.
It was the longer, more bulbous profile of the type Austin had described as a Blackhawk. From open side doors, ropes tumbled down.
“They’re dropping troops,” I yelled to Katelyn, who had her head buried in her hands.
Despite the racket, she heard me and reacted immediately.
Remaining concealed, I pointed to the troops rappelling to the ground barely a hundred yards away. Blinking away the dust, I gestured farther down the creek toward the rest of our group. “We need to get outta here.”
A second helicopter trailed in after the first. Katelyn and I hunched over and raced downstream as fast as we could go, while the second chopper hovered over the drop site and began unloading four more soldiers.
I caught up to John first, and motioned for him to follow us ahead. We got as close to the open woods of the camp as we dared.
I could make out the location of concrete pads where tourists would’ve parked their big campers. There was no way I was going any farther, and was relieved to see my mom and Katelyn’s parents off to our right at the edge of the woods. I waved to get their attention, and they came over as soon as the second helicopter sailed off to the south.
No less stressed, I quickly asked, “Where’s Spotted Owl?”
“I don’t know.” Katelyn’s dad cupped his hands to his mouth.
Spurred with fear, I reached for the man’s hands. “Don’t yell,” I said sharply.
He spun around to stare at me. “What?”
“There’s soldiers, Dad,” Katelyn interjected. “They dropped them at the bridge. Didn’t you guys see them?”
“Oh, crap,” John said. “I wondered what they were doing over there.”
“Wow, we just missed ‘em,” my mom added. “Good work, kids.”
“Yeah, it pays to be a slacker,” I said bitterly. “We saw the whole thing go down. Two sets of four rappelled down right where we were at.”
“I thought that might be the case,” a deep voice said from behind me. I turned to see Spotted Owl rise up from behind a boulder.
I wondered what he was hiding for, but didn’t follow up on it. Instead, I sat back as the adults talked strategy. At that point, I figured the less I knew the better. Though it didn’t necessarily make sense, I had gradually come to realize that I worked best when things were spur of the moment. The more I thought about something, the more it froze me.
“Analysis paralysis,” my dad had always said, though he’d meant it more with regard to the banking industry. It was something about watching the markets fluctuate and not making the right move until it was too late. Still, it seemed to apply to a lot of different situations in my life, and I couldn’t afford to let the freezing happen anymore.
The time to analyze, or overanalyze, would have to come later. Until then, I resolved once again to be an emotional blank, and just react—hopefully wisely. It was a gamble, and Dad had also liked to say, “Gambling is a tax for people bad at math. The odds are never in your favor.”
I could only hope they would be with me this time.
I looked up and saw something dark flash at the edge of the woods. As the adults continued talking in hushed tones, I zeroed in on the movement. It seemed to be a pair of shadows slipping between the trees like the sun coming and going from behind a cloud. Right when I was convinced my mind was playing tricks on me again, Mouse and Austin stepped out into the open and approached a small, concrete block building at the edge of the horse camp.
“There’s Big A and Mouse,” I interrupted the others. “We should head over there.”
“Quietly,” Spotted Owl added, and raised a hand. “Follow me.”
We kept deep enough in the woods to remain concealed, moving at a painfully slow pace. I stared out across the camp as we crept along. I couldn’t help but think about how popular the place used to be. I imagined families tossing washers and laughing. People cooking on the grill boxes, and spreading out tablecloths over the splinter factories that were the old wooden picnic tables. Kids riding their bikes around the paved areas, dodging the crush of cars and people on a busy summer weekend.
Off in the back, well behind the little block building, a large wooden barn stood. Though once majestic, it looked more decayed than the hundred year old structure on my grandpa’s farm. The whole barn leaned heavily to the side as if a stiff breeze could topple it like a kid’s Popsicle stick craft.
The only thing solid about the structure was the roof. It still appeared to be watertight, though the metal roofing had aged about forty years in the last five. The red metal had dulled to an unpleasant brown. Big dents and rust showed through in several places.
The neighing of the horses was long gone. As a breeze howled through the valley, the campsite seemed to moan instead. The barn creaked, setting me further on edge.
“Get it together,” I mumbled under my breath as we closed on the shower house where Mouse and Austin waited.
The brick portion of that building had held up well. I was even surprised to see the windows hadn’t been broken out. A few were cracked, though, and all were glazed over so thickly that they looked more solid gray than clear.
A bathroom door hung open crookedly, held to the frame only by the bottom hinge. The shingled roof was covered with so much green moss and grime that I thought it seemed more like the forest floor than a roof. I wasn’t surprised when we got closer to see grass growing between the gaps in the thick wooden shingles.
More brown grass had grown up through the wide cracks in the sidewalk around the building, some reaching to knee-high. The road beyond was potholed to the point that the once black asphalt looked like weedy gravel.
“This place is wrecked,” I muttered. The whole park was devastated, like an apocalypse had swept the land and left no life behind to maintain it. The crooked door hinge creaked, reminding me of the once proud barn—and pretty much the whole world as I’d known it.
Pressure built in my chest to the boiling point. The soldiers were too close. There was no civilization, and the man who was going to help lead the change lay dead by a stream. I cursed under my breath, drawing yet another concerned look from Katelyn.
So much for being an emotional rock, I thought. Having seen the decimated buildings and painfully empty park, I felt yet another piece of my humanity fall away. At that rate, it would be gone faster than sand slipping through my fingers.
CHAPTER 21
“Wait here,” Spotted Owl told the group. He crept toward the bathrooms, calling out under his breath for Mouse and Austin. Oddly, he stayed away from the front side of the building with the separate entry doors for men and women. Instead, he moved toward a small, metal door at the back of the building, again saying, “Mouse?”
A dirt-smudged face peeked out the back door. Mouse hopped out and waved, saying, “It’s all still here.”
“Not so loud,” he chided, and practically dragged her away from the building. A confused looking Austin followed her, and they headed back to the waiting group.
Spotted Owl dropped to a knee, and motioned for everyone to gather around.
“There’s some good news.” He spoke so softly that we had to crowd in uncomfo
rtably close. “All the ANFO supplies are still here, so we can make a big ole boom. The only question is how to go about doing that.”
“If it’s just eight soldiers, then maybe we don’t want to waste the big stuff now,” John suggested.
I thought eight well-armed soldiers seemed like no small force, but Spotted Owl nodded approvingly. “That’s what I’m wondering.”
“It seems to me like bypassing the soldiers and getting down to the Visitor Center is a better plan,” Katelyn’s mom suggested. “We’re on a schedule to get there, right? Granted that does leave us with soldiers behind us.”
“It sure does,” John said. “And they’re here for a reason, meaning they’re securing the bridge site before a convoy or whatever gets here to rebuild it.”
“And that convoy is probably already on the way,” my mom added. She turned to Spotted Owl. “Will the other group be able to intercept them?”
“I don’t have a radio to find out,” he answered. “Or to know if they even can. Without any ANFO, God knows they can’t do much against APCs.”
“Armored Personnel Carriers?” I asked John discreetly.
“Yeah, bud. That’s what Noel said.”
“We maintain radio silence on missions,” Spotted Owl was saying when I tuned back in to the conversation. “No need for anyone to overhear us when we’re this close. Speaking of that…we need to make a decision one way or the other. We can’t hang out here all day if those soldiers decide to spread out and comb the woods.”
“I doubt they would,” John said. “Surely they’re sitting tight, maybe digging foxholes or something, waiting for the convoy to come.”
“Then that could be a plan,” Katelyn’s mom said. “We could forget those guys, and get down to the rendezvous point.”
“But if we take them out, we’ll get better weapons.” Austin surprised me by arguing for the attack. I knew my brother was militaristic, but he seemed genuinely bloodthirsty in the moment. “We need their stuff, like machine guns and body armor. Maybe grenades.”