The Wild Bunch

by Jan Gangsei

  “We’re going on a bear hunt.

  I’m not afraid!

  What’s that?

  Ooh, it’s mud!”

  Hector wrinkled his nose and grimaced. “Eww,” he said.

  “It’s just a song,” I told him. He shook his head.

  “No,” he answered. “That smell. What’s that horrible smell?”

  “I dunno,” Jack said, licking gobs of marshmallow off his stick. “Maybe the dung in your pocket, Pooper Scooper?”

  “Nope.” Hector sniffed the air. “That is most definitely not excrement. It’s . . .”

  “Something burning!” I shouted. “And it’s not the fire!”

  Dad dropped his guitar. I dropped my stick. And we all jumped to our feet and spun around, just in time to see Jack’s massive tent ignite in a burst of flames.

  WILDERNESS SURVIVAL TIP #8

  TAKE CAUTION AROUND SLEEPING ANIMALS. EVEN THE MOST DOCILE MAY ATTACK WHEN AWAKENED UNEXPECTEDLY.

  “NOOOOOOOO!” JACK YELLED, RUNNING TOWARD his tent, arms over his head like his own pants had caught fire. He came to an abrupt stop, shielding himself from the heat. Funny what a rogue marshmallow can do.

  “Hurry,” Dad said. “Grab anything you can find to hold water. We’ve got to put it out before we start a forest fire!”

  We gathered pots, pans, the cooler, and even a couple of hats, and raced to the lake—scooping up water, running back, and dumping it on the fire. I’m not sure if it was us, or just the fire burning itself out, but none of the trees caught fire. Jack’s tent, however, had been reduced to a pile of smoldering ashes with one singed metal pole poking straight up in the middle. The stench of burning synthetic material made me want to gag.

  “I can’t believe this,” Jack said. “That tent was brand new! Top of the line! All the latest features!” One of the built-in lanterns popped and fizzled out, sending another twist of smoke into the sky.

  “But evidently not fireproof,” said Hector.

  Jack shot him a look that could have frozen lava.

  Dad clapped Jack on the shoulder. “Don’t you worry,” he said. “We still have two perfectly functional tents.”

  I glanced at the Lopezes’ tent with the giant hole covered by duct tape, and ours lilting sideways next to it. I guess “functional” is sort of like beauty. All in the eye of the beholder.

  “Here’s what we’ll do,” Dad said. “You boys can have our tent. Luiz and I will take the other one. Let’s all get some rest. It’s been a long day.”

  Dad and Mr. Lopez headed off to set up their sleeping bags.

  “Aww, man,” Jack moaned as soon as they were out of earshot. “I’m not sleeping next to Pooper Scooper.”

  “What makes you think I want to sleep next to you, Junior?” Hector retorted.

  Jack gritted his teeth. “You’d better sleep with one eye open,” he said.

  Hector snarled back and held up his hands, raising one foot like the dude in that old Karate Kid movie—the one my dad always feels compelled to quote every time we wash his car. Wax on, wax off. Wax on, wax off! Hector wobbled. Jack reached his pointer finger out, ready to push him over.

  “Okay, enough,” I said, stepping between them. “Just take it easy. I’ll sleep in the middle. I’m getting kind of used to being stuck between you two.”

  We unfurled our sleeping bags and shimmied inside the tent, settling shoulder to shoulder. There was barely room to stretch out, let alone roll over. Jack thrashed around and scratched himself.

  “I can’t get comfortable,” he said. “It smells like fish oil in here.”

  “Funny,” Hector said. “I really can’t smell anything over the aroma of burned tent.”

  Jack grunted and extended an arm across my face toward Hector. I shoved it away.

  “Seriously, just relax,” I said, channeling my best Dad voice. “Tomorrow is a new day. Maybe we can go to the falls.”

  “Or hunt the Beast,” said Jack.

  “There’s no Beast,” said Hector.

  “You wish,” said Jack. “Hey, maybe we’ll find that dude’s remains. Harper, wasn’t it?”

  “If the Beast left anything,” I added, warming to the conversation.

  Hector was wriggling farther down into his sleeping bag.

  It was quiet for a little while, but I couldn’t sleep. “Anyone know any ghost stories?” I asked.

  Hector groaned.

  “Sure!” said Jack. “You want ‘The Headless Hitcher’? Or ‘The Puppet Master’s Surprise’?”

  Something howled in the distance outside the tent. Hector yanked his sleeping bag right up to his nose, and even I jumped a bit.

  “I think Pooper Scooper’s just wet his pants,” said Jack. “I know a good werewolf story.”

  I could feel Hector trembling. I guess he might have been cold, or suffering an allergic reaction to whatever the sleeping bag was made of, but I figured he wasn’t the kind of kid to get a kick out of scary stories.

  “Maybe we save the storytelling for tomorrow,” I suggested.

  Jack rolled to his side with a sigh, and a square of light from his cell phone lit his face. “I’ve had enough of you two,” he said. “I’m going to text my real friends.”

  I noticed he had a text from his dad. He paused a moment before hitting the view button. All I saw was Sorry, Junior, then Jack shuffled farther over and I couldn’t see.

  I stared at the ceiling of the tent. I couldn’t get Dad’s silly song out of my head, and started humming.

  We’re going on a bear hunt. . . .

  “Can you shut up?” said Jack grumpily.

  Hector rolled onto his front and opened his guidebook, shining a flashlight on the dog-eared pages.

  “Speaking of bears,” he said. “It’s a good idea to be prepared in the event we encounter one in the woods. This is what we should do—”

  “Offer you up as a snack?” Jack said.

  Hector ignored him and began to read aloud.

  “If you encounter a bear, back away slowly. Wave your arms and speak in a calm voice to identify yourself as a human, not a threat or prey.”

  “Oh, I’d be a threat, Pooper Scooper,” Jack said.

  “Only if you farted at it, Junior,” Hector shot back. “I thought you were texting your friends?”

  “No signal,” said Jack. “Go on, Grizzly Man. What do we do if we meet a bear?”

  “Climb a tree if possible,” continued Hector. “If you can’t, and the bear attacks, hold your ground until the last possible moment, then fall to the ground and curl into the fetal position.”

  “We could throw it the weakest member of the group?” said Jack, nudging me.

  “I think we should listen to Hector,” I said.

  “I still say I could take some stupid bear,” Jack said.

  Through the open tent flap, I watched the night sky slowly come to life with stars. If you took away the company, the smell of charred fabric and fish oil, the bubbling resentment, it was actually kind of beautiful here.

  • • •

  I woke up a short time later with Jack’s smelly foot on my head, a bug crawling up my nose, and Hector poking me urgently.

  “Get up!” he said, eyes darting back and forth, the flashlight on under his chin and casting strange shadows across his face. “I heard something.”

  I pushed Jack’s foot away, blew out the bug, and sat up. “Huh?” I rubbed my eyes. Jack bolted straight up next to me.

  “No, I won’t eat the asparagus, and get that bunny away from me! It’s too fluffy!” he shouted, swatting at the air with his eyes still closed. Hector and I stared at him. He slowly woke up and glanced around, blinking.

  “What?” he said. “What are you two looking at?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Hector heard something outside.”

  “Oh, quit being a baby, Pooper Scooper,” Jack said. He flopped back down.

  “That’s funny coming from someone who was just trying to avoid a fluffy bunny in his sleep,�
�� Hector answered. “Care for some asparagus, perhaps?”

  Jack’s face reddened and he scowled.

  “Hey, I’m sure it was just my dad going to the bathroom,” I said. “He’s got the bladder of a six-year-old. Goes about three times a night.”

  Hector flicked off his flashlight. “Maybe,” he said. “Just listen.”

  We stopped talking and waited. Nothing but one of the dads snoring lightly.

  “Oh, please,” Jack said. “I’m going back to sleep.” He thrashed to the side and pulled the sleeping bag back over his head.

  Creak.

  A twig snapped loudly outside and something crunched across the leaves. Jack bolted upright just as a dark shadow glided across the tent wall.

  “Aaaaaah!” he screamed. I glared at him and put my finger to my lips.

  “Shhh!” I whispered.

  Jack lowered his voice. “What do you think it is?” he said. “The Beast?”

  “Most likely a bear,” Hector said, bottom lip trembling. “It probably smells our food.”

  “Or us,” I said, sniffing my arm and suddenly wishing I didn’t smell like a giant fish stick. I’m pretty sure bears love fish, and I’d be willing to bet a fish-flavored person is a bear delicacy.

  “Oh, great,” Jack said, scooting as far away from us as possible in the tiny tent. “Now I’m going to be eaten by a bear because of you two and your disgusting bug repellent!” He seemed to have forgotten his claims about taking bears on single-handed in fistfights.

  “The best thing we can do is to remain calm and quiet,” said Hector.

  We clamped our mouths shut, breaths held, as the thing outside our tent continued to crunch across the dry ground.

  The shadow began to move away from us. I let out a small sigh of relief, then realized where it was heading—toward our unsuspecting dads sleeping just a few feet away.

  “It’s going for their tent,” Hector said frantically. “What do we do?”

  “Nothing!” said Jack. “We stay put.”

  “It’s not your dad!” I said. I sucked in a breath and steeled my resolve. “Only one thing we can do. We have to scare it away. Follow my lead.”

  “Er . . . nope,” said Jack.

  I crawled out of my bag. “On the count of three.” I slowly unzipped the tent. “One, two, three . . .”

  We burst from the tent, hands in the air, ready to face whatever waited on the other side.

  WILDERNESS SURVIVAL TIP #9

  RESPECT NATURE AND IT WILL RESPECT YOU.

  BLINDING LIGHT. I RAISED MY arms. Hector cried out.

  Jack, somewhere behind me, laughed.

  “What the . . .” I began.

  I found myself blinking into the beam of a giant flashlight.

  “Who’s there?” I said.

  The flashlight lowered. I squinted and could make out the friendly face of a man wearing a green hat, green button-up shirt, and matching pants with perfect creases ironed down the middle of each leg. Wow. My mom would be seriously impressed.

  “Park Ranger Stan Thomas,” the man said. He looked like he was nearly eighty years old. He swung the flashlight’s beam up the hill. “Saw the car on the side of the road and tracked you folks down here.”

  My dad poked his head out. “Some trouble, Ranger?”

  “No, sir,” said the ancient guy. “Just wanted to check that you were all okay.”

  “Oh yeah,” said Dad, rubbing his eyes. “We’re fine. Got run off the road by a . . .”

  “Fart,” Jack said under his breath.

  “Herd of deer,” I said.

  “I’m impressed you found us,” said Dad.

  The ranger nodded. “Not too hard. I saw the smoke . . . and I followed a trail of these.” He pulled a handful of crumpled candy wrappers from his pocket and held them out on his palm, looking at us sternly.

  Hector scowled at Jack. Jack sank back on his heels, chewing his bottom lip.

  “You should know,” Ranger Thomas continued, “littering is a serious offense that we don’t take lightly here in the park. Carries a minimum fine of two hundred and fifty dollars.”

  Hector mumbled something and Jack grunted back. I stepped forward and took the wrappers.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sure it was an accident. They probably just fell out of my friend’s bag. I promise, it won’t happen again.”

  “No, definitely not,” Hector said.

  Jack shook his head rapidly. “No, sir. It won’t.”

  The ranger looked back and forth between us.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll let it go this time. But I expect you to be more careful with your trash in the future. And your fire.” His eyes landed on the charred tent. “What happened here?”

  “Little accident,” said Mr. Lopez.

  The ranger nodded. “Been a lot of accidents recently.”

  “Say what?” said Dad.

  “We had to get a chopper out for a broken leg last week. Then there was the lightning storm that nearly fried a family dog. And that’s without all these rumblings about Beast sightings.”

  Jack, Hector, and I looked at one another. Sightings?

  The ranger looked up toward the mountains, just silhouettes in the dark. We all waited for him to continue.

  “Oh, and one other thing.” He pointed at our cooler. “You want to make sure to get that off the ground.”

  “Yes, sir.” We nodded.

  “Yep,” Ranger Thomas continued, “got lots of bear cubs roaming about this time of year. So please make sure to stay on the marked trails. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir,” we droned.

  Jack sucked in a breath. “Sure are a lot of rules,” he muttered. “Worse than first grade.”

  The ranger inspected our faces. “Doesn’t mean you can’t have fun,” he said. “I just want to make sure you behave responsibly. And stay out of danger, of course.”

  “So, got any suggestions?” Hector asked. “Stuff to do out here?”

  “You bet!” Ranger Thomas whipped out a map of the park and unfolded it, pointing to several trails. “There are some great hikes right along here,” he said. “You’ll see a lot of interesting wildlife, plants, and if you’re lucky, maybe even a bald eagle or two!”

  “Cool!” Hector said. I could practically hear Jack rolling his eyes.

  The ranger continued to talk about various flora and fauna, but my focus had shifted due east—to Bear Falls.

  When he was done, I tapped the map. “What about there?” I said. “The falls are supposed to be cool, right?”

  The ranger nodded. “Not a good idea on foot at the moment,” he said. “The track’s quite overgrown, and we’ve got a damaged bridge roped off. Not stable. If you had a working 4x4, I’d suggest you take the road. It’s a bit hairy in places, and about twelve miles. I suppose you could walk it, but it’s quite a hike.”

  “Plus there’s the Beast,” Hector’s dad said.

  “All the more reason to stay away from the falls,” the ranger replied.

  “Yeah, right,” said Jack. “The Beast.”

  The ranger looked at him with ancient eyes and not a shred of humor. The same look the guard at the gate had given us.

  “Are you implying that the Beast is real?” asked Hector.

  The ranger folded the map and handed it to me. “Can’t say for certain,” he answered. “Lots of folks have been claiming that they saw something up there. But either way, you don’t really want to go the way of Mo Harper now, do you?”

  “No, sir,” I said, tucking the map in my pocket.

  “Okay, I’ll leave you fellas be,” the ranger said. He pointed at our cooler again. “Just make sure to get that off the ground. And good night to you all.” He tipped his hat, and disappeared down the trail following the beam of his flashlight.

  Hector, Jack, and I hoisted the cooler into a tree, then climbed back into our tent. Dad was already snoring again, but none of us could sleep. I unfolded the park map and spread it on my lap, usin
g the light from Hector’s flashlight to trace the path to Bear Falls. All we had to do was follow the yellow trail up the mountain, then link with the red one to traverse the contours of the slope around to Bear Falls.

  “Do you think he’s trying to pull one over on us?” Hector said. “That there really is a Beast?”

  “I say we find out,” Jack said. “We’re gonna wrangle that thing and be famous! Well, I will, at least. I don’t know about you two. You might get eaten alive.”

  “But you heard what the ranger said,” Hector answered. “It sounded tough to get to. We might not even make it to the falls.”

  I studied the map. “He was exaggerating. It doesn’t look that bad,” I said. “If we left at sunrise, we could be there by midday. What do you say?”

  “Yes!” Jack said. Hector emitted a small squeak.

  “Come on.” I nudged Hector and grinned. “It will be fun. We’ve got to make the most of this trip, right?”

  “You might even be able to bag one of the Beast’s giant poops,” said Jack.

  WILDERNESS SURVIVAL TIP #10

  MANY UNSEEN DANGERS CAN HIDE BENEATH THE SURFACE OF THE MOST PLACID-LOOKING LAKES AND STREAMS.

  UNTIL I WAS NINE OR so, I had this recurring dream that I was playing in a band in front of a huge stadium crowd. I know it sounds cheesy, but I bet your nine-year-old dreams are too. That night I had it again. I stood at the front of the stage, gazing out over a sea of bobbing heads, fingers working the strings of my guitar like Jimi Hendrix. Over my shoulder, Dad chilled on bass, Jack punished the drums like a maniac, and Hector played some sort of keyboard. Mr. Lopez was on vocals. It sounds awful—right?—but it wasn’t. We were rocking the joint. The crowd was jumping. A banner hanging across the ceiling read: THE WILD BUNCH. HERE FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY!

  But as we all leaned into our mics, adding harmonies to Mr. Lopez’s melody, I realized what it was we were singing. The lyrics were about going on a bear hunt. Now, that made zero sense because there couldn’t be a dorkier song. And upon that realization, things started to go wrong. Hector lost the rhythm completely; I saw him kick over the keyboard. Then Dad’s guitar strings snapped and the feedback looped through the mic and speakers, making Jack drop his sticks and put his hands over his ears. I tried to keep going, but Mr. Lopez stopped singing and started talking about the environmental benefits of hybrids as opposed to gas-only cars. The crowd booed. When I looked at the audience, we weren’t in a stadium anymore. We were in the hall of my school. And all my teachers and real friends were watching. They started to hiss and throw things. I didn’t know what it was at first, but then a lump of something brown hit me in the chest.