I looked quickly through the last few pages, taking more notes: Islands again, shell-fish, Blue Beads, Fossil shells. Another long shopping list, this one horribly scribbled out, had Letter paper, tea, instructions, shoe, hat, candles. And a lot more that I couldn’t read. Then, pistols. Whoa! I knew Darwin had carried a gun.
A printed label on the inside back cover said Velvet Paper Memorandum Book.
I closed the notebook and ran my fingers lightly over the cover, trying to memorize the geography of every scratch, stain, and worn spot. It was red leather with a brass clasp on the edge. The metal was tarnished and speckly in one area. The lower left corner of the front label had torn off. The notebook was close to square, and about as big as my hand with fingers spread.
I wrote down these details, trying to catch and preserve everything I could see.
Until Gumps handed over this treasure to the police, where could I hide it? The house seemed so obvious. What was an unlikely but safe spot?
Yes! Perfect. I rewrapped the notebook and tucked it back into the Danger Box. I opened my bedroom door and peered out into the dark hall.
I didn’t need much light. My feet knew the way.
* * *
The Gas Gazette: Issue Eleven
A FREE NEWSPAPER ABOUT A MYSTERIOUS SOUL
~Have you ever had an experience that was not fun while it was going on but amazing to think about once it was over? That’s what happened to me when we stopped at some islands in the Pacific Ocean.
~Most were jagged, black lava and “frying hot.” Honestly, they looked like the “Infernal regions,” if you get what I mean. A thermometer stuck in dark sand went up to 137 degrees. Rainwater collected only in small, steamy potholes in the “boisterous” swirls of volcanic rock. We were thirsty, thirsty, thirsty.
~Giant iguanas and tortoises were everywhere, and tame — I felt as though I was on “some other planet.” The iguanas were three to four feet long, and the older tortoises at least two hundred pounds. I rode on the backs of several of these creatures and they hardly noticed, even when I tumbled off. The iguanas were “quick & clumsy,” and I wrote in my notebook that they were “hideous,” but that was probably because I was so thirsty and in such a rotten mood that I was ready to drink any form of liquid.
~We had to kill some of the giant turtles for eating, and I sipped the clear liquid in a bladder. If you don’t know what body part that is, look it up.
Who am I?
NEXT ISSUE TO COME.
FREE!
* * *
HOLDING THE DANGER Box in front of me, I tiptoed across the kitchen in my pajamas and bare feet. Slowly, slowly I slid open the bolt to the back door. I turned the handle.
Think like a list, I told myself. One thing at a time. If Charles Darwin could handle a violently pounding heart, upset stomach, and fears about dying at sea, I could make it to the toolshed. In the dark. Alone.
I knew the way by heart.
At night I can smell things even better than in the daytime, especially during summer. Maybe it’s something about the heat from the sun making the earth cook all day, like a recipe smell that stays in a kitchen. Maybe it’s also my hound-dog nose.
As I pushed open the screen door and closed it carefully behind me, I smelled:
~gasoline from the road,
~a whiff of burned meat from our grill, and
~lavender blossoms.
I knew exactly how many steps it was to the toolshed. I started walking.
Have you ever noticed that wind comes alive in the dark? It suddenly feels as though it means what it does, like the leaves are shushing for a reason and the sheet waving gently on the clothesline is saying something.
Over heeere! No, heeere! Lost, lost, lost! the wind seemed to be whispering.
I kept moving, and felt braver every time I thought about Darwin struggling with his fears. I can do this, I told the wind.
The grass was cool and wet. Eight, nine, ten … Now I was past the clothesline. I looked straight ahead and saw only blackness. I spun around and checked for the blur of what I thought was the porch light behind me. Bad idea, I told myself fiercely. Don’t look back.
At step thirteen I smelled the tomatoes in the garden. Red. Sweet. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen …
Now I smelled only trees. I wondered for a moment if I had headed in the wrong direction. Black equals wind equals Deeps, I thought to myself. No need to be afraid.
Hugging the Danger Box, I held my left hand in front of me so I wouldn’t bump into anything.
My heart was beating like crazy, and suddenly I remembered Harold and his purple crayon. Harold out there with the dragon. Harold and my new friend Gas. They’d both done much harder things; I could do this.
Nineteen, twenty … My hand touched wood.
I felt along the side of the shed until I got to the door. I opened it and slipped inside.
I KNEW JUST where everything was. I slid the Danger Box into a gap between an old bag of cement and a stack of paint cans. There — safe and hidden. No one would ever guess this box held a treasure.
I opened the box once more to check on the notebook. I’ll be back, I promised. Sorry you’re buried out here.
Just then a car sped by on our road, and light tipped into the high window of the shed. It was at that moment, the Danger Box open, that I heard the footsteps. They were soft but heavy.
Thump-squish, thump-scree, thump-squish.
Someone walking, and it wasn’t one of my grandparents. Uh-oh-oh-oh-uh-oh. Close the door.
I knew it wouldn’t squeak if I pulled it slowly. Somehow, I did.
The steps stopped outside the shed. I was afraid of making even the tiniest sound.
Thump, whump, thump! I was sure whoever was outside could hear my heart.
And then, out in the Deeps, the night exploded.
BANG!
IT WAS THE loudest firecracker I’d ever heard.
The steps outside the shed began to run. I listened to them running until the wind took them away. I closed the top of the Danger Box, my fingers strange and shaky. More light poured in the toolshed window.
I pushed open the shed door, thinking I saw our kitchen light. I didn’t. It was a huge paleness, behind the entire house. In town. For a moment I thought I’d fallen asleep in the shed, dreamed the footsteps, and that this was dawn.
Then I smelled fire.
The siren on Elm Street began whoop-whooping.
Our kitchen door bounced open and I heard Gam calling, “Zoomy! Zoomy! Oh, thank the Lord. What on earth are you doing out here?”
As I hurried toward the house, Gumps shouted, “Goin’ downtown!”
Gam said, “I’m not letting you go near a fire without me, Ash.” She had on her flowered bathrobe, the one with a hole in the elbow. “Hurry up, Zoomy!” She grabbed me, gave a quick hug, and pushed me into the entryway.
“Get your sneakers! We’re going, too.” I saw that my grandpa’s pajamas were poking out the bottom of his pants. I grabbed his gardening shirt off a hook and put it on over my pajamas.
We could see blue police lights through the trees. People were shouting. The hubbub was coming from the area near the store.
Gumps was gone into the night, clankety-clank running, before we got down the steps. Gam grabbed my hand, something she hadn’t done for ages, and we hurried as fast as we could go. She gave me huff-puff warnings about curbs and dips. We crossed the train tracks.
Then I heard my grandma say, “Oh, dear God. No, please, no!”
IT WAS THE store.
~Flames
~Smoke
~Burning
~Burning
~Burning
Our lives were burning.
Emergency lights. Running footsteps. I heard my grandma shout, “Ash! No! No! Don’t you go in there!”
Then she let go of my hand, and I stood still. I knew she had to disappear. It hurt to breathe. Everyone was coughing. Someone in a black, slippery coat spun me around. �
�Only firemen in this area!” he bellowed.
I took three steps. Tripped. Fell. Got up.
And then a tremendous, shattering CRACK. Glass exploding.
Even I could see it: a Deep of fire. Flames with a brightness as big as trees.
My body was whumpa-whumping so wildly it didn’t feel like mine. I imagined all those treasures being burned alive: my red sofa, the mouse in the sugar bowl, the crocodile. My science encyclopedia. The horseshoes. In a moment I’d explode, too; I’d shoot into the cool Deep of sky. I’d wake up and find it was only a nightmare.
The crowd was swelling. More voices. “Here, son,” the janitor from school said, and taking me by the shoulders, he helped me away from the heat. “Aren’t you the Chamberlain kid? Sit right here on this curb.”
He disappeared, too. I sat.
A moment later, a hospital stretcher bumped past me. Someone was moaning. I saw blood on the side of a man’s head. Then I recognized the fishing-worm eyebrow and a clump of matted hair: It was Buckeye.
What was he doing out here? I had to tell my grandparents! I should have told sooner, before this happened. Why did I listen to him?
The moaning went on, and I realized it was me. I tried to get up, but my legs had lost their bones. I put my head down on my knees. Please, please was as far as I could get. Please.
Then someone was patting my back. “Zoomy,” a shaky voice said. “I’m so, so sorry. Mom, this is my friend Zoomy! And that was their family store. Hey, where’s your grandma and grandpa?”
I was stuck. I put my head up, but no words came out.
“Lorrol, you stay here,” a woman said. “I’ll find them, and also see if anyone needs my help.”
Lorrol and I sat side by side. She was quiet. I don’t know if I was. Then, as if she understood I wanted company but not too much, she moved closer so that our shoulders were touching. Then her shoulder went up and down, and I realized she was crying.
SOON LORROL WAS gone and my grandparents were down on the ground next to me. We three were hugging as close as:
~Burrs
~Melted Cough Drops in a Hot Pocket
“Was that Buckeye?” I asked the wrinkles in my grandpa’s neck. His whiskery skin nodded.
Gam spoke first. “Yes. Taken to the hospital. They said he’ll recover.” Her voice wobbled like I’d never heard it before, and Gumps stayed quiet. Dead silent but jittery-splat — I knew because his throat was pumping up and down and swallowing lots, like mine when I’m upset.
“I saw him,” I said.
Gam sniffed hard and wiped her nose on her sleeve, something she’d taught me not to do. Then she turned her cheek my way, and I followed a jagged streak of soot from her forehead to her chin. Her face looked broken, like a cracked egg.
I put my hand out to touch the line.
Hugging and weeping in the middle of Elm Street: For us, this was a shocker. When we looked up, we saw fire trucks everywhere. My grandparents told me that help from the next town had arrived. I had never seen so much squinty light.
I remember:
~rolling deeps of yellow and white and blue
~roaring, popping, crackling, creaking
~heavy things falling
~china and glass smashing
~the whoosh and sob of red-hot wind
I’d never known a building could be in pain. It was ~like we were watching a death. ~Like that dying hurt. ~Like a part of our family was ~burning, ~burning, ~burning.
Our hearts were on fire.
THE OWNERS OF the sandwich shop, Bob and Dorothy, got us home. They helped us three into the cab of a truck, and my head knocked against a fishing pole as we drove. In our kitchen, we found an uncut pie and a huge pitcher of ice-cool lemonade; that’s the kindness of neighbors. In the scramble to get out, we hadn’t locked the door.
I thought of the notebook and was glad it was safe. Hidden.
But I felt terrible about having kept the Buckeye secret. So I told, right then and there, at the kitchen table. It was a relief to unload the story about the library visit and the threats. Maybe Buckeye had been so angry at us that he’d burned the store down.
“Oh, Zoomy!” Gam said. “This definitely wasn’t your fault. I can’t imagine what Buckeye was trying to get you to do, anyway. He was probably out of his mind. Crazy with alcohol.”
Gumps shook his head. “This was my fault. I should’ve offered to help him that night at the house instead of pushing him away. Instead of treating him like a healthy man. God forgive me.”
Now my grandpa buried his head in his hands. Gam and I both patted his arm. He didn’t seem to feel it.
A long groan came from deep in his throat. “I was nearby when the firemen found him inside the back door. Buckeye was muttering. I leaned close to him and said, ‘Son.’ He said, ‘Tried. I tried to stop it.’”
“Ohhh!” My grandma and I both made the same sound.
“Poor thing,” she said. “Maybe he did.”
My grandpa groaned again. “Problem is, the box and the blanket are now gone, either burned or taken, and we’ll never know which. I’ll bet that man who was in the store came back. Took them. Searched for the missing notebook, didn’t find it, and then set a fire, either in anger or just to cover his tracks. And Buckeye — who knows what he was doing, but it doesn’t look good.”
“I have the notebook,” I said. “It’s safe.”
“Which means we’re not,” Gumps growled. “Nor is Buckeye. What if that same creep thinks one of us in the family has it? Better go get the thing, and we’ll hand it over to the police. Now.”
“Okay.” I got up, my heart suddenly feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds. “So if I hadn’t kept it, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Buckeye and the store wouldn’t be burned.” I began tapping my chin. Tapping and tapping.
A voice inside my head was saying, My - tap! - fault - tap! - My - tap! - fault - tap!
“Stop that now!” Gumps burst out. “Every step in life makes something else happen, and we all do the best we can. Right? Right! No more of this blame talk. We’re done with that.”
“Hodilly-hum,” Gam added.
I nodded, and did feel better. The tapping stopped.
Outside the kitchen door, I looked back toward town. I could still hear the fire engines thrumming, and I knew the destruction and hurt were not over. I sent a silent message toward the part of our family that was once the store, and all the things I’d loved and grown up with: We won’t forget you. Ever, ever, ever.
I put one foot in front of the other.
* * *
The Gas Gazette: Issue Twelve
A FREE NEWSPAPER ABOUT A MYSTERIOUS SOUL
~Exploring these ten sizzling islands was like scrambling around on the top of a stove — I don’t think I was at my best. I collected lots of little birds and samples of the huge reptiles, but my sorting and labeling was parboiled in the heat, and I wasn’t as careful as I was in some other places.
~My metal pencil became so hot it was hard to grip. Sweat dripped on my notebook.
~Criminals, pirates, and a sad sailor or two had been abandoned on these islands. We found a human skull.
~I was happy to leave. But I never forgot those few scalding days. I saw small differences between the same kinds of creatures, island to island. How and why? This curious subject got me thinking.
~I have gone over every detail of those few amazing days in my mind, and often wished I could have a do-over on some of my warmer moments.
~It’s tough to do excellent work in extreme heat.
~I did keep one baby tortoise as a pet. I never dreamed he would live far longer than any of us on board that ship.
Who am I?
NEXT ISSUE TO COME.
FREE!
* * *
OPENING THE SHED door, I stepped right into the Danger Box. Crunch! went the firecracker shells under my sneaker.
I knew before I knew. The next few moments on my hands and knees were endless. I f
elt around the bottom of the box, fingers spread as if they could catch what was already missing.
As if the box weren’t ~out of its hiding place and ~open.
Then the weight of the night fell down on me. It was the fire, strangling guilt about Buckeye, the death of the store, the notebook: I couldn’t breathe. Suddenly I was lying on the floor of the toolshed, feeling the cool cement under my cheek.
The Danger Box, just beyond my nose, had splinters on it. Blue paint. A tiny piece of label with a red cherry on it. Then the side of the box was spinning away down a tunnel, farther and farther away, and I was gone.
GUMPS SAID HE almost collapsed when he went out to the shed and found me passed out on the floor. He carried me into the kitchen, and that’s when Gam fell apart. “I haven’t seen her sob like that since the day you turned up on the kitchen steps in the cat carrier, way back when,” my grandpa told me later. “Who woulda believed your world could explode so many times in one day?”
I woke up with an ice bag on my head. We were all three on the sofa, and I was in the middle. I guess it was good right then just to be alive and together. We didn’t have much to say.
Then the local and state police came by, Gam put on her apron, made several pots of strong coffee, and cut the pie. The police told her and Gumps the news. I listened from the sofa. It wasn’t pretty.
~Buckeye had been living in an old storage room on the second floor of the Three Oaks Pharmacy for some time, helping himself to food and liquor from the grocery section at night. A bed made of old towels was surrounded by a mess of empty beer bottles and beef jerky wrappers.
~He was in trouble for breaking and entering, trespassing, a bunch of thefts, and maybe arson. After all, he’d been found inside the back door to our store, someone had clearly punched in the glass above the lock, and the police had no other suspects. A search within a five-mile radius of Three Oaks turned up the stolen Ford truck. It was inside a deserted barn just down the road.
The Danger Box Page 10