“One, two, three, pull!”
He left a boot beneath the horse, but Soup Can was free at last. They dragged him to the safety of the road’s shoulder. He thanked them. “Bless you, boys,” he said, then exhaled in sweet relief. “Bless you both.”
Mr. Soucandi used Will and Heath as crutches as they hobbled back to the bridge. “Sweet Pea went crazy in the barn….” Mr. Soucandi told them the story between winces and groans. “I’d blindfolded her to calm her down, but she was bad. I couldn’t control the old girl. I never should’ve gotten on her back. I knew better. It was stupid. She kept trying to twist around to bite me, but she couldn’t reach. Horses aren’t built like owls, you know. Their necks only turn so far. She took off running. Guess she can see a bit—the blindfold is flimsy.”
“And the truck?” Will asked.
“It came barreling down the road at us, sliding all over, bouncing against the guardrail. Sweet Pea wasn’t even scared of it. Charged it head-on. You saw the results of that little joust. Poor fellow in the truck…”
“I think he was already dead before the crash,” Heath said, trying to lift any burden of blame off Mr. Soucandi’s conscience. He hoped that would make the man feel better, even if just a bit. “There was a cat inside the cab. It was rabid, like Sweet Pea.”
“Rabies…” Soup Can said.
“Yeah,” said Will.
“I saw a bear,” Mr. Soucandi recalled suddenly. “It was on the road. It tried to run alongside Sweet Pea, but she was too fast for it. It was a little one, maybe three hundred pounds. Little, but it could have easily killed Sweet Pea with one swipe if it caught her.”
Heath and Will exchanged looks across Mr. Soucandi’s chest.
“It wasn’t after Sweet Pea, sir,” Heath said. “It was after you.”
“Me?” Soup Can said, perplexed.
“We’ll get you down to the river, and then Will can fill you in on what’s happening.”
“Where are you going?” Will asked.
“First to get some water. Then I’ll come back up to…you know…help Sweet Pea.”
“It’s just an animal!” Will said sharply.
Heath threw his head back, exasperated. “Why are you so okay with leaving her behind? Letting everyone and everything suffer? I’ll be five minutes! You can’t wait five stinking minutes?”
“Use your brain!” Will refused to back down. “If you want to die so bad, then die helping the group, not putting down some stupid horse that’s on its way out anyway. You’ll get your chance to be a martyr, I’m sure.”
“I should never have told you.”
“Yeah, well you did,” said Will.
“Boys…don’t argue,” Mr. Soucandi muttered.
“Not to use against me! It was a secret, Will, not a tool for your stupid ‘chess set.’”
Will seemed genuinely wounded. “I won’t tell the others. I promise.”
“Yeah, like I believe that.” Heath was livid, but that didn’t change the fact that Will was right, as usual. He didn’t want to leave Sweet Pea to suffer, but getting the others to safety was more important than risking his life for a horse. Even one that Emily—Josh’s girlfriend—loved. Heath glanced back at the truck. “Fine, let’s get out of here.”
They carefully maneuvered Mr. Soucandi down the hill and into the river, setting him down on one of the thick concrete supports reinforcing the bridge columns. Em and Em rushed to hug him, but Heath interceded. “He’s banged up. Let him rest for a minute.”
“Strangest thing, what happened to—” Soup Can started, but Heath cut him off.
“It’s everywhere, sir.” He didn’t want Emily knowing that Sweet Pea was on the road above, dying a slow, painful death. That was the last thing she needed to hear, as unbearable as the situation was already. “It’s a new strain of rabies. We think it’s in the air. The woods aren’t safe. The road either, obviously.” He didn’t think it prudent to mention the bear to the others. “You’re okay now though. The animals are afraid of water.”
Mr. Soucandi’s eyes lit up. “You—you came all this way in the river?”
“We sure did,” Dunbar said proudly.
Mr. Soucandi looked puzzled. He was working something out in his mind. He shook his head spastically a few times, reminding Heath of the fox he’d observed outside the livery window.
“We’re going to Granite Falls,” Emma said. “Following the river’s course.”
The horse trainer blinked, straightened up, and furrowed his brow. Then, in a buoyant voice, he said the strangest thing.
“We’re off to see the Wizard?”
Reset.
My neighbor works real hard,
Day and night, like a fool,
Landscaping in his yard,
Cleaning his swimming pool.
What makes him tick is stacking his sticks,
Earning his keep while his neighbors sleep.
His teeth are his only tool.
WRITING POSTCARDS. Judging from the position of the sun drifting through the nearly solid sheet of clouds, that’s what they’d be doing now if Camp Harmony hadn’t been overrun by rabid mammals. It was past the dinner hour, and the schedule demanded some quiet time for reflecting on the events of the day and writing notes to their parents about them. Campers were each required to fill out the entire back of one postcard before they were freed to leave their cabins and head to the main lodge for games and shameless flirting. Heath resented Postcard Time more than anything. He never knew what to say. Or more accurately, he couldn’t say what his parents would want to hear. They didn’t care that he’d spent the day waterskiing or playing tennis with Cricket or making boomerangs with Dunbar in the craft hut. He knew they skimmed every card, eagerly searching for one line of very specific information: had he changed his mind about accepting treatment for his cancer?
Weeks ago, when Dr. Wiley broke the news that the disease had returned, worse than before, there was a kind of emotional frenzy that infiltrated his home life. His mom quit her job to stay home and prepare for the treatment and recovery process, calling doctors, arranging consultations, reading up on new drug therapies (after all, she’d reminded him incessantly, it had been six years since the disease went into remission and medical breakthroughs happened every day). Then there was the ugly skirmish with their insurance company. It had refused to cover the battery of treatments Heath would need to get better. This skirmish lasted right up until the “heartless thieves,” as his mom called them, got a letter from his dad’s lawyer. But in the end, the most draining part of it all was the tug-of-war that ensued between Heath and his parents when he told them he wasn’t accepting treatment this time. That he didn’t want to do it all over again. That it wasn’t a war he wanted to wage anymore. That he’d rather die than suffer through the physical torment of the radiation and the drugs. His parents didn’t get it. His mom, through heaving sobs, asked Heath if it was because he didn’t want to lose his hair again. It was a silly question, but he’d been patient with them because he had to be. Because they loved him and deserved to be handled tenderly, he calmly and repeatedly explained that it had nothing to do with his stupid hair—which was just a bunch of soft quills, when you thought about it—and everything to do with leaving the world on his terms. He was ready to go. Peacefully, not fighting and tearing to consume every ounce of life like Quilt Face, Onyx, and Sweet Pea. Like Will, in a way. But after awhile, he got tired of explaining and just started making plans. Coming to Camp Harmony was his last chance to experience life the way he wanted, out in nature, surrounded by kids who didn’t have a care in the world beyond who would win the Color War at the end of the summer, Team Purple or Team Orange. So every time he was faced with a fresh postcard he wrote in space-wasting, colossal letters. And even though he made an effort to toss in a few specifics about his routine, his underlying message was always t
he same.
I love you both. I’m having the time of my life.
Besides, today was really the first day he had anything interesting to report:
Dear Mom and Dad,
The camp was attacked by rabid animals. I’m currently wading five miles down a river with seven other people, heading toward the nearest town. Everything outside the river is trying to kill us, but I suspect my cabinmate, Will, is doing a better job at it. You’ll be happy to know we are now under adult supervision, but he’s a little mental and thinks we’re on our way to the City of Oz. I’ll write again tomorrow. If I’m still alive.
Love,
Heath (a.k.a. the Scarecrow)
In order to convince Mr. Soucandi to leave with them, they had to play along with his latest delusion. This is how things appeared in the old man’s addled brain: Miles was the Cowardly Lion; Heath was the Scarecrow; Will, as pale as he was, looked like the Tin Man, and Soup Can fused the Ems together to make up Dorothy Gale. Thankfully there was no Toto among them, rabid or otherwise. It was hard to say, since Soup Can’s delusion was so far out there this time, but Dunbar and Cricket may have been members of the Lollipop Guild, even though he got his movies crossed and called them Oompa-Loompas. They led the horse trainer carefully through the river—the Yellow Brick Road—on their way to the Emerald City—Granite Falls—to find him the heart he said he needed. Like the Scarecrow, it was clearly a new brain that he should have been petitioning the Wizard for.
The animals came back slowly. The first to show up was a western spotted skunk. The group smelled him five minutes before they saw his portly body shuffle through the curtain of tall grass ahead of them on the east bank. When the skunk saw the group, it bounded quickly toward them along the shore in a gait that was half waddle and half hop. Heath always wondered why the skunk in the Looney Tunes cartoons bounced up and down when he ran, and now he knew it’s because they do in real life. The skunk was rabid, too. They were still within the outbreak zone. Heath imagined what would happen if the virus escaped Washington and spread across the country. Across the world. There were four hundred billion mammals on the planet. That meant that for every human there’d be sixty-five animals eager to kill them. It was a sobering thought. As they continued on, they were joined by deer, a few dogs (all former pets with collars and tags that jangled as they barked incessantly), a different coyote, wood rats, a family of marmots, a porcupine that was much larger than the one Heath had killed back at camp, raccoons, and, most disturbing of all, a milk cow that had escaped its pasture by charging straight through barbed wire. She still had a loop of it tangled around her neck and brisket.
“A freakin’ cow.” Miles moaned, shaking his head as she joined the animal parade. “Even the cows want to kill us now.”
“Them I don’t blame,” said Emma. “I’m surprised they didn’t rise up against us years ago.”
“Especially Dunbar,” Will said with a self-amused chuckle.
Dunbar licked his lips. “So I like a juicy burger once in awhile. What of it?”
The cow let out an angry mrurrrrrrrrrrrrrr sound and snorted in punctuation.
Heath kept an eye out for Quilt Face. It seemed unlikely that she’d find a way around the channel and past the bridge, but when she didn’t return he felt a little let down. He’d expected more from her. Maybe it had been his imagination, but he’d come to see her as the alpha of not just her pack but of the whole herd of animals. No, herd wasn’t a term you could use for zombies or for the odd collection of creatures that had followed them on the shore. What do you call dozens of different species coming together with the sole purpose of killing you? Like a group of crows, Heath decided, you’d call them a murder. He’d pegged Quilt Face as their leader. The head murderer. Maybe he’d been wrong.
After they found Mr. Soucandi, the journey was uneventful up until what should have been the last mile before Granite Falls. The current seemed stronger, but the water was shallower, which meant more walk, less wade. It was, fortunately, still deep enough for a kayak to travel upon, although Theo and Molly would have had to carry the boat over gravel bars in a few spots where slight shoaling occurred.
Heath wished they could run the last mile, especially since it seemed more animals were joining the cavalcade with every passing minute, but Mr. Soucandi’s leg was hurting, and with his right boot still planted under Sweet Pea, he had a hard time hobbling across the Dray’s rocky bottom.
And then they reached the fork. They saw it coming, but hoped that when they reached the bifurcation, it would present itself as a short-lived thing, with the water rejoining again within range of sight. That wasn’t the case. The river separated into two distinct directions. The group huddled together and debated their options.
“I say we go to the right,” Will said. “The left looks narrow, shallower, like it wants to be a creek. I don’t trust it.”
Heath agreed.
“But if we go to the left, we’ll shake most of the animals,” Dunbar said, and he was correct, too. The animals on the right bank had no way of crossing over to the banks of the left. If they tried, they’d die.
Will said, “If we pick the one that doesn’t run by Granite Falls, it might dry up out in the woods and that could get us killed.”
In a show of solidarity, Emily and Emma decided to keep the animals and go to the right, so the rock, paper, and scissors stayed stored away.
Hands were raised and counted. Cricket and Dunbar were outvoted. They headed right, but before they got more than a hundred yards they heard a familiar growl. Quilt Face had found them. But she and her pack were on the far side of the left branch, with no way to cross over. The agitation in her face was clear even through the wooded peninsula that divided the two streams.
“Your girlfriend’s back,” Will said, clapping Heath on the shoulder. Then he turned to Emily and said, “Bet you didn’t know he was two-timing you, huh?”
Emily blushed, but Heath was too focused on Quilt Face to care. He’d underestimated the wolf again. He had a feeling that might end up as the epitaph on his tombstone when all was said and done. “She must have crossed over the bridge and climbed down to the west bank,” he said, a tinge of admiration in his voice.
“Well, she screwed up, didn’t she?” Miles hurled a rock in Quilt Face’s direction. It skidded at her feet, and she jumped sideways to avoid it.
“Knock it off,” Heath said. “It’s not their fault, remember?”
“Relax, I was just firing a warning shot. I wasn’t aiming to hit her.”
“There’s a nice little café in town I’m sure you two will love,” Will crooned. Then he cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled over at Quilt Face, “Don’t worry! Heath’ll meet you for dinner at Bella Vita on Stanley Street!”
Miles thought this was hilarious and joined in. “You two can share a meatball like Lady and the Tramp! Ooh la la!”
“Keep shouting, morons. Really smart,” Heath admonished them.
Will grinned. “Are you the lady or the tramp? Or is it Beauty and the Beast?”
Heath was irked. He didn’t want anyone hurtling rocks or insults at the pathetic creatures. They weren’t in their right mind. He glanced over at Mr. Soucandi, who was babbling to himself about ruby slippers. Right minds were becoming a dwindling commodity.
Will held up Sylvester’s bow. “Want me to kill her? That’d shake up the pack.”
“Quit it,” Heath said. “She’s harmless.”
“For now,” said Will.
Heath kept walking. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”
Quilt Face split the air between them with one last mournful cry. Will quoted ninth-grade Shakespeare. “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”
The animals followed for as long as they could, cursing the kids with growls, barks, yaps, and howls. It was quite a send-off. But soon they’d faded from sight, and the forest b
ecame blissfully quiet. The water in the branch they’d picked grew steadily deeper and when it seemed to taper off at waist-level, Emma said, “I think we made the right choice.” Even those on the other side of the vote, Cricket and Dunbar, had to agree.
“It feels like the old Dray again,” Cricket said. He hadn’t been very talkative for awhile. In fact, Heath noticed, he looked very ill.
“You okay, man?”
“Not really,” Cricket answered, his voice weak. “Are you cold? The river’s cold, right?”
The water still felt fairly warm to Heath. But dusk had arrived, and he knew that with the sun dunking past the tree line the Dray would start to cool rapidly. “Not really. Maybe you’re coming down with a fever or something. It’s probably not healthy to stay in a river this long. It’s been, what, five hours?”
Cricket considered the length of his shadow. “Yeah, that’s about right. I hope we get there soon. I’d kill for a hot cup of coffee.”
This remark set off a round of the First Thing I’ll Do When We Reach Granite Falls game. Dunbar surprised no one with: “Eat a gallon of ice cream.” Emily wanted to call her dad. Emma went into detail about the joys of shampoo. Miles said he’d order a thick, juicy steak, then he stuck his tongue out at the cow (amazingly, she was keeping up with them despite having to negotiate her bulky body across loose, shifting rocks). Heath mentioned socks. Will didn’t play, although Heath knew exactly what his cabinmate should do when they reached Granite Falls—write a confession.
They expected the forest to dwindle as they approached the town, but instead it seemed to thicken. The river current slowed to a crawl and the water got deep fast. Their feet still touched the bottom, except for Cricket’s, who hitched a piggyback ride on Miles. The river widened, too, spreading out laterally, invading the tree line, drowning the shrubbery.
“This is a pond,” Heath declared with alarm.
“It can’t be,” Emily said. “The Dray runs by Granite Falls, right?”
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