Roger Mantis

by Tom Alan Brosz

  “Look,” he said. “I can just fly out and look for them from the air. They won’t see me at night. I’ve flown right over town at night without anybody knowing it. I can find them and just see if they’re okay. I won’t even have to land. If they’re just waiting out the rain like Dad says, I’ll come back and tell you. So nobody’ll be taking any shots at me.”

  His father looked at his mother. She had a doubtful look.

  “Come on, Mom,” pleaded Roger. “What if it was Aunt Sue’s family out there?” This might not have been the best example. Roger really liked Aunt Sue, but he was pretty sure she would happily take a shot at a giant bug if she didn’t know it was her nephew. Aunt Sue lived in Minnesota and went on real live bear hunts. But his mother got the point.

  “Okay, Roger,” she said, “but you stay up high and out of sight!”

  The sheriff got a map out and began pointing out the most likely areas to look. Roger would have liked to take the map along, but his father told him there was probably no way to read a paper map while Roger was flying. Roger tried to memorize the map and the sheriff’s instructions as best as he could.

  “Do the best you can, son,” said the sheriff. “Whether you find anyone or not, meet me later at the station downtown. I’ll be there all night, I’m afraid, in case someone calls in or they show up on their own.”

  They all went out to the front porch, where Roger’s father took a few minutes to fill the sheriff in on what they’d found out about the new investigator.

  “Jacob Horowitz already told me about that,” said the sheriff. “I’ll have my guys keep a lookout. Good luck, Roger.”

  Sheriff Johnson got in his car and drove away, and Roger’s parents went back inside.

  Roger stood in the front yard and looked up at the sky. Patches of clear dark sky and scattered stars could be seen through the lessening clouds.

  “I’ll head out right away,” he told his parents back in the house.

  “Good luck, son,” said his father. “Be careful.”

  On impulse, Roger ran upstairs to grab his baseball cap, putting it on and pulling the elastic strap under his head. He wasn’t planning on meeting anyone tonight, but the hat had brought him only good luck so far; something he was sure to need tonight. Back downstairs, his mother kissed him where his nose should have been, and Roger went out into the back yard. The sky continued to clear, although he could still see lightning far off to the east over the mountains. Well, he wasn’t going to have to go that far. With a last nod to his watching parents, Roger spread his wings and took off.

  Roger buzzed out over the vacant lot and then, gaining altitude, headed over the woods. He looked over at the ravine he’d used to sneak to the high school and saw that it was full of rushing water. Roger wondered what the rivers and streams looked like out in the hills.

  The first spot on the map Roger was supposed to check was a campsite about fifteen miles straight east. He had no idea how far fifteen miles was, but he knew the campsite was near the same river that flowed past Highland Falls. It flowed south through the wilderness in a winding path before it finally turned west and broke out of the hills south of the town.

  Roger flew higher so he could see enough of the area to figure out where everything was. With growing confidence, Roger realized that he could see the landscape below as clearly in the dark as he could in the daylight. He spotted the river in the distance and headed for it.

  It had been a little while since he’d done any real distance flying, and it felt good. Approaching the river, he recognized from the map where two streams joined the larger river. And there was the first campsite! He had actually found it! Roger dropped down to search the area, flying back and forth, looking for anything large enough to be a person.

  As he flew in low sweeps, Roger’s huge, sensitive eyes scanned the trees below with his “critter vision.” Animals, especially large ones like deer, stood out as though they were glowing, even the ones hidden under leaves and branches. It seemed likely that if there were any people down there, they’d show up just as clearly. But he didn’t see anything remotely person-sized. Just a few small animals.

  Satisfying himself that there weren’t any people, Roger set off for the next place on the sheriff’s list. From the map, the easiest way to find that one was to follow the camp road until he got to a big rock sticking out of a hill. Roger didn’t find anyone there, either, which left only one site where the sheriff had thought the campers might be. He finally got to that last place, at the foot of three pointy hills in a row. Nothing!

  What now? thought Roger. He was a long way from Highland Falls now. Had the campers found their way to town since he’d left? Or were they someplace else in the woods? If they were, how the heck was he supposed to find them in miles of wilderness?

  Roger decided he needed to stay out and keep looking. If he went back to town and the campers weren’t there, he’d have to fly all the way back out again. Besides, flying around over the woods unsupervised was actually kind of fun.

  So where to start? How do you find something small in a place so big? Roger remembered when he’d accidentally used an autographed baseball for practice, and it had gotten lost in the high grass. He and his friends had found the ball by crossing the grassy field in long straight paths, back and forth, like a farmer plowing a field. That had been Jerry’s idea. Jerry called it a “search grid,” and said his dad had used that for rescue missions when he was in the Navy. Maybe something like that would work here!

  Roger rose high into the sky again. It was almost completely clear now except for thick clouds remaining in the east over the distant mountains, and stars shone brightly all around him.

  Roger tried to imagine the landscape below him marked off in lines going roughly east and west. He flew north a long way until he figured he was past the area he wanted to search, hovered, and picked out a bright star at one end of an imaginary straight line, far away in the east in the direction of the mountains. Then he dropped down closer to the trees and flew toward that star. As long as I’m facing that star, he thought, I’m going in a straight line, right? As he flew, he scanned the woods below him for signs of life as far on each side as he could see.

  When Roger began flying over larger, rocky hills with fewer trees, he figured he’d gone far enough and turned around. Now heading west, he picked out a triangle of stars in the opposite direction of the first star. Then he jigged sideways to the south to cover a new part of the woods and flew back the way he’d come until he could see the glow of Highland Falls. He jigged sideways again to cover a new strip of forest and headed back out toward that first star. Look at me! I’m doing a search grid! It was exactly the sort of thing someone might do on an official rescue mission, and Roger felt pretty good about himself.

  Roger continued the back-and-forth sweeps without feeling tired, although he was starting to get a bit hungry. He wished he had a watch, and wondered if there was some way to fix his old watch to fit his new arm. After a number of passes, his first guide star got too high in the sky, and the triangle in the west was starting to set, so Roger had to pick different stars.

  The search grid was time consuming but not boring—the view of the wilderness from above was amazing. Passing over the river with each run, he saw a few tiny cabins, some of them with docks on the river itself. Roger couldn’t tell if there were any people inside the cabins. He didn’t see any lights, and while his vision could spot living things through leaves and branches, it couldn’t see through obstacles like a roof or a wall like a real super hero might be able to do.

  In the forest below, he could see the glowing shapes of deer, coyotes, smaller animals, and even something that looked like a mountain lion! Roger knew there were mountain lions out in the wilderness, but he’d lived near the woods all his life and never seen one before. He still didn’t see anything that looked like people, though.

  Roger forgot to count how many times he’d flown back and forth on his sea
rch grid, edging further south with each pass. He supposed a real professional rescuer would have been counting. But it was on a westward leg that he finally spotted something at a bend of the big river, a long way from where the sheriff had told him to check. In fact, a whole bunch of somethings were moving around on a large island, which was not far from one shore of the river. Roger flew lower, but not too low. He hadn’t forgotten about the guns.

  No doubt about it. The shapes were people moving around, their flashlights occasionally illuminating each other and the trees surrounding the clearing. Roger could pick out four larger shapes and a couple of smaller ones. Adults and kids? he thought. He thought he could even hear someone yelling.

  These had to be the missing campers! Nobody was lying down or acting hurt, so maybe they had just been waiting out the rain. Now all Roger had to do was fly up, memorize the location so he could point it out on the map, and head back to town to tell his parents and the sheriff that everything was okay. After that he’d get something to eat and hit the sack.

  Roger was envisioning the piles of leftover chicken he’d eat, when he picked out the words faintly yelling below, “Help! Help!”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Roger’s confidence dried up with those yells. A job he thought would be easy had suddenly gotten complicated. These people were in some kind of trouble right now, and if he went back to get help, it’d be a long time before anyone would get back out here, even if they found a helicopter or something.

  All the people were crowded on the side of the island facing the nearest shore of the river. Maybe he could land on the opposite side of the island and sort of quietly check things out without being spotted. Or shot at. Sure as heck if he kept buzzing around over their heads they’d hear him sooner or later.

  He whirred down to the far side of the island and down between the trees. He was about to land when he realized there was water between the trees, not dirt. The trees were sticking up out of the river, not the ground! He moved further inland until there was real ground under him and landed.

  A short hike along the new shoreline showed him that a lot of the island was underwater, with only trees sticking up. He watched a flat rock right at the water’s edge slowly disappear under the unusually brown water. The water was still rising! It wasn’t a fast, rushing flood. The river looked calm and quiet. But the water rose slowly but surely. Would the whole island go under? No wonder the people had been yelling!

  Roger started sneaking through the woods toward the other side of the island, listening for the faint cries for help from the campers. Up in the air there had only been one layer of tree branches between him and the ground. Down in the forest, there were whole groves between him and where the campers were, so Roger couldn’t see them now, even with “critter vision.” Still, he was pretty sure nobody was going to see him before he saw them first.

  As he got closer to the other side of the island, the glowing shapes of the campers started appearing beyond the brush, and now he could hear other voices besides the one shouting for help. The rest of them were just talking or arguing. Roger didn’t know who they expected to hear their yells for help—the campers were the first people he’d spotted on his entire search. Of course, how would they know that? he thought. Carefully, he moved closer, keeping low. Light shone on the treetops from below, and the glowing shapes of the people became clearer. Finally, he reached a small gap in the bushes where he could stay hidden and get his first clear glimpse of the campsite.

  A large, brilliant electric lantern illuminated the campsite, a small clearing with two large tents and some backpacks scattered around. A set of fishing poles leaned on one tree. Roger didn’t see any guns, but supposed they could be in the tents.

  Roger counted five people, four adults and a boy that looked a little younger than Roger. One of the men and a woman were some distance away on the far side of the clearing, near the shore of the island. The man, a big beefy sort, was the one yelling his head off, shouting toward the main riverbank across the water. He held a second lantern up over his head and waved it. The boy sat against a tree near them, his arms folded, looking grumpy.

  The other two adults, another couple, were standing by the tents and talking in irritated tones. They were the only two in the group who were African-American, so Roger figured the woman was probably the sheriff’s sister. He looked around at the rest of the camp, feeling like he was missing something, but it wasn’t coming to him. He listened to the nearer couple.

  “I wish Hank would stop yelling,” said the man.

  “What’s it hurting, dear?” answered the woman. “Maybe somebody will hear him.”

  “It’s hurting my ears,” the man grumbled.

  Belatedly, Roger realized he was probably too close to all these people for comfort. None of them looked happy. Maybe I should head for the other side of the island again to figure something out, he thought. Keeping low, he started backing into the trees, watching the people in the clearing. When he thought he was far enough away, he stood up. Suddenly there was a flash of light from behind him. He spun around and nearly yelled out loud.

  Right in front of him was a little dark-skinned girl in blue jeans, maybe five or six, standing with a finger in her mouth, and pointing a small flashlight at him with the other hand.

  Roger froze, waiting for the scream. He’d been stupid, just watching the people in the clearing and ignoring all the other directions. Heck, hadn’t he seen more than one kid while flying overhead?

  But the little girl didn’t scream.

  “Hello,” she said, taking her finger out of her mouth. “What are you doing here?”

  “Um … ” said Roger, “I’m … I’m here to help. Could you take that light out of my eyes? Please?”

  “Okay,” she said, pointing the little flashlight toward the ground. “How did you get here from Oz?”

  Oz? Roger had no idea what she was talking about. Like in The Wizard of Oz? Roger had seen that movie more than once. There was a lion, a Tin Man, and a scarecrow. Oh, and flying monkeys. Why in the world would she think a giant mantis was from Oz?

  “I … flew here,” he said, completely confused.

  She did a little curtsey. “I’m happy to meet you Professor Wogglebug,” she said. “My name’s Peggy.”

  Peggy, he thought. Of course! The sheriff’s niece. That’s what he’d missed—she hadn’t been in the camp. Well, if she thought he was some friendly “Professor Wogglebug” instead of a monster, he sure as heck wasn’t going to argue with her. One scream and he’d be in deep trouble.

  “Why are you out here away from your mom and dad?” he asked.

  “I came out to go potty,” she said.

  “Out here? In the woods and the dark?”

  “I got a light,” she said, holding it up and flashing Roger in the eyes again. “I go camping a lot. I’m not scared of the dark, and Daddy looked all over this island today, lots of times. He says there’s no bad animals on it. And I’m careful about poisoned ivy, too. Do you know how to tell poisoned ivy? It’s got three leaves. Oh, yeah, you’re really smart. You’d know all that kind of stuff. I was going potty behind a real big rock. The rock sparkled when I shined my light on it.”

  “Okay, let’s be really quiet,” said Roger, frantically. He lowered his own voice as much as he could. “Is everyone okay here?” Behind a darn rock, he thought. That’s why I didn’t see her on the way over here. Jeez!

  “We’re all fine, but Mr. Curry says the water’s getting deeper. Daddy’s going to start taking the tents down pretty soon and move us to the middle of the island.” She tilted her head. “Do you want me to call Daddy?”

  “No! I mean, not yet.” Jeez! Her parents sure aren’t gonna think I’m some bug professor from Oz! “You’re on an island. Don’t you have a boat?”

  “Wasn’t an island when we got here. Our car’s way back by the road, and when we walked here before the water got high, there was dirt all the way o
ut. Mr. Curry wanted to camp here last night so he could go fishing. I like fishing. I caught a fish once! It was this big … ” she put her hands out to show Roger. “Daddy took the hook out and put him in a bucket. It was full of water. I couldn’t carry the bucket. It was really heavy … ”

  “Then what?” said Roger. He was getting frantic that someone would hear the little chatterbox, although she wasn’t talking very loudly.

  “Then the rain came. Daddy told Mommy that Mr. Curry was stupid for camping near a river during a rainstorm.” Peggy grinned and then looked worried. “Oh, Daddy told me I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone he said Mr. Curry was stupid. Please don’t tell!”

  “I won’t,” said Roger. “But you can’t tell anyone you saw me out here. I’m on … a secret mission to help you. If you tell anyone, I’ll have to leave.”

  “Peggy?” A woman’s voice from the nearby campsite. “Are you okay out there? Don’t go too far, and hurry up!”

  “I’m fine, Mommy,” yelled Peggy. “I’m almost done.” She lowered her voice again and frowned. “She wanted to come with me, but I said I’m big enough to go by myself.”

  “Promise not to tell anyone I’m here?” said Roger.

  “Okay, Professor Wogglebug. I promise. Did you bring anyone else from Oz?”

  “Not this time,” said Roger. “I have to go do some secret mission stuff now. You go back to your mommy. Remember not to tell them about me!”

  “I will,” said Peggy. “Bye!” She raised her flashlight and trotted past Roger toward the camp. Roger stayed where he was to make sure nothing happened. He was still close enough to hear them talking. “I’m back, Mommy,” said Peggy.

  “Good,” said her mother. “Next time stay closer. I was getting worried.”