Emily was dumbfounded. “They ran past you?”
“Yeah, they did,” Heath said, keeping his eyes on Will. “This whole thing was one of your chess moves, right, Stringer? Strategy to save your life at our expense?”
“Chess moves? What’s he talking about, Will?” asked Sylvester.
“Nothing. You can’t prove any of that, Heath,” Will said, not in an offended way; it was more like a challenge.
Floaties plowed through the river toward Will. “He doesn’t have to. I’ll just drown you right now. We’ll tell everyone the chipmunks did it.”
Will swam a few yards farther out. “It’s deep here, Floaties,” he warned. “Come drown me if you can. I bet I can get that life jacket off you before I run out of air.”
Floaties stopped in his tracks. He looked back at the group, helpless.
“Well, I can swim just fine,” Emma said, wading out toward Will. “I’ll drown him.”
“You can’t,” Heath said.
“Sure I can. Watch me.”
Heath grabbed her arm. “No, that’s not what I mean. I mean we need him.”
Emma was furious. “To do what? Offer us up as bait again? That’s not gonna happen!”
He wouldn’t let her go. “Emma, I hate to say this, but we’d be trapped in the lodge if we hadn’t followed Will. We trusted his instincts and were smart to do so. And I think he was right about leaving the livery, too.”
“How do you know?” Emma demanded. “Maybe those three kids we left behind in there’ll be the only ones to survive this nightmare. Like a dozen kids are already dead because of Will….”
“Em,” Heath said in a soothing voice, “some of those animals were coming after us no matter what. Will’s trick may have changed the outcome somewhat—maybe more people would have survived…maybe different ones would have died, like me and Dunbar, probably, but no one saw the wolves through the window. No one knew Onyx would free himself from the tree or that the raccoon would be hiding in the grass. You can’t predict that stuff. And, yeah, I wouldn’t trust Stringer as far as I can throw him, but I’d still rather be here in the river than in the livery or the lodge. Will was right—the animals didn’t follow us into the water. We have a chance now as long as we stay in the river. We may not like it, but we have that chance because of him, even if he is a dangerous lunatic.”
Emma stopped struggling against Heath’s grip, but her body was still tense and there was wrath in her eyes. “How do you know he won’t try to sacrifice us to save his own neck again?”
Heath thought for a moment. It was a fair question. He turned to Will. “Okay, how about this? If you try anything, anything at all, that results in one of us getting hurt or worse, we’ll all drown you.”
Will stared defiantly at Heath from across the slowly wandering water. His lips parted into a hint of a goading smile that said, You can try.
It was settled. At Heath’s insistence, Will would be accepted as part of their group as they made their way downriver toward Granite Falls. Almost immediately after winning the argument, Heath wondered if he’d made a huge mistake. He doubted Will would be inclined to help them, and only after they’d left the shore of Camp Harmony behind them did he consider the possibility that the kid might even go out of his way to make things worse. There was something inside of Will that had troubled Heath from day one. A calculating ruthlessness. It was closer to the surface now, maybe even aimed at Heath and the others, like a loaded gun. He had a sick feeling in his gut that Will had a whole box of dirty tricks he’d use to survive, and so far they’d only blown the dust off the lid.
With the exception of Will, the campers clustered together to take one last look up the sloping lawn at the main lodge.
“There’s so many of them.” Sylvester could only be referring to the hundreds of squirrels that were swarming the cedar shake roof from soffit to peak.
“They’re horrible,” Emily said, her voice trembling.
“Do you guys think they’ll get inside?” Cricket asked.
“Maybe not.” Heath tried to sound hopeful, but in his heart he knew it was only a matter of time. He could see little splinters of wood raining over the side of the building and down into the bushes rimming the lodge below. The squirrels were tearing away at the roof shakes bit by bit. Uncle Bill had led a hundred campers into the building. Heath sickeningly sensed they’d never get out alive. It wasn’t a good idea to stand around and watch the carnage unfold. “Let’s get going,” he prodded.
“Good idea,” said Sylvester, slinging his bow over his shoulder. It came to rest at an angle across his back. “Everyone follow me.”
This didn’t sit well with Emma. “What, suddenly you’re the boss? Now that we’re out of danger? If I remember right, you didn’t want the job.”
“Look, I was just a little freaked out, that’s all. We all were. I’m okay now. You saw how many animals I killed on the run.”
“Yeah, you were awesome, Robin Hood.” Emma snorted. “Too bad you didn’t have the guts to lead when it mattered. If we’d waited on you to step up, we’d still be in the livery watching you tremble in the corner!”
“Emma, let him take charge,” Emily said calmly. “Who cares now that we’re in the river?”
Heath agreed with both of the twins, not that it was important enough for him to say so.
Dunbar, still smarting from his beating, said, “I don’t care who’s in charge, as long as it’s not Will.”
“Wait, where is Will?” Emma asked, panning around.
The answer was fifty yards down the river, negotiating his way over a nest of tree branches. He wasn’t moving at a pace to abandon them, but he wasn’t waiting on them either. If they planned to take advantage of Will’s survival instincts, their job was to keep up with him.
“Jerk,” Emma huffed.
“Don’t let him get under your skin, Em,” Heath said, wading in Will’s direction. “C’mon, you guys. It’s a long way to Granite Falls.”
When they’d traveled a quarter mile or so down the river and the group had spread out a bit, Cricket asked Heath a question privately. “What you said back there…do you honestly think anyone at camp will survive?”
Heath glanced back up the river. Although Camp Harmony was now obscured from view by a flank of pine trees soldierly lining the shore, he could see several tiny black specs in the sky gliding in a halo formation. They were directly above the spot he knew the camp to be, a dozen or more vultures arriving to the feast. He remembered that a group of flying vultures was called a kettle. He’d never understood that name until now as he watched them slowly stirring the air, waiting for the meal below to be ready. He shuddered.
“Let’s just focus on getting the girls to town safely, okay?” Heath said. “They’re depending on us.” He knew this would steel Cricket’s courage.
“Sure,” Cricket agreed, straightening to his full height of four foot eight. “I can do that.”
“I know you can.” Heath clapped his friend on the back. Then he noticed that Cricket looked worse in the sunlight than he did under the livery’s fluorescent bulbs. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah…just a little tired. I’ve never run that fast in my life. I didn’t think I’d make it. I almost got bit twice. Counting the porcupine, that’s three near misses in one day. And it’s still early.”
Heath thought of something. “Lift your left heel for a sec, will you?”
Cricket raised his foot out of the water and held it close to his bottom like a flamingo. “Why?”
The porcupine quill was gone. It had probably shimmied loose on the lawn or was washed away when Cricket hit the water. He scanned the river surface for it—Marshall said porcupine quills float—but he guessed the current would have carried it out of sight by now. He eyeballed Cricket’s heel. The skin around the puncture mark was an angry pink color, like a
bee sting, but didn’t look too bad. Better a quill in the foot than a bite somewhere else.
“Nothing,” Heath said. “Just checking to see if you had anything on your feet.” He really meant in your feet.
“Not all of us were lucky enough to be wearing aqua-shoes.”
“Yeah, it’s my lucky day,” Heath said.
“Good thing they don’t make them for horses,” Cricket added, and both boys laughed halfheartedly. Still, it was nice. Joking made things feel a little sane again, even though everything else in their world had gone topsy-turvy.
“They’ll kill us if they get the chance,” Cricket muttered bleakly, stripping the conversation of humor. The boys observed the two dozen or more rabid animals keeping pace with them on the west bank. There were some new ones since they’d started their journey and one or two additions joined the bizarre menagerie every few minutes. There was a coyote now. Heath had never seen one in person before. It didn’t look anything like the pathetic one that was always trying to kill the Road Runner on TV. Although smaller than the wolves, it was still fierce and capable, a born hunter. The rabies gave it a disheveled, sinister appearance, like a beast from a fairy tale. It growled like one, too. In fact, all of the animals were noisy, barking, snarling, and chattering so loudly that collectively they muffled the gurgling of the river’s flow. Heath hoped that deprived of drinking water their throats would dry up soon.
“They look like a twisted version of those Bible paintings,” Cricket said. “You know? The ones of what Heaven is supposed to look like, where the lions and sheep are hanging out like they’re best buds? But in the paintings they look so clean and peaceful. Fluffy. Not like these animals. These are ugly. They hate us, don’t they, Heath? I mean, they really, truly hate us.”
Heath searched Quilt Face’s eyes for the answer. Maybe he’d been spending too much time with Cricket, the bug enthusiast, but the wolf’s black pupils reminded him of ancient insects frozen forever in hardened amber. There was something else there, too, equally disturbing, deep inside her eyes.
“Yeah, Cricket,” Heath replied. “I think they do.”
Founder’s Poem
From the Cascades so majestic,
an emerald river flows.
Ambulant waters tug my heart;
its languid beckon grows.
Peaceful and meandering,
the Dray carries hope aloft.
Not north, to fight like salmon.
Its southern nudge so soft.
IF THEY DISCOUNTED the parade of deadly animals keeping pace with them on the shore and the dismal mood of the group, it was a beautiful afternoon. It was hot out, but the heat wasn’t as oppressive as it had been back at camp. The air was fresh, cooled by the flowing Dray. Whenever Heath got too sweaty he just bent at the knees and dipped to his neck or reached down and splashed water in his face. In fact, there was little concerning the journey itself to complain about besides the purpose for it. Physically Heath was feeling pretty good. Except for a throbbing ache in his hand where Onyx stepped on him, the pain had subsided. He felt okay.
Even his spirit was healing, nursed by the view. He’d come to Camp Harmony for a taste of nature, and now he was gorging on the scenery. Purple mountains met cobalt sky. Flamboyantly colored rhododendron bushes, honeysuckle, and wild roses broke up the monotony of the forest’s abiding green. The river itself was beautiful, a deep blue-green color. Flecks of sunlight sparked across the surface. With the exception of the little plumes of silt that clouded around his feet as he walked, the water was crystal clear. It was easy to spot the crayfish ambling across the riverbed, dragging its outgrown carapace behind, searching for the perfect rock to hide under while it finished molting. Tiny fish everywhere shimmered in the sunlight, reminding Heath of coins in a wishing well. As a bonus there were very few bugs, just random mosquitoes, and those seemed to prefer Dunbar anyway.
“It’s your blue shirt,” Cricket offered in explanation when Dunbar complained. “Mosquitoes love the color blue. Take your shirt off and they won’t bother you as much.”
“I’m fine,” Dunbar grumbled, winced, then swatted the back of his neck. He hadn’t gone shirtless in public once since camp started and wasn’t about to start in the presence of Em and Em. “Stupid Jersey bombers! Man, I hate bugs.”
Cricket wouldn’t stand for this. “They’re survivors, you know. There’s one and a half billion of them for every one of us. Bugs lived through the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs.”
“Not interested,” Dunbar grumped. “I’m too worried about my own survival right now to care.”
For the first mile or so the water’s depth seemed to hover between thigh- and stomach-deep, no more, no less. At these levels it was always faster to wade than swim, but when the water crept up past their hips there was a natural tendency to wade slightly sideways to reduce the drag created by the pelvis. Heath noticed that Floaties became increasingly agitated as the water level approached the bottom hem of his life jacket. When this happened, Floaties unwisely let his body drift closer to the shore where the water was shallower but the danger of being bitten was greater.
“I guess I’ve got hydrophobia, too,” Floaties said, trying to make light of his fear.
“No, you’ve got aquaphobia,” Will corrected him, speaking for the first time since his unofficial trial when they entered the river. He was back within conversation distance from the others but still preferred to be a satellite to the group, staying on the periphery, safely out of Emma’s reach.
“Who asked you?” Floaties grunted.
Dunbar’s curiosity outweighed his anger toward Will. “What’s the difference?”
“Hydrophobia is a term people use when talking about rabies,” Will explained. “It’s a fear of water itself. People with aquaphobia, like Floaties, are afraid of drowning in it.”
Emily chimed in. “That makes sense, Floaties. You’re fine being in the river as long as it’s not too deep and you’ve got your…um…floaties on, right?”
Floaties thought about it. “I guess so. It’s not too bad right now. I don’t know how to swim, obviously. Every time I tried to learn I’d have a major freak-out. Something in the back of my mind kept telling me I was gonna drown.”
“Why? Did you fall through ice or get tossed around by waves at the beach as a kid?” Heath asked.
“Maybe,” Floaties replied. “I dunno. But you’re right. I don’t want to die that way…by drowning. That’d be the worst.”
“Does anyone know how deep the Dray gets?” Sylvester asked.
No one did.
“The only thing I know for sure,” Will said, “is that the Dray that runs by Camp Harmony is the same Dray that runs by Granite Falls. What happens to the river between those two points, I have no idea. Just watch your feet. We don’t need any sprained ankles slowing us down. And be respectful of the river. After falls, drowning is the leading cause of death outdoors.”
“I’m not worried. We’ll make it to Granite Falls,” said Dunbar, always the optimist. “I’ve seen a ton of shows about people that get stuck in the wilderness, and they all managed to survive.”
“Great. Any tips for us?” Emily asked.
“Er…I don’t know,” Dunbar admitted. “Actually, most of those people had to deal with things like dehydration, starvation, or frostbite. This is a little different.”
“It’s a lot different,” Sylvester said. “We’re surrounded by fresh water. We have a fair amount of shade. And its summer so I highly doubt we’ll freeze to death. Plus I’m pretty sure most of us can go half a day without eating, right?”
Everyone looked at Dunbar.
“We’ll see.” He shrugged. “Why starve when we’re surrounded by sushi? And didn’t I see a lobster back there? It’s like we’re trapped in a seafood buffet.”
“That was a crayfish,” Heath chuckled.
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Dunbar licked his lips and rubbed his belly theatrically. “Yum! Crayfish are just Cajun-style lobsters.”
“You guys do realize how much nutrition is packed inside a single dragonfly, right?” Cricket asked. “And they’re easy to catch, too. So are mayflies, but those are super delicate. Their wings will tear right off in your fingers.”
Emma made a look of great disgust. “Stop being gross.”
“I wasn’t trying to be,” mumbled Cricket, offended.
“I wish the camp didn’t have a no–cell phone policy,” said Dunbar. “We could sure use Google Maps right about now.”
“Yeah,” Emma agreed. “Plus, you know, we could call for help.”
“Oh, yeah. My phone can do so many cool things, sometimes I forget I can use it to make calls.”
“There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll get us there safely,” Sylvester announced, keeping his dubious leadership fresh in their minds. Heath figured Sylvester was angling for some undue credit when they reached Granite Falls and the story of their harrowing ordeal came to the media’s attention. He’s welcome to it, Heath thought. The last thing Heath wanted to do was talk to reporters about what happened back at Camp Harmony. He knew the media would come from all over the country, ravenous for the story—it was pretty sensational. But Heath had already been swarmed once that day and once was enough to last him a lifetime. As far as he was concerned, the reporters could just go there and see for themselves. And they would go, and they’d be sorry for it. Heath knew there were only four things to worry about when people are lost in the wilderness, and fame wasn’t one of them. Water, food, shelter, and morale. The first two were covered, the third not needed. He’d try to focus on keeping their morale up, even if he wasn’t feeling too cheerful himself.
“We’ll be at Granite Falls by dark. So the longest we’ll have to be out here is”—Sylvester considered the positioning of the sun—“another six hours? Other than turning into giant prunes from the waist down, I don’t think we have much to worry about. Except for…”
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