Frenzy

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Frenzy Page 18

by Robert Lettrick

“This isn’t the Dray,” Will groaned. “We picked the wrong branch.”

  “We better not have!” Miles threatened, but he was as much to blame as anyone, since he’d voted for the right side, too.

  When they waded through a tarp of lily pads it became obvious that Heath was right. A nubby turtle head poking up from below cinched his case.

  “We could double back right now,” Cricket insisted. “It’s a half mile to the split.”

  “Yeah, let’s go,” Miles agreed with his sickly passenger.

  “How did this happen?” Emma asked, on the verge of despair.

  “There’s your answer.” Will pointed to a wall of downed and stacked trees in the distance.

  “It’s a beaver dam!” Dunbar said. “Wow, I always wanted to see one of those.”

  “It’s huge,” Heath noted. Eyeballing the structure he estimated its size. “It has to be forty feet long. Maybe ten feet high.”

  “That’d stop the river’s flow, for sure,” Emily marveled.

  “That’s gotta be the biggest dam ever,” added Miles.

  “Nope.” Dunbar set him straight. “There’s one in Alberta, Canada, that you can see from space. It’s half a mile long.”

  “Oh,” Miles said.

  “But it’s still impressive. Beavers sometimes leave drainage holes in the dams so the water can get through. Maybe we’ll pick up the river again on the other side.” Dunbar set out toward the dam. “Let’s go check it out.”

  “No!” Miles gripped Dunbar’s arm. “What if the beavers are home?”

  Dunbar tried to put his mind at ease. “Beavers don’t live inside of dams. They live in the tunnels they dig in the mud along the banks. Underwater tunnels, which means they’re either dead from hydrophobia, or they abandoned their homes and are staying on the shore like the rest of the animals. We’ll be fine.”

  Miles loosened his grip and Dunbar waded away. The group followed, with the Ems taking a turn assisting Mr. Soucandi through a film of algae that floated on the surface of the pond like cold soup skin.

  “Musty.” Heath sniffed the air. The pond had an earthy smell, a mix of minerals, dead plants, and something else. Rotting fish, maybe. It overpowered the pine scent of the forest that he’d come to enjoy.

  As they neared the dam, the sound of trickling water returned.

  Dunbar seemed thrilled. “Hear that? I think the river is getting through!”

  “So this may lead to town after all?” Miles asked.

  “Maybe,” Dunbar nodded. “But we need to get past the dam if we’re going to follow it.”

  A faint moo called to them from back near the vague entrance of the pond.

  “We lost the cow,” Emma said. “The rest of them, too.”

  Swack!

  Heads swiveled.

  The noise was like a wet towel slapping against the surface of the water. The group turned in the direction of the east bank, which was difficult to demarcate since the water seemed to spread without definable boundaries into the forest.

  “What was that?” asked Emily.

  They scanned the pond but saw nothing moving.

  “A fish jumping, maybe,” Will said, tossing out an explanation.

  “Yes! A fish!” Dunbar accepted it eagerly.

  Swack! Swack!

  This time they traced the sound to the source, a chevron shaped series of ripples coming toward them on the water. At the point of the V they saw two nostrils, two eyes, and two round ears jutting up from the water. A broad, flat, scaly tail rose up behind the head and smacked the water hard.

  SWACK!

  More ripples formed, a dozen maybe, starting at a thin line of mud that Heath now recognized as the bank. The Vs fanned out and approached like torpedoes in their direction. They slapped their tails again and again.

  “Flying monkeys,” Mr. Soucandi said under his breath. “Evil…”

  Emma presented a more accurate identification. “Those are beavers.”

  Dunbar was baffled. “How are they able to—?”

  “They must not be infected,” Will said. “They’re not afraid of the water.”

  “Then why are they swimming toward us?” Emily asked. It was a good question.

  Heath set the group in motion. “They’ve got the Flash! Let’s go. Over the dam. Hurry!”

  Will said, “I second that motion,” and the two boys took Mr. Soucandi from the twins and half-walked, half-dragged him toward the dam.

  Even with Cricket on his back, his long, powerful legs carried Miles into the lead.

  They could hear the beavers snorting and making weird grunting noises. They sounded like humans with duct tape over their mouths trying to talk. Errr Errr. Mrm mrm.

  “Move it!” Will ordered. “They’re almost here!”

  The beavers’ swim path curled to intersect the group, but the kids and Soup Can reached the dam ahead of them. It was taller than Heath had guessed, maybe fourteen feet high, a treacherous climb to the summit.

  “Guys, Cricket doesn’t look good at all,” Miles said, lowering his passenger carefully into the water.

  Cricket’s legs crumpled beneath him, and he sank against the dam’s spongy outer casing of smaller branches. “I don’t feel so hot,” he mumbled.

  Heath took the entire burden of the old horse trainer and motioned for Will to climb. “You and Miles get to the top. Dunbar in the middle. I’ll pass up Cricket and Soup Can. Em and Em, just get over as fast as you can! Go!”

  The four kids scampered up the dam, choosing branches that seemed sturdy enough to support their weight.

  Will made it to the top first. “Send someone up!”

  Heath had a split second to make a decision and chose Cricket, figuring that if Mr. Soucandi was in his right mind, that’s the way he’d want it. Heath draped Cricket over his shoulder and stepped up onto a thick bough. He was scanning the stack for a handhold when he heard a splash directly below his foot. He looked down into the face of a huge ­beaver, its eyes wild and swimming with disease. With every ounce of strength he possessed, he tossed Cricket up the dam as far as he could. Dunbar and Miles caught Cricket and hauled his limp body to the peak. Heath lost his footing and started to fall back into the water but grasped a branch at the last second. The beaver was snorting furiously, shimmying up the dam to get at Heath.

  “Get away from that boy!” Mr. Soucandi cried out as he grabbed the beaver’s powerful tail, dragging the rodent back down into the water.

  Reset.

  The beaver objected with a loud hiss, jerked around, and bit Mr. Soucandi on his boney forearm. Purple vines erupted at the bite and spread out across the poor man’s wrinkly skin. He fell back into the water with the beaver still on top of him, still biting away, tearing at his flesh, mad beyond madness. Soup Can died without uttering another sound.

  An arrow pierced the beaver straight through the neck and pinned it to the horse trainer’s chest. The animal struggled briefly, then wheezed out its final breath.

  Heath found Will at the top, loading a second arrow into Sylvester’s bow. There was a look of determination in the boy’s eyes. Heath wondered if he’d judged Will too harshly. How many times had Will saved them so far? He’d led them to the livery. Then to the river. He’d saved them from the bats. He’d risked his own life to pull Mr. Soucandi out from under Sweet Pea. Sure, he’d been reluctant, but he still did it. And now he was watching over Heath, protecting him once again. Were these the acts of the kind of monster who would use kids as bait during their run from the livery to the river? He wasn’t so sure anymore.

  “Heath!” Emma cried out. “They’re on you!”

  A half dozen beavers reached the bottom of the dam and set to climbing, hissing and snorting as they wriggled upward. Another half dozen swam in behind the first wave. Heath didn’t know much about beavers, but he’d ne
ver associated them with their cousin the rat until now, as their wet, bulky bodies slithered vulgarly across the branches. They grunted at him, baring their sharp, chisel teeth. Strands of lethal saliva stretched between the maxilla and the mandible halves of their jaws. Their wide black eyes were locked on his exposed flesh, eager to tear meat away from his body. Wet and diseased, like the rats throughout history that slipped off so many boats in so many ports and spread so many plagues across the world.

  This wasn’t the beavers’ fault, he knew that, but he loathed them anyway. He despised them. They wanted him dead and it wasn’t fair. What had he done to them? Nothing! The beavers—all the animals—were relentless, attacking and attacking, trying to destroy him, and he’d finally had ENOUGH!

  Heath found a branch as thick as a chair leg, yanked it free, and squeezed it so tightly that wet bark crumbled through his fingers. Mr. Soucandi had been right—Heath was a scarecrow, but there was no straw inside of him. He was a scarecrow stuffed with anger, resentment, bitterness, and grief.

  “GET AWAY FROM ME!” Heath raised his spear above his head and thrust it downward with power.

  “JUST.”

  Stab.

  “LET.”

  Stab.

  “ME.”

  Stab.

  “BE!”

  When he saw the animal was dead, he turned and climbed as the next beaver in line growled with vengeful fury.

  “Help him, Dunbar!” Emily ordered. “You’re the closest!” She tried to pull a branch out to use as a spear, but it was lodged firmly, so she yanked on another and that one slipped loose. “Here!” She tossed it to Dunbar. He caught it and made his way back down the dam.

  Three beavers were homing in on Heath, the nearest only a body length away. He tried to outclimb it, but he’d reached a section of the dam where the branches beneath his feet were thin and weak. They cracked under his weight, and he couldn’t pull himself up. Will put an arrow through the beaver’s tail, but it barely noticed—it was consumed by its need to reach and kill Heath. His next arrow went wide and disappeared through a gap in the dam.

  “Do better!” Emma shouted.

  “Shut up, Emma!” Will bristled. “I don’t want to hit Heath! I’m not the shot Sylvester was!”

  The thought of their dead friend set off a trigger in Heath’s mind. He found renewed energy and, more importantly, a secure foothold. He climbed until he was next to Dunbar at the middle.

  The beavers were faster, covering twice the distance in the same time.

  Heath went to make a leap up to a thick shaft of pine when he realized his foot was jammed tightly between two rigid branches. He gripped his ankle with his free hand and tugged but couldn’t pull it loose. He was twisted at an angle that denied him the balance he needed to strike with his spear. “I’m stuck!” he told the others.

  “What?” Dunbar panicked. He was already heading back to the top.

  The beavers were so close that Heath could hear their sucking, raspy breaths.

  “Use that thing!” Heath said, pointing at Dunbar’s spear.

  Dunbar froze. “I—I’ve never killed anything before. I don’t think I can.”

  The dam was now covered with the huge rodents, all grunting and chirring, spitting foam, and reeking of mud, rotted plants, and death.

  Heath tried a new approach. “Dunbar, remember the Zombie Apocalypse game? You said when you kill a zombie, it’s a merciful thing, remember? It’s the same thing here! The beavers are in pain, Dunbar! It’s okay to end their pain!”

  Heath’s words connected. Dunbar took a deep breath and exhaled loudly through puffed cheeks. A beaver lunged at Heath and found itself skewered on the end of Dunbar’s lance.

  While Emily watched over Cricket, Emma and Miles slid down to Heath and attempted to pry his foot loose. Miles grunted and his muscles bulged as he strained to pull apart the two branches that were locked like a vise around Heath’s ankle. Will killed two more beavers with the bow, but there were still eight on the dam—six were after Heath, the other two were climbing straight to the top.

  Dunbar shook his spear vigorously until the dead beaver slid off the end and tumbled down into the pond, knocking another off the dam as it fell. Dunbar let loose a guttural cry and lanced a third beaver in the heart. Then he slew another. Blood spattered up his striking arm and across his face, but he kept on jabbing, pausing only to shake dead beavers off his weapon.

  “He’s out!” Emma shouted when Heath’s foot finally slipped free. “Let’s go, Dunbar! To the top!”

  Dunbar blinked and woke up, released from his bloodlust. He saw the dripping red spear in his hand, then tossed it into the pond in disgust. “I’m coming.”

  Miles hit the peak first. With impressive ease he yanked the others up and over, one at a time. Will ran out of arrows, so he flung the bow at a beaver and actually hit it. The beaver slipped and fell through a wide gap into the dam. With Cricket draped over Miles’s shoulder the group made it down the backside of the dam in seconds, miraculously without breaking their necks.

  The structure had drainage holes like Dunbar guessed; they landed in knee-deep, flowing water. Will, Heath, and Emma each freed a spear, took a Spartan-like stance in the shallow river, and waited while Miles carried Cricket to safety. Emily ran alongside of him.

  The seconds ticked by.

  Swack! Swack! Swack! They could hear the beavers swimming away from the dam, back toward their lodges in the bank, spanking the water with their tales in frustration.

  “They’re gone.” Will dropped to his knees in the water. Dunbar collapsed down next to him. The spilling current rinsed the beaver blood off his hands and arms, dyeing the water around them a deep red wine color. Heath knelt down and massaged his bruised ankle. The three boys kept their eyes on the crest of the dam, just in case the beavers doubled back.

  Emma’s shoulders sagged and she cried. Emily dropped to her knees and hugged her twin tight. They mourned for their friend and instructor, Mr. Soucandi.

  “We have two problems,” Miles said behind them. “One of them is really big.”

  “No more problems, please,” Heath begged. He turned around to see for himself. Cricket was cradled in Miles arms, unconscious. His feet were dangling in the air.

  “Oh, God,” Heath gasped. Cricket’s heel—the one that had been punctured by the porcupine quill—was an angry purple color. Tendrils of infection had wound up his leg like grape vines, disappearing beneath his shorts. Although he was still alive, it was clear that Cricket had the Flash. That sure seemed like a very big problem, but he knew that wasn’t what Miles was referring to.

  No, the winner of the Big Problem Award belonged to the pair of eight-hundred-pound grizzly bears, mouths agape and dripping with foam, staring at them from the west bank with hate-filled eyes.

  Does a bear knit in the woods?

  Do we really give a darn?

  Who cares if a bear can sew?

  Just where did he get that yarn?

  CRICKET’S BREATHS came in shallow, wheezing gasps, scarier than any growl, snarl, or howl the group had heard all day, scarier even than the sounds the grizzlies were making—­the resonating grunts and the disturbing clanking of teeth. The sounds coming from Cricket terrified his friends because they meant that he was dying.

  The quill, once lodged in his heel, had injected the Flash into his bloodstream and now the virus was slowly coursing through his body. Heath remembered Marshall explaining how the odor produced by the patch of skin on the porcupine’s back—the rosette—would travel up the quill’s hollow core. Heath believed the virus had passed from the sick porcupine into Cricket’s body in the same way, the quill acting as a needle. (He’d once read that the spines of sea urchins were sometimes substituted for needles when blood transfusions were needed in emergency situations, and they were just a smaller version of porcupine quill
s.) Why Cricket didn’t die instantly like the other victims was a mystery. Maybe it was because the virus hadn’t been passed in a liquid such as animal saliva. He wasn’t sure. Whatever the case, the results would eventually be the same unless they could find a way to save Cricket’s life.

  Miles’s face was beet red and drenched with sweat. He was huffing huge snorts of air. “Can someone tell me where the heck Granite Falls went?” he grumbled. “Did they move it on us?”

  “You sure you don’t want me to carry him for a bit?” Heath offered, jogging to keep up. They’d gone another half mile since leaving the beaver dam, and Miles had ­carried Cricket in his arms every step of the way. The exertion was taking its toll, not that Miles would admit it.

  “For the tenth time,” Miles snapped, “I said I’ve got him!”

  “Will, what happened back there?” Heath asked, looking for answers. “The beavers aren’t afraid of water.”

  “I know!” Will bristled. “I’m thinking, I’m thinking.”

  “I have a theory,” Emily said, surprising everyone, including her twin.

  Emma looked at her as if she were a stranger. “You do?”

  “Don’t look so shocked, Em. I do have a brain, you know.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Heath said.

  “I think it has to do with the reason why beavers build dams in the first place,” Emily explained. “Our family went to a nature preserve in upstate New York a few years back and the trail guide gave a lecture about beaver dams—”

  “I don’t remember that,” Emma interrupted.

  “Of course you don’t,” said Emily. “You were pretending to be sick so you could stay home and hang out with that boy across the street. The one who got expelled for ­smoking. You really do have a thing for bad boys.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Emma remembered. “Well, maybe that’s because the good guys always fall for you.”

  Heath was surprised to find Emma looking directly at him when she said this, and not in the salty way he’d grown accustomed to. He wasn’t sure what that implied. Emma had admitted to having a crush on Will, but from her tone she almost seemed envious of her sister, which was super weird. He hadn’t gleaned much about Emma from their time in the river—she was a walking suit of armor. But maybe she wasn’t as invulnerable as he’d thought. He promised himself he’d find out if they survived their ordeal. The way the pain was racking his body, he wondered if he’d make it at all. The battle on the dam had taken its toll, and without his medication he wasn’t sure he could keep up with the group for much longer. He’d never felt so fatigued before, like he was wading through drying mud instead of water.

 

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