Frenzy

by Robert Lettrick

  “We’ll wait for the deer to shove off,” said Will. “In a hard sprint humans can outrun squirrels, rats, raccoons…most of what’s out there.”

  “Most? You’re not really selling your plan here, dude,” said Dunbar.

  Floaties had a good question: “How can you be sure all of the animals have hyrdo—hydra—?”

  “Hydrophobia,” Heath repeated. “Think about it. Water killed Barkly.”

  “And the porcupine that attacked Heath and me,” Cricket added. Heath thought Cricket looked extra pink and sweaty, but it was stiflingly hot inside the livery, so he chalked it up to the heat. He was feeling peaked himself, but there was no mystery there. He thought briefly about his vial of OxyContin back in his cabin, rolled up in his socks and tucked away under his cot. It may as well have been on the moon.

  “What porcupine?” Emily asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Will said, his patience wearing paper-thin. “To be honest, I don’t care what any of you do. You can stay here like flies in a spiderweb, or you can make a break for the river. I’m going.”

  “Right now? This minute?” Dunbar asked. “Shouldn’t you wait? The animals—”

  “Are focused on the main lodge for now,” Will said.

  “Not all of them,” Emma said, raising her face to the ceiling. “Not them.” Since entering the building they’d heard a faint but steady scraping noise on the roof above. Heath noticed that it seemed more concentrated directly above the vent pipes, and he knew Will was right about the squirrels chewing away at the lead. They were gnawing their way inside. Squirrels were fast and agile. If even one got into the livery, it would be hard to prevent it from biting someone. And once one got through, a lot more would follow. They’d die here.

  “Let’s say we do make it to the river,” Sylvester said. “Then what?”

  Will had thought this through. “The river runs toward town, roughly five miles south. We’ll stay in the water and make our way there.”

  “Oh, that’s all, huh?” Floaties sneered. “A leisurely five-mile swim to Granite Falls?”

  “The Dray isn’t like the Skagit,” Will said, referring to the wide, deep river that cut through the Cascades and drained out in Puget Sound. “It’s shallow except in a few spots—barely more than a stream. I think we’ll be able to wade most of the way.”

  Floaties swung his head from side to side. His fear of drowning had earned him his nickname. He’d be the toughest one to convince. “The virus will kill them all off eventually, right? A couple days, tops? We’ll just wait them out. I can go a couple days without water. Besides, even if the squirrels do get through, I’d rather take my chances with them than the wolves out there.”

  “You seriously don’t get it.” Will ran his hand through his thick hair, tugging it at the top. “It doesn’t matter if you’re bitten by a chipmunk or a grizzly bear. Either way you’re dead. Size means nothing.”

  “A pip-squeak like you would say that!” Floaties still held a grudge against Will from the incident at the picnic pavilion and wasn’t happy about being challenged. Like most bullies, he immediately flaunted his size, thinking this would shut Will up.

  Will wasn’t the least bit intimidated by his puffing. “Aren’t you listening? The squirrels will get inside the livery. Then what will you do, tough guy?”

  “Let him stay in the livery if he wants,” muttered an unassuming Asian kid named Theo. Heath knew the boy’s name because they’d shared a model rocket kit at the craft hut. Theo was a quiet one. The only time he’d said a word was to ask Heath to pass the glue. The kid sure picked a fine time to speak up.

  Floaties was growing more agitated with Will by the second. “What are you getting all up in my face for? Back off, Snow White, or I’ll—”

  “I’ll tell you what you’ll do, you stupid lump!” Will cut him off. “You’ll die. Just like anyone else left in this building when the squirrels finish chewing through the pipes!”

  Heath stepped between them and defused what would have been the second fight since they’d arrived ten minutes ago. “Look, we can’t wait the animals out. Maybe if this was regular rabies, they would go away and die, but we don’t know enough about this new strain to say. This is…I don’t know…Rabies X.”

  “That’s a stupid name,” said Elliot Knowles from the Cardinal Cabin. “Let’s call it the Grim Reaper, since it instantly kills anyone it touches.”

  “That’s too long,” said Dunbar. “I say we call it the Flash. It takes you out in a flash, right?”

  “That’s not bad,” said Floaties. “My dad works at a ­tattoo parlor. That’s what they call tattoo art—flash. And the virus kinda looks like tattoos on the skin. It’d almost be pretty if it wasn’t, ya know, deadly.”

  “Anyone got something better?” asked Dunbar.

  “We’re not naming a baby here!” Will looked as if his head might explode from their nonsense. “We’ll call it the Flash and that’s that. Executive decision.”

  No one objected.

  “Like I was saying,” Heath carried on, “it may take ­longer for the Flash to kill off the animals. Or never. The livery may feel safe now, but it won’t be for long. I’m going with Will.” And then he added, “I hope the rest of you will follow.”

  From the looks on their faces, Heath figured his plea would go unheeded. He would have to try again—

  “I’m going, too,” Emily whispered. She gently took hold of Emma’s elbow, a gesture that was meant as a sisterly shock absorber.

  Emma yanked her arm free and faced her twin. Her expression was a blend of fear and fury. “What? No! You are NOT leaving this building, Em!”

  Calmly, Emily said, “Let’s talk.”

  The twins left the window and disappeared behind the canoe racks. It reminded Heath of when a jury retires to their chambers to decide a verdict on a court case. He knew that the Ems’ decision would be influential, one way or the other, especially weighty with the boys. He was familiar enough with Cricket and Dunbar to know that if the Ems decided to head for the river, they’d probably be shamed into going, too, and that was what he was desperately hoping for. Convincing a group to do something crazy was a bit like a house of cards. If enough cards fell, the rest of the house would fall, too. This time saving lives wasn’t going to be as simple as straggling behind and letting the wolves take him in place of the others. That would have been a passive solution. This was different. Getting everyone to the river would require more effort on his part. If he had to get tough, then he would. Their lives depended on it.

  There was no further discussion until Em and Em returned. Emma looked livid, but she stood close to Emily in a show of unity. “We’re going to the river,” she announced bitterly.

  The house of cards fell. Dunbar, Cricket, Sylvester, and a few others agreed to go, and once there was a majority, most of the holdouts surrendered to Will’s plan, too. Even Floaties caved to peer pressure, but only after he’d found a life jacket left behind in one of the canoes that fit him comfortably.

  “Okay, let’s get prepared.” Will asked Theo to help him with something and Theo followed him.

  Heath heard sniffling and motioned to Dunbar. They tracked the crying to a little girl who was standing alone, half-hiding behind one of the storage racks. She was wearing a pink strappy shirt with a smiling rainbow on the front. The scratch on her cheek and grass stains on her knees and shorts suggested she’d already survived a close call.

  “What’s your name?” Heath asked, bending to her height and smiling bravely.

  “Molly,” she said so quietly he thought she’d called him mommy until he’d processed it for a second.

  “Hi, Molly. I’m Heath, and this is Dunbar.”

  “I can’t go out there,” she sniffled. “Don’t make me go out there.”

  “You have to come, too, Molly,” Heath insisted, trying to sound as gr
own-up as possible. “We won’t let anything bad happen.”

  Dunbar frowned. “Hey, weren’t you one of the ­Chickadees who soaked me with the water balloons?”

  “Not now, Dunbar,” Heath said, elbowing him in the ribs. “Molly, everything is going to be fine. Do you believe me?”

  She shook her head.

  Heath tried again, this time with a story. “Last year I had to take a home economics class at school. It was okay, but I had to learn how to do stuff I didn’t like that much, like sewing and baking cakes. Girly stuff, you know? Can you imagine me in an apron?”

  She smiled a little, so Heath guessed she could.

  “Yeah, it was kinda funny, I suppose. Anyway, my teacher, Mrs. Faygen, gave my class this really weird ­assignment on the first day. She paired us all up, one boy and one girl. Then she brought out a tray of egg cartons and handed each couple an egg. It was supposed to represent a baby, I guess. She said it was our job to keep the egg from cracking or breaking the whole semester and if we failed—if our egg broke—then we’d drop a whole letter grade. I really didn’t like the girl I was paired up with. She was awful. Do you know what happened to our egg?”

  “You dropped it?” Molly sniffed then wiped the tears from her eyes.

  “You mixed it into a cake and didn’t tell her until after she ate it?” Dunbar guessed. “That’s what I would have done.”

  “Nope and nope,” Heath replied. “That girl and I put our differences aside and worked together. At the end of the semester our egg was one of the only ones without a single scratch on it.”

  “Oh,” she said.

  “So guess what, Molly. I’m pairing up with Dunbar here, who I don’t always like that much—”

  “Hey!” Dunbar huffed.

  “—and you’re gonna be our little egg. Our little project. No matter what happens, we will not let anything hurt you. We will get you to the river without a single crack in your shell. Okay?”

  This time Molly nodded. Heath took her by the hand and led her back to the others with Dunbar in tow. Dunbar whispered in his ear, “Good job, dude.”

  They found Will and Theo dragging a huge box labeled PARTY SUPPLIES into the midst of the group. When Will opened it, they saw it was stuffed with clear plastic bags of colorful items: red, white, and blue balloons; rolls of streamers; paper plates with pictures of fireworks on them; boxes of sparklers; and several cartons of noisemakers—mostly stuff for the big Fourth of July picnic, although there was some Happy Birthday favors, too. Will passed out noisemakers, one at a time, to everyone. “Don’t use them until we’re outside and running.”

  “What are we supposed to do with these?” Sylvester asked, studying the metal toy in his palm with a doubtful eye.

  “Use them,” said Will. “Rabid animals are terrified of loud noises. They’ll be startled—afraid to approach at first. These will increase our chances of making it to the river.”

  Heath had never heard that before, but it made sense.

  Will rummaged through the bag for a few seconds, then handed Heath a triangle-shaped noisemaker with the words Star-Spangled Banger embossed on the side. “Looks like a good one,” he said, then moved on down the line. Others got cone-shaped horns, metal poppers, or air-horn whistles.

  Will took the last metal popper and scanned the group. “We’ll go in pairs—the doorway is too narrow for anything more. That’s ten pairs, and I’ll take the rear spot alone. As soon as you get out the door, start making noise and don’t let up until you’re safely in the river. And don’t hesitate in the doorway. You’ll block the others behind you and give the squirrels on the roof an opportunity. Just get out the door, and don’t stop running until you reach the river. Is everyone ready?”

  They were ready as they’d ever be.

  Em and Em stepped to the door, starting the line.

  Heath found Molly an athletic-looking partner close to the head of the line. “Dunbar and I will be watching you,” he promised. “Not a crack.” She seemed fairly calm when he left her.

  A bolt of pain shot up Heath’s back, and he thought again about the vial of pills he was leaving behind. One problem at a time, he decided, then shuffled into the middle of the line beside Dunbar, directly behind Sylvester and Cricket. Heath glanced at his partner. Dunbar covered his mouth with his hand as if he was going to throw up.

  “You better not,” Heath warned. “I don’t think Sylvester would appreciate a quiver full of puke.”

  “I’m not a good runner,” Dunbar moaned, as if Heath couldn’t tell at a glance.

  “Stay close to me. We’ll stick together.”

  Dunbar smiled weakly. “Thanks.”

  Three kids refused to leave the livery—two girls and a boy that Heath didn’t know well—and even when Heath pointed out the tinny scratching sound of tiny teeth against metal, they still wouldn’t budge. They were huddled together off to the side, looking shell-shocked by the others’ decision to leave. Heath had never felt so guilty in his life. He’d failed them. But he had Molly to think about now. His little egg. And Dunbar, his big egg. Twenty-one campers would leave the livery together with the hope of reaching the river before the animals reached them.

  Will slid the dead bolt back on the livery door and wrapped his hand around the knob.

  He turned to the group and slowly counted.

  “One…

  “Two…”

  He flung the door open wide.

  “THREE!”

  We’re running down to the river, whee!

  We left behind the livery!

  The grass is all a-quivery!

  We’ll run real fast and live ’r be…

  Killed! We’ll live ’r be killed!

  ALTHOUGH THEY’D BEEN in the dim livery for less than half an hour, the comparative brightness of the sun’s light was jarring. Heath forced himself into a careful trot until his eyes adjusted. When they did, the first things he saw were the wolves.

  No one had spied them through the window as they were over by the cabins, obscured by bushes. But Heath saw the pack now, charging down the hill, heading straight toward them, an avalanche of fur and fangs.

  Heath realized they’d made a terrible mistake. He gripped Dunbar by the arm, spurring his friend forward into a sprint. “Run!” he ordered. He heard the door of the livery slam shut behind them.

  The group of twenty-one campers stampeded across the sloping lawn toward the Dray River, blaring their noisemakers like a hopelessly bad marching band that had been swept out of a parade and dropped into a marathon. They hooted, hollered, and made as much noise as possible in the hope that the racket would deter the wolves and other animals from giving close chase.

  Heath went as fast as his promise to Dunbar would allow him to. When two pairs of campers overtook them from behind, he pleaded, “Run faster, Dunbar.” Not that it helped. With his fruit-shaped body parts, Dunbar wasn’t built for speed. But being last meant being the choice target of the wolves, and Heath couldn’t allow that to happen. If it was the last thing he was meant to do in life, he was determined to escort Dunbar safely to the river.

  He looked for Molly, too. She was up ahead, doing fine, faster than he’d thought she’d be. She was staying tight to her partner, which was a relief. In the sunlight her hair was fiery red, which made her easy to keep track of.

  The Dray was in Heath’s sights the entire time, but it seemed farther away than he’d expected, a thin green ribbon sandwiched between two gray strips of pebbled shore. Focus on the ribbon, he told himself, the same as he would during a track race at school. The ribbon was waiting at the finish line. The ribbon was the prize.

  There was movement all around, brown, gray, black, and ruddy shapes in the grass, traveling rapidly in the same direction as the runners. Rushing alongside of them, but also closing in on them, at an angle. Heath knew what those shapes were but
refused to take his focus off the ­ribbon.

  Sylvester was firing arrows on the run and amazingly finding his marks, even the little targets, like squirrels. But there were so many animals and only one Sylvester.

  The first creature to reach the campers was a mangy raccoon, but it came at them head on, not from the side. It had been hiding downhill between the runners and the river, obscured by a thicket of grass that was too close to a big rock to be mowed. It jumped out, its mouth dripping with a lather of saliva, its fur so grimy with dirt that its whole face looked black, not just the mask around its eyes. It scurried up the hill like a cruise missile on a course toward the twins, who were still in the lead, running so closely together they looked conjoined. Their twin connection worked against them—they seemed unwilling to separate and go around the animal, even though they stood a better chance of ­getting past it by confusing it with two distinct targets. Heath remembered from a nature show about raccoons that they were great at climbing but terrible jumpers, barely able to get their fat bodies more than a foot off the ground.

  “Jump over it!” Heath yelled to Em and Em as loud as he could, but he could hardly hear his own voice over the clamor.

  They heard him. The twins leapt high, hurdling over the raccoon. It made a feeble swipe at them but never left the ground. The closest runners behind them were the girls who’d been fighting in the livery. In less than thirty minutes they’d made up and declared themselves BFFs, choosing to run as a pair. They didn’t see the raccoon until they were right on top of it. The girl on the right hammered it with her shin, knocking the raccoon onto its back. Still, it managed to clamp its teeth firmly into her ankle. The Flash exploded up her leg, disappeared beneath her one-piece swimsuit, then reappeared again, snaking its way across her back. She collapsed in a heap onto the lawn. Her noisemaker slipped away from the girl, both of them silenced for good. The BFF stopped and ran back to help. She paid for her compassion with a bite from a rat that was lurking unseen in the grass. The Flash claimed her, too.