Marsh Island

by Sonya Bates

  Marsh Island

  Sonya Spreen Bates

  Illustrated by

  Kasia Charko

  Text copyright © 2009 Sonya Spreen Bates

  Illustrations copyright © 2009 Kasia Charko

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Bates, Sonya Spreen, 1963–

  Marsh Island / written by Sonya Spreen Bates; illustrated by Kasia Charko.

  (Orca echoes)

  ISBN 978-1-55469-117-3

  1. Wilderness survival--Juvenile fiction.

  I. Charko, Kasia, 1949- II. Title. III. Series: Orca echoes

  PS8603.A846M37 2009 jC813’.6 C2008-908029-7

  First published in the United States, 2009

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2008943124

  Summary: A suspenseful story of two brothers who go camping with their dad and get lost in the woods.

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Typesetting by Bruce Collins

  Cover artwork and interior illustrations by Kasia Charko

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  PO BOX 5626, STN. B PO BOX 468

  VICTORIA, BC CANADA CUSTER, WA USA

  V8R 6S4 98240-0468

  www.orcabook.com

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  12 11 10 09 • 4 3 2 1

  For my mom, who loved the woods.

  Chapter One

  EXPLORING

  Jake crouched under the giant tree. It felt rough and scratchy on his hand. The smell of the bark made his nose sting. He’d never been in the woods before. There were hundreds and thousands of trees, and no one around but him. He could be anything he wanted to be in these woods.

  I’m a panther, thought Jake. Sleek, black and dangerous. I slink through the grass. My paws are silent on the jungle floor. My eyes dart through the trees. I hear the crack of a twig, see movement in the shadows. I spot my prey.

  “Jake? Jake?” It was Jake’s brother Tommy, making as much noise as a T. rex. The racket would scare off prey for miles. Jake spun around. A hunter! he thought. I won’t let him capture me. He crouched lower and crept behind a tree trunk.

  “Jake, come out!” called Tommy. “This isn’t funny.” His voice wobbled.

  Jake tilted his head up and sniffed. I smell fear, he thought.

  Tommy’s stumbling footsteps moved closer. “Dad won’t like this,” he said to the forest around him. “We’re supposed to stay near the tent.”

  Jake scowled. Tommy was such a spoilsport. Jake had wanted to leave him at home. This was Jake’s first camping trip, and he’d wanted it to be special. He was nine now, and he had wanted to spend some time alone with Dad. But Tommy had whined and complained, and Dad had let him come.

  Marsh Island was no place for Tommy. Tommy was only seven. He didn’t like bugs, he didn’t like tents and he didn’t like noises in the night. There were plenty of noises on Marsh Island. Even Jake had lain awake the first couple of nights, listening to the strange sounds of the forest.

  I wait, thought Jake. He comes closer. A few more steps...wait for it...

  “Jake?”

  With a mighty roar, Jake jumped out from behind the tree.

  Tommy screamed.

  Jake fell to the ground, laughing.

  “You—you—,” Tommy choked out.

  “You should have seen your face!” said Jake.

  “Yeah? Well, it’s not funny,” shouted Tommy, his face like a thundercloud. Tommy’s curly brown hair sprang up wildly around his head. And in his new green T-shirt and shorts, he looked like an angry little elf.

  Jake wiped the tears off his face with his shirt. “That’s what you think,” he said, getting to his feet.

  It was probably the funniest thing he’d ever seen. Except for the time Tommy got his head stuck between the bars of the lion cage at the zoo. Tommy had freaked.

  Jake wiped his dirty hands on his shorts and pushed his hair off his face. He had brown hair like Tommy’s, but it was dead straight. It always seemed to get in his eyes.

  They were deep in the woods. The trail wound through the forest and curved out of sight. Behind them was the tent, nestled in the trees like a bright blue flower in a vegetable patch. If he looked closely, Jake could see Dad’s red-checkered shirt through the tent’s open flap.

  “I’m going back,” said Tommy.

  Jake shrugged. “Do what you like. But you know what Dad will say if you wake him up, and I’m not coming with you. I’m not spending all week sitting around a campfire eating burned marshmallows.”

  “I like marshmallows,” said Tommy, stubbornly.

  Jake shook his head and started down the trail. He knew Tommy would follow. He’d never be brave enough to go back to the campsite alone.

  The trail wasn’t very wide. Jake had to push branches out of the way as he walked. It’s probably an animal trail, he thought. Maybe a deer track. Before long he lost sight of the tent. Maybe I should have brought the compass Grandpa gave me, he thought. But he didn’t want to go back. Dad hadn’t taken them any farther than the beach, and he was dying to explore. Besides, going back would be giving in. And there’s no way he’d give in to Tommy.

  “Wait! Wait for me!” cried Tommy, rushing to catch up.

  Jake smirked. “Wuss,” he muttered under his breath.

  Jake led the way down the trail. He kept the tent at his back and moved toward the sun. It was cool under the trees, and the smell of the forest tickled his nose. It was a strange smell, kind of like the dirt in the garden after his mom had dug in the compost. A couple of little gray warblers swooped from branch to branch overhead.

  Jake wasn’t into birds. There were plenty of them at home. Dad built birdfeeders and filled them with seeds and honey to attract all sorts of birds. The garden was full of them. No, Jake was hoping to see something new, something wild. A rabbit maybe, or even a fox. But Tommy was puffing like a buffalo. Not much chance of sneaking up on something with him around.

  Jake scowled over his shoulder at Tommy to shush him. Here he was, spoiling his fun again. It was just like last year, when Dad took them go-carting. Tommy had putted around the course so slowly. After only one circuit, all the other go-carts were lined up behind him. No one could get past because Tommy was such a hopeless driver.

  It wasn’t Jake’s fault Tommy had crashed. It’s not like Jake hadn’t warned him. He’d yelled at Tommy to get out of the way. But when Jake had tried to sneak past, Tommy panicked and drove straight into the wall. How stupid was that? Then he’d made such a fuss that Dad dragged Jake off the course and they all went home. A pain, that’s what Tommy was.

  Jake stopped for a moment and looked around. The trail was starting to climb. If it goes right up to the top of the mountain, he thought, we could see all the way out to sea. He listened. He could hear water running off to his left. Was it a creek or a waterfall? He stepped off the trail and pushed through the bushes. He followed the sound until he found a wide stream, bubbling over the rocks.

  “Cool,” he said. I bet we’ll find some frogs, he thought, or maybe some fish.

  Tommy tugged at his shirt. “Let’s go back now,” he said.

  “Not yet,” said Jake,
shaking him off. “I want to have a look around.” He stepped onto a boulder at the stream’s edge.

  I’m an explorer, thought Jake. My feet are the first to cross this water and step onto new land.

  He held his head high and leaped across to another rock. But the stone was wet and slippery. Before he could say Christopher Columbus, his foot plunged into the stream. The water was like ice. He sucked in his breath and hopped across the stream to a rock on the other side.

  “Where are you going, Jake?” called Tommy. “Aren’t we going back?”

  Jake ignored him.

  New land, he thought. Untouched by humans. The only footprints here will be animal tracks. Frogs, birds, foxes, deer, maybe even bears! His heart beat a little faster at the thought, and he had a quick look around. Then he laughed at himself. There weren’t any bears around here.

  But something had been there. Halfway up the bank, he spotted a dark shape under a bush. He stepped off the rock and headed toward it, his shoes sinking into the soft muddy bank.

  “Jake? Come back,” said Tommy. His voice was wobbling again.

  “In a minute,” called Jake. “I found something.”

  Chapter Two

  BURIED TREASURE

  Jake shoved the bush out of the way and knelt to have a closer look. Two sticks were stuck in the ground and crossed at the middle to make an X.

  “What is it? What did you find?” asked Tommy, splashing across the stream. He clambered up the bank and dropped to his knees next to Jake.

  “I’m not sure,” said Jake. “But someone put these sticks here on purpose. You know, so they could find the spot again.”

  “Like pirate treasure? X marks the spot?”

  “Yeah.” Jake grinned. “Come on, help me dig.”

  Jake pulled out the two sticks. He gave one to Tommy.

  I am a pirate, Jake thought, returning for my buried treasure. Gold, coins, jewels, all mine. He scraped away at the dirt, punching the stick into the mud. Could a pirate really have buried something here? he wondered. Then he remembered something his dad had told him the night before they’d left home. A tale about the island, about some madman who’d lived there, years and years ago. He’d thought it was just a story, but maybe it was true.

  “I wonder if crazy old Marsh put these here,” he said.

  “Who?”

  “Didn’t Dad tell you the Marsh Island story?”

  “No.” Tommy sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

  “Well, the island was named after this man, Alfred Marsh,” said Jake. He kept digging and didn’t look up. “Marsh was rich—I think he owned a bank or something—and lived in this huge mansion in the city. He had heaps of servants waiting on him all day, bringing him whatever he wanted, answering the phone, driving him around. All he had to do was snap his fingers, and someone came running.”

  Jake held his hand up and clicked his fingers sharply at Tommy. Tommy giggled.

  Jake picked a couple of rocks out of the hole and tossed them aside. “But one day the bank went bust, and he went nuts.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He turned into a zombie. Just lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. Didn’t talk, didn’t eat, didn’t get up.”

  Tommy stopped digging. “Not even to go to the bathroom?”

  “Nah,” said Jake, flicking his hair out of his eyes. “They didn’t have any servants anymore, so Mrs. Marsh had to put diapers on him like a baby.”

  “Ewww!” Tommy wrinkled his nose.

  Jake stabbed his stick in the hole. “Then one day, he got out of bed and walked out the door. Didn’t say anything to anyone, just walked out. He headed straight to the shore, stole a rowboat and rowed out to this island.”

  “You mean this island?”

  “Yup, the same one we’re standing on. That’s why it’s called Marsh Island. He disappeared out here, and no one ever saw him again.”

  “You—you mean he died out here?” asked Tommy, looking over his shoulder.

  Suddenly it felt very cold squatting under the bush. Jake glanced into the trees behind them, just like Tommy had. He had a strange feeling, as if he was being watched.

  Don’t be stupid, Jake thought. You’re imagining things. He jammed his stick deeper into the dirt.

  “Story goes that his wife rowed out and left food for him once in a while. The food always disappeared, but she never saw him again.”

  Jake’s stick hit something hard. His stomach did a flip.

  “I found something!” he cried. He threw the stick away and dug with his hands. He clawed at the hole like a dog searching for a lost bone. Dirt ground under his fingernails and hard bits of mud scraped at his skin. Whatever was buried there, it had been there a long, long time. The mud was stuck to it like cement.

  “Maybe you should leave it,” said Tommy.

  Jake scowled at him. “What are you talking about? We’ve found some treasure, Tommy. Treasure!”

  Tommy looked fearfully into the bushes. “Maybe we shouldn’t dig it up,” he said. “Someone might come back for it.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Jake scoffed. He followed Tommy’s gaze into the trees. It was quiet. Almost too quiet. He shook himself and kept digging. “No one’s lived on this island for years.”

  The object in the ground was solid. Jake thought it might be made of wood. “It feels like a box,” he said. He scrabbled away a bit more dirt, dug his fingers in under the bottom and pried it loose. The box came out with a schloop.

  “Cool,” Jake said, running his hands across the top. The wood was cold and clammy.

  “Do—do you think that crazy guy Marsh buried it here?” asked Tommy.

  Jake felt a nervous flutter in his stomach. “Could be. It sure looks old enough.” A weird feeling was creeping over him. It felt like hundreds of ants were crawling up his back. “Bet he took his wife’s jewelry or something and hid it out here.” He turned the box over, looking for the latch. Could it really have belonged to Alfred Marsh? he wondered.

  Tommy moved closer to Jake and peered into the woods. “Does—does he still live here?” Tommy whispered.

  “Alfred Marsh?” Jake laughed. “Get real. That was, like, two hundred years ago. He’s long gone. But...” Jake stared into Tommy’s eyes and continued in a low voice, “Some people say he’s still wandering the island, looking for his lost fortune.”

  Tommy’s eyes grew big and round.

  Suddenly there was a loud CRACK in the bushes. Jake’s head snapped up. Those branches had definitely moved!

  Chapter Three

  ESCAPE

  Tommy screamed. “It’s him!” he shrieked.

  “Run for it!” Jake yelled.

  Jake leaped to his feet, grabbed the box and dashed into the woods without looking back. He pushed his legs hard and fast, his heart banging against his ribs. Twigs whipped at Jake’s face. Roots leaped up to trip him. He couldn’t breathe. He glanced back, and a huge shadow lunged out from behind a tree.

  “Faster, Tommy!” he yelled.

  A boulder appeared in front of him. Jake leaped over it. He dodged around a couple of spruce trees and then plowed through some bushes. The blood pounded in his ears. He didn’t care which way he went. He had to get away!

  He raced up a hill, lungs screaming for air, and across a gravelly patch at the top. Was Tommy still behind him? He didn’t dare look. A cold draft fanned the back of his neck, speeding him on. His legs were killing him, but he made them go faster, around a large moss-covered rock and down a slope, ducking around a tree at the bottom.

  He raced up another hill, crossed over an animal trail and plunged back into the woods. He thought he would get away. He thought he’d be fast enough, but he didn’t see the log until it was too late. He took a giant leap, tripped, and tumbled headfirst into a pile of leaves.

  He lay where he fell, unable to move. His brain screamed at him to get up, keep going, get away. All he could do was lie there and gasp for air. He cowered behind the log, wait
ing, listening. What had been following him? Was it still there?

  Could it see him or hear him...or even smell him? Had he escaped? And what had happened to Tommy?

  The woods were quiet. Even the birds were silent. All Jake could hear was himself, panting like an old dog. But as his breathing quieted and his heart slowed, a weird moaning drifted down the trail. He couldn’t tell what was making the sound, but it was moving toward him.

  He made himself as small as he could, closed his eyes tight and held his breath. Closer and closer came the sound. It was a rasping, groaning sort of noise, low and throaty. Jake bit his lip.

  Then a small voice called out. “Jake?”

  It was Tommy!

  Jake jumped up and put a finger to his lips. “Ssshhhh!” he hissed. He’d never been so glad to see his brother. He dragged Tommy over the log, pushed him to the ground and peered back over the top. He scanned the path. Nothing stirred. Everything was quiet.

  Jake sank into the leaves and wiped the sweat off his face. That was close, he thought.

  Tommy moaned again. Jake saw that he was shaking. Jake was feeling a bit shaky himself, but he’d never let Tommy know it.

  “What was that, Jake?” Tommy asked. “Was it Alf—?”

  “No.” Jake laughed nervously. “Of course not. It was probably just a bird.”

  “That wasn’t a bird!” said Tommy.

  “Well, a—a skunk then, or a raccoon,” said Jake. He glanced back at the trail. Nothing moved.

  “If that was a skunk, how come you were so scared?”

  “You were the one who was screaming like a werewolf was after you,” said Jake. “I wasn’t scared.”

  “You were so!” said Tommy.

  “Was not!”

  “Were too!”

  “Wuss!” Jake shouted.

  “Double wuss!”

  Jake glared at Tommy’s bright red face. Little brothers could be such a pain.

  “I want to go back to camp,” Tommy said.

  “All right,” Jake said. “But quit screaming.”