Uncertain Summer

  Wait, what? Was Papa the one who called the police?

  “Everdil, would you give us a moment?” Papa asked, much clearer this time that he wanted privacy.

  “Sure,” I said, walking slowly back to my room to see what I could overhear. I heard the word “bullets” and something about illegal weapons. The sheriff had to be here on account of Dierk Robinson.

  Mama caught me in the hallway, standing near the closet leaning in to eavesdrop. “Listen to your papa, Everdil. Why don’t you shower up, and I can make you something for breakfast before I go to work. It’ll help calm my nerves,” she added.

  I’d already showered last night, but my hair looked like a curly heron’s nest after sleeping on it while my hair was damp. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, and as soon as Mama headed into the kitchen, I checked on Emmett.

  I hoped to see his real body there, not the lump of the pillow still. The clothing ball was slightly exposed.

  I was torn. There was a sheriff sitting in my living room talking to my father. Should I tell on Emmett now that he hadn’t come home yet? Or would this cause my family to get in serious trouble?

  “Everdil?” Mama called. Her footsteps padded down the hallway. I can’t explain why, but I covered “Emmett’s head” with the sheet.

  I closed his door, practically shaking as I held my finger to my lips like a librarian when I faced Mama. “He’s still sleeping.” The lie slipped out so easily it was like the difficult decision had been made subconsciously for me.

  “Oh,” she said, fully believing me. “Breakfast is ready.”

  Mama had mixed up some oatmeal with brown sugar, golden raisins, and a touch of milk. Even the most basic things she cooked taste amazing.

  “You haven’t seen my new blender or my mixing bowls or where the bag of flour went, have you, Everdil?”

  I shook my head no, feeling a pulse of pain in my tooth. I took the sensation as a good sign that the nerves were working properly.

  “I must be losing my mind,” Mama said as she rinsed the oatmeal pan. “I suppose I need to organize a few things.”

  “Definitely,” I said, maybe a little too enthusiastically.

  Mama stopped what she was doing and sat next to me, looking me right in the eyes. “Your papa and I haven’t made some of the best choices. We’d give you and Emmett the world if we could.” She sighed. “We’re making some changes, and the bank might be willing to work with us.”

  It was a relief to hear her finally acknowledging the financial trouble instead of pretending like I was ignorant. “I’ll help any way that I can. That’s a promise.”

  “I’m counting on it,” Mama said, kissing my cheek lightly. “I already have a favor to ask. I don’t want to leave you and Emmett alone with all this madness going on in town, but the café is short staffed and apparently busier than it’s ever been. Will you two stay out of trouble?”

  “We’ll see,” I said, doing my best to avoid making a promise I couldn’t keep.

  Mama thought I was making a joke using one of her favorite phrases. “Good one, Everdil. Gramps and your dad will be at the marina, so call them, or call me at the café if you need anything. I’d keep the home phone disconnected unless you need to use it. I’ll check in later, regardless.”

  Mama wrapped me in a hug so tight that her worry seemed to pass through her embrace. If she only knew.

  25

  Potter’s Point seemed like the obvious place where Emmett (and possibly the others) had gone given the discovery of the body, but it had to be crowded with news reporters, researchers, and Bigfoot nuts like Swamp Sam. They would’ve sent a group of kids home or notified their parents somehow, right?

  My mind went back to Swamp Sam. He’d been keeping a low profile after shooting rock salt at Emmett and Tim and the shopping incident. Maybe the team had gone back to investigate the gnarled tree near Swamp Sam’s cabin thinking it was a signature mark of Bigfoot. This made the most sense, but the thought of going there alone to check on them was enough to make me break out into a sweat. I had a feeling that Swamp Sam wouldn’t take it easy on me because I was a girl or that he’d care about who I was any more than he cared who Emmett and Tim were. My idea was to get in and get out before getting caught.

  By the time I got ready, you would’ve thought I resembled a real hunter. While I didn’t have a gun, I stashed a steak knife in my backpack for just in case. Goodness knows Mama had plenty, and she was already missing several things. My backpack was so heavy with supplies: the camera, snacks, and water, that it took me a moment to find my balance on my bike. Even so, it was much easier to ride than Gramps’ bike.

  While visitors came to Uncertain, our little town had never been so crowded as I biked to Swamp Sam’s cabin. The inns and bed and breakfasts had flipped on their “no vacancy” signs. The Uncertain Café had a line of customers that snaked out the front door and along the side of the building. Some of the folks were dressed up in suits and dresses with high heels like they might’ve been news reporters, while others wore grubby clothes and camouflage vests. Mama had to be slammed preparing food for all those folks. She’d hopefully make some good money.

  I maneuvered the bike down an alley to be less noticeable, but I nearly flipped off when I rammed into a recycling bin. Crunch!

  So much for being less noticeable—an oversized shepherd-mix charged me, growling as it nipped at my bike tires.

  “Be a good puppy,” I said, baby-talk like. This did nothing to disarm the dog.

  I pedaled to a shortcut that led out of the alley. Like the boar had, the shepherd gained on me, snapping at my backside.

  I zoomed onto the main street where a BMW nearly splattered me.

  The driver held up his hand in aggravation, and I’m sure he would’ve flipped me the bird if he hadn’t been missing his middle finger. The man sped off, but not before I got a good look at his George Washington-like features. Dierk Robinson had nearly killed me.

  Another car turned around the bend, but I was paying attention this time and so was this driver. The dog had enough sense to get out of the street, and I took this opportunity to zoom off.

  Swamp Sam’s cabin was deep in the woods, so I rode my bike as far as I could along dirt paths and tire tracks. When I got closer in, I left the bike near a broken windmill to sneak around more stealthily on foot. After what happened to Emmett and Tim, plus to Tim’s bike, I figured this was safer. If you could call it that.

  Nothing around here seemed out of place—no ripped pieces of yellow shirts, bedazzled clothing, or shaggy brown tufts of hair were caught on the brush. I searched for messages like “help” carved on the trees, not like I was expecting anything so extreme or so obvious. Really, it was just your typical hot Texas summer day in the middle of nowhere East Texas.

  With the backpack weighing on my shoulders, I took a short break and chugged an entire water bottle and gobbled down a granola bar. When I continued on, the weeds were taller and thicker, making it hard to see any trails or tire paths. I pulled out my compass to head northeast taking shelter under the shade of large oaks when possible. If my sweat was any indication, it had to be over one-hundred degrees.

  This was a waste of time. I should’ve learned my lesson that day I’d explored alone in the woods. Why hadn’t I involved the sheriff and Mama and Papa? I had to be about the dumbest twelve-year-old in all of Uncertain. In all of Texas. In all of—you get the point.

  As I was about to give up, a shotgun blasted. Birds squawked and scattered from the oak branches. This was close. Too close.

  Swamp Sam could’ve been shooting at Emmett and the others … if they were even here. I wish I could say I rushed into a dangerous situation Chuck Norris style for a chance to save them, but I stood in place, trembling as I debated about what to do.

  My tooth injury had been painful enough, and I couldn’t imagine how awful it would be to get shot, especially with a real bullet and not just rock salt. I told myself this wouldn’t happen, and that if m
y days had already been numbered, well then that had been determined long ago.

  This wasn’t the most comforting of thoughts, but it was enough to propel me forward, taking shelter near the trunks of the oaks for more than just their shade now.

  My stomach already churned from the images running through my mind, but I about lost everything I’d just downed when I caught a whiff of something horrid. Like a rotten container of pot roast long forgotten in the fridge sort of horrid.

  I anticipated another shotgun blast, but it was eerily quiet. Even the birds seemed to be holding their breath.

  As much as I wanted to leave, I couldn’t. Not until I could somehow check that Emmett, Tim, and Shawna weren’t here. After a few minutes and an intensifying stench in the air, I spotted the tree Tim had mentioned before, bent exactly like the one on Goat Island. While this tree wasn’t as enormous, it was just as unusually mangled. I stayed hidden here to scope out the area. Other than this mysteriously bent tree, there weren’t as many other trees or hiding places around.

  Off in the distance, I spotted Swamp Sam’s cabin, which was cluttered with massive piles of junk—a tractor, some metal bins, oversized burlap bags, and things I couldn’t quite make out. It had been several years since I’d gone with Mama to deliver a meal to Swamp Sam after he’d been hospitalized, and I couldn’t recall the place looking this run down. What stood out the most at the time were the multiple mounted game heads decorating the interior staring at me with their vacant glassy eyes.

  Behind the cabin was a work area that I could barely see from here. About ten feet away from it stood a pile of something reddish-brown. Of all the supplies I could’ve used right then was a pair of binoculars, but Shawna was the one who owned them. I snapped a photo and used the zoom feature to try to get a better look. The pile appeared almost blood-like, but the viewing screen was too small to see much detail.

  A light breeze rustled the leaves on the bent tree. You would’ve thought I’d been shot at the way I jumped from how much it startled me. The breeze also carried with it an intense wave of foulness. The deer poaching scene flashed in my mind, and I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I told myself that I could leave as soon as I confirmed what the pile was or wasn’t.

  I accepted my fate no matter what, but it still took me a few moments before I gathered enough nerve to leave the protection of the bent tree. I stretched the way Emmett did before a football game. He’d be brave right now if he was here. Tim would mastermind some kind of plan, and Shawna would march right up to Swamp Sam and smooth talk information from him.

  I did what I could, bending down to crawl in the clearing. Chuck Norris would’ve been to the East Coast by now, but crawling took me a lot of effort. My arms were like soggy spaghetti noodles from the intense effort of propelling myself forward. The backpack had to go. I laid flat on my belly and chugged more water before I abandoned my supplies. The only thing I kept was the camera plus the knife, which I tucked in my sock military-like, careful not to cut myself.

  This was a precaution I hoped would seem silly. I left the backpack near some type of shrub with little purple flowers, positive I’d be back in a few minutes to retrieve it.

  26

  Once I got within twenty feet of the cabin, I took cover behind a rusted Oldsmobile. The car hadn’t gone anywhere in years—tall weeds weaved their way through the tire rims. Stench haunted the area like an angry ghost.

  The wood stain on the cabin had faded, and several of the boards were warped, not like I was paying that much attention to the cabin with so much clutter around, plus the pile. The nauseating pile. Now that I was closer, I confirmed that it was indeed blood. Right as I identified body parts—hooves, antlers maybe some intestines—there was a flurry of motion. I ducked down by the Oldsmobile’s passenger door. As soon as my shaky legs were steady enough, I squatted to get a better look.

  Beyond the pile, resting against a scrappy looking loblolly pine was Bigfoot! His body was slumped, and he wasn’t as large as what I’d seen before. I snapped a photo and then another, stopping when Swamp Sam approached Bigfoot. He was armed with a shovel.

  I almost yelled out for him to be careful but then watched as he took the shovel and dumped something into Bigfoot’s body. Using the camera’s preview screen, I zoomed in and saw that this was no real creature—just an ape costume. One that was in the process of being stuffed with guts. It reminded me of a sausage making show I watched on FoodieLand, only you know, much, much more disgusting.

  Oh man. This had to mean that what Papa and Dierk had found in the pit was likely a hoax like this one.

  Between the rotting body parts and this realization, I couldn’t control it any longer. The car groaned as I leaned my body against it for support as I wretched. I hadn’t intended to be so loud, but try throwing up silently. You’ll see it’s next to impossible.

  My stomach wasn’t relieved after. No, not when I heard footsteps. The sound of boots clomping on the ground grew louder.

  I had two options. Run or stay put.

  Emmett, the notorious running back, hadn’t been quick enough to avoid getting shot at. Staying put seemed more reasonable though hardly at all.

  “Who’s there?” Swamp Sam said, his voice hoarse.

  Like I planned on answering.

  There could’ve been snakes and who knows what else hiding in the weeds beneath the Oldsmobile, but I backed my way under, legs first. I should’ve been eating more fruits and vegetables instead of Emmett’s treats because it was a tight squeeze. And itchy.

  I stopped when my necklace caught on something.

  The footsteps grew closer. “I said who’s there?” Swamp Sam’s voice sounded menacing.

  I pulled at the necklace to unhook it, but the chain was too caught up. The necklace dug deep into my skin.

  Gramps had trusted me with this heirloom and so had Mama—it was priceless. But I valued my life more.

  I yanked my neck so hard that the necklace nearly cut off my air supply before the chain snapped off. The pearl dropped into the patch of grass right in front of me.

  Just as I almost grasped it between my fingers, a hand wrapped around my arm. My yell had to ring out louder than the shotgun blast.

  Swamp Sam drug me out from underneath the car, his grip so tight I couldn’t reach for the knife in my sock. I really don’t know what I would’ve done had I been able to grab it. I hope you know I’m not the type of person who would’ve stabbed someone. Especially considering I was sneaking around on his property in the first place.

  “Another nosy spy, huh? Since when did the agency recruit children?” Swamp Sam’s pupils were huge, and his face peeled even more.

  “Nobody sent me. I’m looking for my brother and his friends.”

  “I’m sure the government trained you to say that. Bigfoot turned on me, and Raleigh’s kids got infiltrated,” Swamp Sam said and mumbled a few incoherent things about booby traps and conspiracies.

  If the situation hadn’t been so dire, his nonsense would’ve been funny. “I promise we don’t work for any government agency,” I said. “We just want to win the Bigfoot contest. Do you know anything about it? A million dollars for a picture—”

  Swamp Sam ripped the camera from me. “Tell me exactly who you work for and why you’re after me!”

  “Nobody. We want to win the contest, honest. My family could use the money—you know how Papa recently took over your marina—”

  “You don’t know what you’re messing with. The beasts have begun stalking humanity, and the government is training them for an uprising. I’m doing my best to threaten them.”

  Whoa. Swamp Sam was even sicker than I’d realized. I closed my eyes and prayed I wouldn’t end up chopped up as part of the gruesome-ape-costume-stuffing-mix. I thought of a Chuck Norris fact to distract him. “If there’s ever an apocalypse, hang out with Chuck Norris because he won’t worry about surviving. The zombies will.”

  Well, that was a failure. Swamp Sam was done talki
ng and dragged me to who knows where.

  “Please don’t hurt me!” I dug my feet into the ground.

  Swamp Sam kicked at my legs and picked me up.

  “I won’t tell anyone what I saw if you let me go.”

  “You’ve transmitted too much data already.”

  “That’s not even possible.” He was carrying me to a hog trap that had to be at least eight feet long. It’s too embarrassing to share how much begging I did to change his mind. I can’t even bring myself to repeat it.

  “Silence,” Swamp Sam said.

  I struggled to keep him from tossing me into the cage, but he overpowered me when I reached for the knife. I’m not sure if I would’ve stabbed him or not at this point. With my arm extended, he wrangled and shoved me inside.

  I threw my body forward and attempted to claw my way through the door. Swamp Sam slammed the cage door on my hand. I reeled back in pain, clutching my fingers. He clicked the latch into place and secured it with a lock. “I refuse to get manipulated. Transmit that,” he said, scratching at his neck and mumbling something about a ransom.

  Trouble doesn’t describe the situation. Doomed is more like it. Not only was the cage locked up like a jail cell, I couldn’t move my middle finger.

  “No more problems from you,” Swamp Sam said. He inspected my camera for a moment like he considered keeping it for himself, but then he tossed it to the ground and stomped on it with his boot several times. I watched until the camera was nothing more than bits of shattered technology. Then he left me there trapped like a helpless animal.

  I had no idea what his intentions were, and I didn’t want to stay in the trap long enough to find out. He’d already been busted with criminal misconduct with a weapon in the past.

  As soon as Swamp Sam was out of sight, I reached through the bars to unclasp the gate. The lock didn’t budge. I tried to use the knife to pick the lock, but I couldn’t get a solid enough grasp. My middle finger was now misshapen and had begun to swell. Good thing it had gone mostly numb.