by Ray Garton
David slumped in his desk, feeling the eyes of the whole class on him again. Snickers and chuckles rose from the students.
“Quiet!” Mrs. McKeltch demanded, moving to the center of the classroom. She held up her hand, a gesture with which the entire class was familiar, and chanted, “One, two, three, four, five!”
Instant silence. It always worked. On the first day of class, Mrs. McKeltch had told them, “When I do this—” She’d held up her hand and counted to five in a stern, singsong fashion. “—I want silence. Anyone still talking or causing a disturbance by the time I reach five will be punished.” She’d never had to repeat the rule.
Mrs. McKeltch pressed her hands together before her and smiled—at least, it was a smile for Mrs. McKeltch: a tight twitching of her lips—nodding to General Wilson.
“I’m sorry, General,” she said. “Go on.”
General Wilson fidgeted some more, cleared his throat again, then leaned back against the chalk tray below the blackboard.
“Well,” he said, “any questions?”
“Yes,” Kevin said. “Is everybody on the base a Marine?”
He’s such a smartass, David thought.
“Well, um,” General Wilson replied, scratching his chin, “they usually are on a Marine base.”
David sneaked a look over his shoulder and scowled at Kevin, who grinned back coldly.
The class laughed at General Wilson’s reply, and Wilson didn’t seem to know quite how to take it. He straightened his tie and pursed his lips a few times.
Captain Rinaldi was obviously enjoying himself. He leaned his back against the wall to General Wilson’s left, smiling at the general’s nervousness, folding his arms across his chest.
“Um, actually,” General Wilson went on, “Camp Puller is a little special. We have a research facility there, operated by NASA, which is part of their space program. So, aside from just Marines, we have a number of scientists, engineers, and technicians.”
“Any astronauts?” Cindy Potter asked.
General Wilson smiled at her and shrugged. “Once in a while an astronaut passes through.” He pointed to Scot. “Yes, another question?”
“How do you keep track of things in space when you can’t see ’em from down here?” Scot asked.
“We have a brand-new radar that can pick up anything that moves across the sky, day or night,” General Wilson answered.
“That’s the phased-array system,” David interjected without giving it a thought. He tensed, awaiting another scolding from Mrs. McKeltch. Instead, the general smiled broadly at him.
“That’s right, David.” He addressed the entire class then: “As some of you may know, David’s father works in Puller’s research facility and has been a big part of some of our most important projects.” He turned to David again. “Do you know how the phased-array system works, David?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why don’t you explain it to the class?”
“Well, see, it’s . . .” All eyes were on him again, but this time they were attentive, interested. “. . . it’s where energy pulses are shot into the sky, and if there’s anything out there, the energy bounces off of it and comes back. Then it’s picked up by a receiver.” He chewed on his lip a moment, looking at General Wilson. “Is that right?”
The general nodded. “Very good, David, that’s exactly right.”
David couldn’t resist a glance at Mrs. McKeltch, a proud smile, letting her know that not everything he said was just a classroom disturbance.
She simply glared back.
“I’d like to welcome all of you to the base,” General Wilson said. “Captain Rinaldi and I would be happy to give you a tour and answer any questions you have.” He turned to Mrs. McKeltch. “You can call me personally and arrange a visit almost any time.”
“Thank you, General.”
“Well, boys and girls, I hope you have a better idea of what we’re doing at Camp Puller. I’ve enjoyed talking to you today and I hope you’ll look at me—”
The bell rang and David’s stomach did a little flip. That meant he’d be talking with Mrs. McKeltch soon.
“—and the other Marines on the base as your friends.”
The students applauded as they stood and gathered their things. Kevin Addams applauded, as usual.
David stood, swinging his bag over his shoulder. Maybe there was a chance he could slip out before Mrs. McKeltch caught him. He turned and found her standing just inches in front of him, looking down her nose through slitted eyes.
She suddenly smiled over David’s head and he turned to see General Wilson and Captain Rinaldi approaching.
“How’d I do?” Wilson asked Rinaldi quietly.
Rinaldi held his hand out, palm down, and tilted it back and forth, chuckling.
“Thank you for coming,” Mrs. McKeltch said with a wide smile. “My students always enjoy your visits.”
“Our pleasure, Mrs. McKletch,” Wilson said.
Mrs. McKeltch’s smile faltered, and she suddenly looked forced. “McKeltch,” she said stiffly, almost under her breath.
“General Wilson,” David said.
“Yes, David?”
“You guys aren’t gonna cut off my dad’s arm, are you?”
General Wilson blinked rapidly several times and his mouth opened as if to speak, but he said nothing for a moment. Then he said, “Excuse me?”
“The arm on the space probe. Dad said you might have to cut it off.”
Wilson’s face relaxed; he looked relieved.
“The probe won’t work without the arm, General.”
“I haven’t heard anything about that, David,” Wilson said, smiling. “I promise I’ll look into it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Before leaving, the general winked at Mrs. McKeltch and said, “Don’t be too hard on him.”
After the two men left, the room became smotheringly silent. Mrs. McKeltch folded her arms before her chest and jutted her jaw.
“This is the third time in one month that you’ve been late to class, Mr. Gardiner,” she said softly, but not without threat. “And it’s certainly not the first time you’ve disrupted the class.”
“But Kevin was the one who—” David began.
“Don’t try to shift the blame to someone else, Mr. Gardiner. I don’t want to hear it.”
His mouth shut with an audible clap.
Mrs. McKeltch stared at him thoughtfully for a moment, one finger tapping her arm. “What am I going to do with you?” She slowly walked a circle around him, looking him up and down, as if she were going to make a purchase. “Should I have a talk with your parents? They wouldn’t be at all pleased. They’re on my side, you know. Parents always are.” She stopped behind him.
David felt a wave of paranoia wash over him. It was like having his back turned on a vicious, barking dog. But for some reason, he was afraid to turn around and face her.
“Do you suppose that General Wilson was always in trouble when he was in school? Of course not. He did not get to be such an important man by being a nuisance. He followed the rules. He behaved. Keep that in mind, David Gardiner, the next time you dawdle on your way to class or want to pass a note to another student. If you don’t shape up, you’ll go nowhere, do you understand me, young man? You’ll never amount to the likes of General Wilson.” She stepped forward and bent down, making her face grow; it loomed before David’s eyes like a moon. She added quietly, “You’ll never amount to anything if you don’t behave.”
David watched her mouth as she spoke, noticing how fast her lips moved over her cigarette-yellowed teeth, opening and closing, squirming like two worms.
“Well,” she said, standing straight, checking her watch, “I have to drive to Copper Hill and collect frogs for tomorrow’s dissection. Go on now, before you’re late for your next class.”
“Yes, ma’am,” David said, hurrying to the door.
“But—”
David stopped and turned to her again.
“Don’t let it happen again.”
“I won’t.”
He walked calmly out of the room, then broke into a run just outside the door. The crowded hall had never looked so good.
On the way home, David sat with Doug near the back of the bus. The rumble of the engine mixed with the laughter and chatter of young voices, filling the bus with a low roar.
“So,” Doug said, toying with a green rubber band, “did Mrs. McKeltch chew your butt, or what?”
“Yeah, she chewed it all right.” David watched as Doug bent down and swept his hand over the floor. He came up with a pebble between his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t know what I ever did to make her pick on me like she does,” David said glumly.
“She’s gotta pick on somebody. Might as well be you.” Doug laughed, fashioning the rubber band into a little slingshot and loading it with the pebble. He looked around for a target and smiled when his gaze stopped on Mr. Bob, the bus driver.
Mr. Bob (nobody knew his last name) overflowed in his seat, he was so big. There was only a little reddish hair on the sides of his head; the top and back were mostly bald. Little folds of fat gathered at the back of his neck.
Doug tossed a devilish glance at David, aimed, and shot the pebble to the front of the bus.
It smacked the back of Mr. Bob’s neck and bounced off. His meaty hand slapped over the spot and the bus swerved a little, making the kids sway back and forth in their seats. Mr. Bob yelled something that was lost in all the noise.
When he pulled his hand away, there was a small cut on his neck, bleeding just a bit.
Doug grinned at David. “Pretty good shot, huh?”
The boys laughed.
C H A P T E R
Three
When David walked into the house, his mom was just hanging up the phone.
“That was your dad,” she said. “He’s going to be a little late this evening.”
“How late?” David asked, a hint of panic in his voice.
“Not too late to watch the meteor shower with you. He wanted me to be sure and tell you that.”
“Oh. Good.” David followed her into the kitchen. “I’m hungry.” He grabbed an orange from the bowl on the table and began to peel it clumsily. “How’d your class go today?”
“I had a test.”
“Did you flunk?”
“Of course I didn’t flunk, silly,” she said with a smile, knowing that David was only joking. She opened the dishwasher and began to load it with the mess left from breakfast. “I studied. You should follow your mother’s example.”
David took a seat at the table. “Did you write little notes on your fingers and palms before you went into class?” he asked, trying to conceal his grin.
“Perish the thought! That would be cheating. Your mother does not cheat. I studied and I think I did very well. I might have missed a couple questions, but overall, it was a success.”
Pulling the orange apart, David took a bite of a juicy wedge and chewed hungrily. “I still can’t figure out why—”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
He swallowed and wiped his mouth. “I still can’t figure out why you go to school when you don’t have to anymore.”
“To learn. I wanted to learn how to keep our books better, so I took a home-economics course. If I wanted to learn how to cook French food, I’d take a French-cooking course. At your age, kids go to school because they have to, so they can learn the things they’ll need to know when they grow up. Adults go to school to improve upon what they already know. Sort of like reading a book to learn something, only you’re getting it from a teacher.”
“Then you don’t have to go to school—I’ve got lots of books you can read.”
“I said improve, not derange,” she said and laughed. “How was your day?”
“Mrs. McKeltch chewed my—I mean, she kept me after class again. ’Cause I was late.”
“She did, huh? Well, then we’ll just have to try a little harder to get you to class on time.”
“She’d do it anyway. She doesn’t like me.”
Mom turned to him and leaned on the dishwasher. “Why do you say that?”
“Well . . . sometimes it seems like she enjoys it when I do something she can rag me about. She’s just . . .” He thought a moment, then shrugged. “. . . mean, I guess. She likes to get kids in trouble I think.”
“That’s not the right attitude for a teacher to have,” Mom said, closing the dishwasher and adjusting the dial.
“She says you’re on her side.”
“Oh, she does, huh?” Mom came over and took a wedge from his orange, popping it into her mouth. “Well, maybe I’ll have to talk to her after school someday and tell her otherwise.”
David laughed. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Mom,” he said.
Mom tousled his hair as she chewed the orange. “Smartass.”
Before David could get out of the house, his mom told him that if he had any homework, he should get to it early so he could watch the meteor shower that night. He went upstairs and cleaned up the spilled rocks and pennies, then worked for a while on a history book report. When he was finished, he changed his clothes and got his battery-operated Godzilla from a shelf. Gathering up his toy cars and the little skyscrapers he’d made from cardboard and egg cartons, he went down to the sand pit.
Godzilla had destroyed the doomed city half a dozen times, his shadow lengthening in the dying sunlight, before David heard the distant sound of his dad’s car driving up over the hill. As he lay on his stomach in the warm sand, watching the monster walk on another building with his fanged mouth opening and closing, David heard the car door slam. He waited several minutes before Dad’s footsteps began crunching and scuffing over the hill.
“Hey, Champ!” Dad called, appearing on the trail. He stopped at the drop-off, hands in pockets.
“What’s doin’?” he asked with a grin.
“I’m trashing Tokyo.”
“A dirty job, but somebody’s gotta do it. Have a good day?”
“Yeah, it was okay. Mr. Bob swerved the bus all over the place coming home.”
“He did? What happened?”
“Doug shot him in the back of the neck with a little rock.”
Dad stifled a snicker.
David smirked, half at the memory, half at his dad’s reaction. “It made a little cut right here—” He touched the back of his neck, “—on one of those little fat rolls.”
Although he never said anything in front of Mom (she didn’t like him to “set a bad example”), Dad had once told David he thought Bob was a slob—“Bob the slob!” they’d laughed—who looked more like a bus than a bus driver.
Dad cleared his throat and swallowed his laughter. “That wasn’t very nice.”
Godzilla tripped on a toy Jeep and fell on his face, taking out a quarter of the city. His legs continued to walk as he rocked back and forth, eating sand.
“Why don’t you bring Tokyo back to the house. Dinner’s almost ready.” He started back over the hill.
David turned off Godzilla, got on his knees and started to gather up the city and cars. He tried to get up, but fell forward. Something was holding his left foot.
David froze, clutching the buildings and cars to his chest. He tugged his foot again, but couldn’t pull it away. The toys slid from his arms and quietly scattered on the sand. David’s mouth was suddenly dry and hanging open, his breath drawing in and out a bit faster. He could feel pressure on each side of his foot. He pulled one more time, weakly, but it wouldn’t let go.
Images began to form in his mind: a hand? A claw reaching out of the smooth white sand?
Adrenaline surged through David and a sudden chill blanketed his whole body as he watched his dad disappear over the crest of Copper Hill.
Something green, maybe? Something with scales and talons? Something very strong that might begin to pull him, drag him down into the sand? Something that might, at that very moment, be rising out of the
sand behind him, reaching for his back with its other claw? He couldn’t bring himself to look over his shoulder.
A whimper quivered from David and turned into a scream as he tore himself away and frantically crawled across the sand. “Dad!” He kicked up sand as he got to his feet and ran, stumbling across the pit toward the trail, shimmying up the incline to Dad, who was already hurrying back over the hill. “Dad!” David gasped, grabbing his dad’s hand and pulling him down the drop-off and onto the sand, pointing.
“What, Champ? What is it?” Dad asked, startled by David’s outburst.
“Some—something in the—” David stopped, staring at the spot where he’d been playing. The toys were scattered over the sand. A few feet from them, a half-buried branch stuck out of the white sand, one forked end lying where David’s foot had been.
The fear subsided rapidly and David lowered his arm, his mouth still open. It had just been a branch caught on his sneaker. He looked up at his dad, who was still anxiously awaiting an explanation.
David remembered something that Dr. Wycliffe had asked: “David, do you ever imagine things when you’re awake? Things that don’t seem like a nightmare, but seem real? It’s important that you tell me so I can help you.” He remembered the doctor’s “too-pay,” his squeaky voice, and snapped his mouth shut, blinking a few times. He didn’t want Dr. Wycliffe’s help, and if Dad thought he was having nightmares while he was awake, he just might have to go back to that fat little man behind the big desk.
Swallowing hard, David said, “Nothing, Dad. I guess it was nothing.”
Dad looked from David to the branch, then back to David again, smiling. He seemed to know then what had happened and he squeezed David’s shoulder.
“Okay, Champ. If you say so. C’mon back to the house now.”
“Yeah, I’m coming.” David went back to his toys and slowly began to pick them up again, keeping an eye on the branch.
Must’ve been buried in the sand, he thought, and my foot pulled it out.
It certainly looked like a claw with bony, crooked fingers, slowly rising from the sand, ready to grab and hold whatever or whoever might be in reach.
Only a branch, he said to himself silently.