“No,” I whispered now. “But, Joe—we have to go out there.”
Joe nodded grimly.
We both silently prepared, each holding a makeshift weapon—me with my flashlight, Joe with a huge branch he’d found while we’d searched for firewood and had insisted on keeping beside him in the tent. “You never know,” he’d said ominously when I’d asked him why. Now I understood.
Careful not to make a sound, we approached the opening. The noise was still going on outside, loud as ever. Metallic clanking, like whoever was out there had found the pots and pans we’d hidden in a cooler with our food. We’d packed up everything, as instructed, so as not to leave anything to tempt the bears.
Joe glanced at me, then quickly unzipped the tent. Before I could say a word, he was out and on his feet. I quickly followed, shining a beam of light toward the cooler before I was even fully standing.
“Oh . . . gosh,” Joe murmured, taking in the sight. “Well, now I feel stupid.”
I stared in wonder at the creature by the cooler.
It was a raccoon. Tiny mask, striped tail, opposable thumbs—the whole works. The little troublemaker had the nerve to stare at us challengingly, as if opening up our cooler and playing with our pans was its God-given right.
“He ate all our apples,” Joe said with dismay, standing on his tiptoes to look into the cooler. “Little bugger.”
I moved forward then, advancing on the raccoon and yelling, “Scram! Get lost! Get out of our campsite, you little bandit!”
The raccoon looked slightly offended, but he cleared out.
For a moment I just stood there in the early morning darkness, breathing in the night air and feeling supremely silly. I’d gotten scared before—between the unfamiliar setting, the darkness, and the storm. The figure I’d seen—well, it was probably some kind of animal, too, right? Wasn’t that the most logical explanation?
It had to be, I figured, as Joe and I secured our cooler and crawled back into our tent. I collapsed back onto my sleeping bag and tried to catch another hour or two of sleep before my shift came around. Must have been an animal—it’s the only logical explanation.
Except.
What kind of animal is that big and travels on two feet?
• • •
“Your turn, Frank.”
It seemed like I’d scarcely closed my eyes before my brother was waking me up for my second and final shift. It was six a.m. and the sun was out, albeit a little weak. Joe dropped gratefully back into his sleeping bag and was out before I’d left the tent. I unzipped the opening and squeezed out, thrilled to find the surroundings I remembered unharmed by the night and illuminated by beautiful, welcome sunshine.
I did a quick walk around our campgrounds—all intact except the apples that nasty raccoon had eaten. No sign of any kind of trespassing. I took a deep breath and smiled.
Don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to see the sun.
I was hungry and could use something to eat. I kind of wanted coffee, too—something I didn’t normally drink, but it was good for early mornings like this one. A coffeemaker wasn’t included in our gear from ATAC, but I knew Joe had brought his trusty French press from home and wouldn’t mind if I used it. I just needed to grab it from his backpack, then get a fire going and heat up some water.
I was about five feet away from the tent when I saw it, and my heart froze again. Right in front of the tent opening—scrawled messily in the mud, as though with a stick.
The letter L.
A chill ran over my whole body; I guess I was so scared I didn’t hear the footsteps behind me.
Because just then, a deep, rough voice startled me out of my stupor:
“You shouldn’ta come.”
Justin
I wasn’t asleep for more than ten minutes before I woke up to the sound of raised voices outside our tent. I sighed and rubbed my eyes. Part of me was sad to see the morning, since I’d gotten, I figured, a grand total of three hours of sleep the night before. But a bigger part of me was glad to have that long night behind me. Granted, nothing had happened besides a visit from a hungry raccoon, but still . . . daylight was good. Daylight was realllly good.
It took me a minute to figure out that Frank was arguing with someone outside. Which was weird, to say the least, because we were in the middle of the wilderness and it couldn’t be much later than six-thirty a.m. I quickly wiggled out of my sleeping bag and darted toward the tent opening. If Frank was out there arguing with a ghost . . . well, I could handle that if it were light outside.
“ . . . coupla city slickers just like all the rest of them,” a tall, gaunt, elderly man was saying to Frank as I emerged from the tent. “They think, ‘Oh! I like my backyard! I like . . . birds!’ ” He said “birds” with such scorn, you would think he was talking about synchronized swimming or something equally ridiculous. “‘I think I’ll go camping! That’ll be a lark!’ ”
Frank was holding out his hands in front of him, like he might physically tamp down the man’s anger. “Listen, sir, I promise you, we’re not just tourists here. We’re students. And we’re here to—”
The man scowled. “To write a paper about those poor kids who died here. I know. I know just what you’re up to.”
I moved forward, attracting the man’s attention for the first time. Hoping I might start this conversation over, I held out my hand. “Good morning, sir. I’m Joe Hardy. I see you’ve met my brother, Frank . . .”
The man turned to face me, still scowling. He had short, close-cropped silver hair and a neat, short silver beard. His expression, though—there was something severe about him. Maybe it was the intensity in his eyes or the slight hook to the end of his nose. Or maybe it was the fact that he looked like he wanted to cook and eat Frank and me for breakfast.
“I met Frank,” the man said with a quick nod. After a brief hesitation, he held out his hand. “Farley O’Keefe. I’m the head ranger here at the park. Don’t mean to be rude.”
I nodded slowly, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you, Farley.”
He shook, then quickly stepped back. “It’s just, those cases are sensitive things for me, you know. I’ve been here thirty years, and I remember every one of those kids who disappeared. No matter what you believe happened, there ain’t nothing more tragic than a little child off and disappearing.”
Frank glanced at me and nodded. “We absolutely agree, Farley. I hope you understand—we don’t mean to disrespect any of the families that lost children. We just want to collect all the facts.”
Farley scowled again and spit on the ground. “Sure, collect all the facts and tie them up with a nice little bow, so’s you can come to some wild conclusion about what happened, right—some conspiracy theory? Or maybe a ghost story.”
I glanced hesitantly at my brother. “We really don’t know what happened yet, sir,” I said slowly. “Maybe you can help us. What do you think happened?”
Farley turned to me then, his dark eyes seeming to bore into mine. “Don’t patronize me, boy. I’ll tell you what happened. It’s what happens whenever city slickers who don’t understand the wilderness come traipsing into my park. They got hurt. And you boys, you’re no better’n any of them. By being here at all, by not knowing the woods, by not knowing your surroundings, you’re putting yourselves at risk of ending up just like all of those kids.”
I stumbled back, breaking his gaze. “Uh . . .”
“Are you saying we’ll end up dead?” Frank asked. A note of alarm had crept into his normally calm voice.
Farley looked at him with suspicion for a moment, then he scowled. “Naw, I’m just sayin’ you need to respect nature. Understand the risks. And to help you do that, I’d like to take you boys on a tour.”
I glanced at my brother. A tour? With this crusty old park ranger? Would that help us or hurt us?
“I’ll take you around to some of the campsites where the kids disappeared,” Farley went on. “Tell you what the risks were, what I think happened.
How about that?”
Frank and I looked at each other again. I really didn’t know what to say. Farley seemed to read our hesitation, and he sighed.
“Aw, c’mon,” he said. “I’m not really all that bad, I promise. I’ve just been working in this park my whole career, and I don’t like hearing people defame it with silly ghost stories, understand?”
Frank looked at Farley—he wore an open, almost hopeful expression—and then back at me.
“Okay,” he said finally. “We’ll go.”
• • •
Farley drove an old dark green Jeep with MISTY FALLS STATE PARK stenciled on the driver side door. Frank climbed in the front and I climbed in the cramped backseat, and off we went. Farley, who seemed to be in a much better mood now that he was in charge, chattered on cheerfully about weather patterns, different types of trees, the birds we saw perched in their branches. When he started talking about animal life in the park, though, I perked up.
“We’ve got quite an assortment of wildlife here,” Farley was saying, “and some not-altogether-friendly creatures among them. This park is home to three types of bears—black bears, grizzlies, and brown bears. We also have wolves, coyotes, bobcats, badgers, lynx, elks, moose, rattlesnakes, and wolverines.” He paused, giving Frank a meaningful look. “But it’s the bears you really have to worry about.”
I piped up from the back. “Do you think all of the Misty Falls Lost were victims of bear attacks?”
Farley glanced at me in the rearview mirror, smiling slyly like he knew what I was getting at and he was having none of it. “I don’t know exactly what happened to any of those poor children,” he replied. “But I can lay out some scenarios.” Pulling into a small lot, he parked the Jeep. “Come with me, boys. This is the first campsite.”
One by one, we all piled out of the car and Frank and I followed Farley down a narrow path through the woods. We walked for some time, over rocks, even through a shallow stream, before reaching a small cleared area that, like our own site, hugged the rocky bank of the river.
Farley paused in the center and turned to face us. “Ten years ago,” he announced, “the Bragg family camped here. It consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Bragg; their eight-year-old daughter, Kerry; and their five-year-old son, Danny. They were from Chicago, taking a camping tour of the American West. This was only their second time ever camping. And they chose to camp in one of the most challenging parts of the park.”
“What does that mean?” Frank asked. “Challenging?”
Farley shrugged. “It means there’re all kinds of wildlife in this area. And the terrain is not easy. As you can see right there, there’s a rocky drop-off leading down into the river. And how’s the current look, boys?”
I looked. The water was moving rapidly, tiny whitecaps forming as it gushed around rocks and logs. “Pretty fast,” I admitted.
“Right.” Farley smiled. “Now, on that fateful night, two different grizzly bears were seen in this area. Did you know that?”
Frank and I shook our heads. “No.”
Farley nodded. “And when campers arrive at the park, they’re given instructions on how to deter bears—putting away all food in an airtight container, putting the food far from the tent. Do you know what the Braggs did?”
“No,” I said, though this was starting to make me a little uncomfortable. The Braggs had lost a child—was Farley trying to imply that it was their own fault?
“They put their leftovers in a makeshift trash container about ten feet from the tent,” Farley said. “And they brought crackers and cookies into the tent for the kids to snack on. Any bear could have scented those from yards away.”
I glanced at Frank. Well. I had to admit, Farley was definitely making it sound like Kerry’s disappearance might have been a tragic accident or attack.
“Here’s my theory,” Farley went on. “In the middle of the night, little Kerry woke in her tent, which was placed here.” He stood on the highest part of the campsite, about six feet from the rocky drop-off to the river. “She came out and went to use the latrine, which was over there.” He pointed to a small copse of trees. “My belief, though, is that en route, Kerry encountered a hungry bear that was scoping their campground. Terrified, and not knowing how to react to bears, she ran as fast as she could in the opposite direction—forgetting the rocky riverbank, falling down, and getting picked up by the current.” He paused, waiting for that to sink in.
I glanced at Frank. His expression seemed to confirm what I felt: Farley’s scenario sounded pretty believable.
“Once she fell,” Farley went on in a quieter voice, “that poor little girl was doomed. She may have hit her head and lost consciousness. She may have drowned in the current. Or maybe the bear went after her. Either way, she was gone.”
I nodded slowly. “Well,” I said finally, “your explanation makes a lot of sense.” Farley nodded vigorously, and I went on, “I just wish we could know somehow what really happened.”
Farley narrowed his eyes at me. “Come with me,” he said. “I have more to show you.”
We hurried back down the narrow path to the Jeep and hopped back in. Farley threw the vehicle into drive and we chugged out of the parking lot and down the main road of the park.
“Did you know,” Farley said, “that in addition to the so-called Misty Falls Lost, six others have disappeared on the grounds over the last ten years, presumed victims of natural occurrences?”
“No,” admitted Frank, “we didn’t.”
Farley nodded. “That’s right. Of course they were all adults, so they didn’t get the coverage the Misty Falls Lost did. They didn’t fit the story the media wanted to tell. But this park is very, very dangerous, boys.”
He stopped the Jeep again less than a mile from the first campsite.
“Detective Cole said all the abduction sites are along the river,” I said, suddenly remembering his words. “Is that true?”
“It is,” Farley agreed, climbing out of the Jeep. Frank and I followed. “I’m sure you know that bears frequent the rivers. Their own habitats aren’t far from the river.”
“And,” Frank went on, adding to my recollection, “Detective Cole said in each case, a bear had been spotted in the area within two days.”
Farley nodded. “That’s right,” he agreed. “Now what does that make you think?”
I caught Frank’s eye. No idea, but I know what you want it to make me think.
With Frank and me hot on his heels, Farley led us down an even narrower, more overgrown path through some low brush, bushes, and weeds. “Sorry about all this,” he said, taking out a huge white-handled knife from his belt and slicing off a branch that jutted into the path, scratching all of our ankles. “This site hasn’t gotten much use in the last couple years. I’m sure you can imagine why.”
“The park must be losing a lot of camping business because of this story,” Frank suggested.
“That’s right. And that’s less revenue for the park, and less we get to spend protecting the grounds and everything that lives on it.”
With Farley using his knife to thin out the scrub, it was easier going, and within twenty minutes we arrived at a small, clear area with a low, flat rock that led right into the river. Farley turned to face us.
“Seven years ago, five-year-old Sarah Finnegan disappeared from this site. Earlier that day, a hiker had reported seeing a grizzly female and her cub not fifty yards from here. That night, against ranger advice, Sarah and her older sister, Justine, slept out in the open, ‘under the stars’ as her parents called it. At around three a.m., Justine reported being awoken by a loud noise. Sarah was gone. By the time Justine woke her parents and they searched the area, there was no sign of Sarah—just her pillow floating in the river.”
I cleared my throat. “And what do you think happened to her?”
Farley turned to me, his expression grave. “I don’t think the noise her sister heard was man-made, let me put it that way,” he replied.
I sigh
ed. I had to admit, Farley was convincing me—there were always bears in the area. That had to be significant. And while I knew the families that had lost children never would have intentionally done anything to put their child in danger, it sounded like they had made some silly decisions.
Farley spoke again, his voice lower now: “Camping out here in nature without understanding the risks is a lot like diving into the ocean without knowing how to swim,” he said. “The ocean doesn’t want to hurt you. But you gotta respect its power. I believe those poor families that came here, came here expecting some Disney World vacation. But nature isn’t like that. You gotta know how to protect yourself.”
I glanced at Frank, who looked skeptical. “Of course,” he said, “that doesn’t account for Justin’s reappearance. If he had been attacked by a bear—or fallen victim to a tragic accident—he couldn’t have shown up completely healthy, completely alive four days ago, now could he?”
Farley shrugged, frowning at the ground. “I can’t say I know what happened to that poor boy. I can only say that whatever happened, it doesn’t make me believe any less that most of these disappearances were natural. Maybe that boy survived a bear attack somehow, and he was living in the woods . . .”
“Living in the woods on his own for twelve years, so close to civilization?” I prodded. “And with nice manners and good language skills? That’s an interesting theory, Farley, but I don’t think it holds up.”
Farley looked up at me and shrugged. Surprisingly, there was no anger in his expression. “I suppose you’re right,” he agreed. “But all that means to me is there’s a lot to be learned about that boy. Last I heard, even his daddy wasn’t totally sure—they were doing some tests to find out if he’s really Justin. Anyhow, I don’t think it means anything bigger about all the disappearances.”
Frank nodded. “Fair enough. But there’s something else your theory doesn’t explain, either—what about the word ‘lost’ that was scrawled in the dirt at the campsites where children went missing?”
The Children of the Lost Page 5