by Brian Bakos
Struggling with the foul load, I make my way across the lawn toward the orchard. It waits for me beyond the house, tolerating me just barely, like some big zoo cat aching to devour its keeper.
I've never thought that plants could feel anything, much less think. Now I know different. These trees seem to have an awareness of the world and a hatred for it. They are big brutes, too, much larger than the usual kind of fruit tree. And who ever heard of oranges growing this far north?
I'm a city kid and haven't been in the country much. But I've read things and watched television. These trees are definitely not normal.
My sneakers make squishy noises in the damp grass. Fear walks along with me, tickling the back of my neck with its cold, bony fingers, and I have the eerie sensation that somebody is following me. It's just Poochie bringing up the rear ... isn't it? I fight the urge to look back.
I still can't believe what's happening to me. How did I get myself into this mess, anyway?
You haven't done anything wrong, a voice inside my head answers. You're just a thirteen year old 'ward of the state.' It's not your fault that Mom can't keep sober, and Dad ... well, you don't even know who he is.
All this is true, but it doesn't make me feel a whole lot better.
A rotten citrus smell, like a decaying elephant covered with orange peel, hangs in the air around the trees. I turn on my flashlight, and a tiny bit of courage returns.
I creep around the rim of the orchard, slipping past rows one and two. Leaves rustle overhead. I'm certain they turn towards me as I pass, sniffing the filthy load in my bucket. Sniffing me.
I come to a pair of locked and chained doors set in the ground just inside the grove - Wizard of Oz type storm cellar doors leading down to who knows where. I wouldn't open them for a million bucks.
I still have the creepy feeling that somebody is observing me from a distance. Well ... there's nothing for it but to walk in and get the job done.
"Let's go, Poochie," I say. "... Poochie?"
He is nowhere around. My batteries are pretty low, and I can't make out anything in the dim flashlight beam I throw behind me. There are fresh batteries in my room. Why didn't I put them in already? Idiot!
"All right, chicken," I say into the darkness, "I'll remember this the next time I have a delicious dinner for you."
I try to concentrate on my aching arms lugging the bucket. Let the pain take over my awareness; blot out everything else. Get through this!
I am just about to enter the grove when Poochie suddenly trots up. It's like my long-lost brother has returned.
"Good boy!" I pat the dog's head. "Thanks for coming back."
Poochie whines. We plunge into the grove together.
***
Lots of fireflies are in here, but they're not like the ones outside. These are much bigger - like piercing eyes flitting around blinking at me. And they hum. The ground hums, as if a big, sinister tuning fork is buried in it. I'm no longer in the regular world. This place is somewhere else, on the dark side, away from everything good and decent.
The orchard is just five rows of trees, a half acre or so. But I feel a dark vastness pressing down on me, as if I'm in the middle of a jungle. The breeze is dead in here. It is replaced by a low murmur, like voices whispering in some evil language. My flashlight blinks out.
"Oh, man!"
Panic grips me like a vise, the trees bend in to devour me. I shake the flashlight desperately and it comes back on.
"Don't do that to me again!"
My heart slows back to something like normal, I play the dim beam overhead. Above me hang bunches of large oranges, like bombs ready to drop down and crush my skull. I have strict orders not to disturb them. No problem there; I wouldn't want to touch those things for another million bucks.
At last I reach Czar Albert. This tree is wider and higher than the others, and it stands in a small clearing right in the center of the grove. I can't tell for sure - maybe it's just my fear seeing this - but the thing seems to be throbbing, like it has a living pulse.
A large metal funnel is stuck in the ground before it.
I grip my flashlight in my teeth so as to free up both hands. The funnel leers back at me, like an entryway to Hell. Its toothless mouth gapes an invitation:
Come on in, little boy.
I empty the bucket quick. The funnel makes a harsh, gurgly slurping noise like a platoon of vampires all sucking blood at the same time. The last of the glop disappears.
Done!
Then I hear it. A low, moaning noise coming from the ground, almost directly under my feet. I jump back.
It can't be real. It's just imagination ... isn't it? But Poochie has heard the sound, too, with his powerful doggie ears. He cowers against me, whimpering. His body is rigid with fear, like my own.
The sound under my feet becomes louder, as if the earth itself is crying out: uhhhhhh Ohhhhhh!
Why can't I move?
Then a terrible scream - mine or something else's - uproots my feet and I take off like a cannon shot. I stumble on the rough ground, but somehow keep on my feet. If I fall, I'm a goner for sure.
The grove seems endless. The low voices are laughing now. I stumble between the trees, brush up against them and feel their disgusting touch. Poochie shoots on ahead, but something else is running beside me. I dare not turn to look.
Finally, just as I think I'll never get out, I burst free of the orchard and shoot across the lawn. My shoes are slippery with mud, and I fall sprawling on my face. From my position in the grass I see a dark figure run toward Brazil Road and vanish. I can't tell who, or even what it is. Clouds swallow the moonlight again.
I lay gasping for air. My old cracked rib throbs. I can hear nothing except my pounding heart. But through all my terror, an idea flickers into life. An idea for escape.
I pull myself together and head back to the house.
5: Fond Memories
Albert Grech meets me as I come through the front door.
"What was all the racket out there?" he growls. "Was that somebody screaming?"
"Just a big old cat," I say. "It made a terrible noise fighting with the dog."
Albert looks suspiciously at my wet, grass-stained clothes.
"They knocked me over," I say.
Albert grunts. "Who won?"
"The dog."
"So, that stupid mutt is good for something, after all," Mrs. Grech says.
Albert peers out the window at the darkened house across the road. His face hardens even more than usual.
"The cat must belong to the Ponge," he says. "Good. This'll let 'em know they can't poke around here unchallenged."
"You should've bought that dump when you had the chance, or at least rented the place," Mrs. Grech says. "Your problem is you've always been too cheap."
He gives her an angry glance. "No, Amitha, I should have burned the place down. That's my problem, I've always been too soft."
I would never use the word "soft" to describe either one of these vultures.
"Guess I'll get on up to bed," I say.
Nobody pays attention as I bolt the stairs to my third floor attic 'room' and shut myself in. The last of my adrenaline rush fades away, and I am suddenly exhausted.
My mind reels at what I have learned.
Something awful is in the orchard, lurking in the ground. Yet, it didn't seem to be hostile. It seemed to be in deep distress, crying for help. I was too scared at the time to understand this, but now I do.
And somebody else was out there in the grove with me. A spy from the Ponge? Yeah, that might be it. He ran toward their house, didn't he?
Then again, maybe everything had just charged out of my imagination. What could you expect from somebody who is scared to death and more than half starved? Poochie heard the moaning in the ground, too, though. I've got excellent hearing, but his is a whole lot better.
And where had the dog been when I was walking to the grove? With the spy, I'd guess. Maybe the s
py gave him a snack to keep him friendly.
I don't understand anything ... how can I use any of this for my escape plan?
I am too wrecked to think straight any longer. I strip down to my undies and flop onto the ragged sheet. The stifling heat and musty smell of my 'room' are almost unbearable. Sweat clings to my skin; I badly need to clean up.
The Grech are still prowling the house, though. They are up late tonight, probably to make sure I fed the trees. The Grech usually turn in early. They seem to hate the night, like vampires in reverse. Soon they'll withdraw to their haunted chamber, and I can slip downstairs to the bathroom for a rinse off.
As I squirm in the heat, unable to think about anything practical, my mind wanders back to my years with Mom. Compared to my situation now, these are pleasant memories - like a big party with Santa Claus, almost.
Okay, Mom would never get a Parent of the Year award, but she'd looked out for me as best she could. The tire iron episode proved that. If the others hadn't stopped her, she would have brained that ugly slob for sure.
There'd always been somebody to look out for me - Mom, the school, the children's home counselors. But now I am utterly alone.
Usually our situation sucked really bad, like when we had to live out of an old car. Other times things were better, like when Mom didn't drink up the welfare money or when she actually had a job. Then we didn't have to shoplift, and we could actually buy a meal at a restaurant instead of sneaking away without paying.
But whenever I began to hope that things might improve, a new bum would always show up - Mom's latest 'romance' - and everything would go downhill again.
Hashing all this over again isn't helping me any. I have to conserve my brain power for more important things. Tomorrow, things will start to change, but right now, I'm exhausted and need to rest myself. I decide to forget the rinse off; I'll just be all sweaty again in no time.
Then the 'incantations' begin - a weird, low chanting coming from the Grech bedroom, an evil sound related to the hum in the orchard. I've heard it before, but never so loud and never for so long.
My tiredness instantly vanishes, replaced by ice-cold fear. The incantation vibrates through the whole house - finding me in my isolated corner.
Then everything goes silent, like a tomb.
6: The Visitor
By morning I haven't figured out what anything means, but I do have a new strategy. From now on my outward attitude will be much more cooperative. The 'rebellious and defiant' routine is getting me nowhere. Letting the Grech know that I hate them only makes them more suspicious.
I can't fight these people unless I'm willing to get really violent, give them some tire iron therapy or something. Maybe it will come to that, but for now the wisest course is to get them to drop their guard by being nicer. I'll keep my eyes and ears open, gain some trust from the Grech. Then I'll take the big opportunity when it comes.
This is house cleaning day, and I fling myself into the work cheerfully. My gosh, I am even whistling! By late morning I have finished the dusting, the mopping, and am about to fire up the vacuum cleaner for the living room rug.
Amitha Grech lies spread out on the sofa like a beached whale, supervising my work as she puffs an El Stinko cigar. Suddenly, the front door bangs open and Albert rushes in. He's all red-faced and out of breath.
"Judge Gulp is coming!" he pants.
Electricity seems to fill the air. Even I tingle with excitement. Quicker than I think possible, Amitha springs off the couch and crushes out her cigar in the ashtray. Then she shoves the butt in her pocket and hands the ashtray to Marnie.
"Dump this," she says, "and bring some lemonade. Hurry!"
"I'll get the ... things ready," Albert says. "You stall him here, Amitha."
Mrs. Grech snatches the vacuum cleaner from my hands. "Get up to your room, and don't come down til I call you."
"Yes, ma'am," I say.
I clamber up stairs, making plenty of noise so they'll know I've gone all the way to the attic. I stay in my room only long enough to take off my boots. Then I slither back down to the second story hallway. I lay flat on the carpet where I can peer through the banister rungs. I can see part of the living room now and hear everything that is being said in it.
Somebody enters the front door.
"Hello, Amitha," he says.
"So nice of you to stop by, Your Honor," Mrs. Grech says, a phony smile twisting her face.
The man she's speaking to is tall and white-haired with a good sized gut. He wears a blue, pin-striped suit. He seems old enough to be retired from any real job, but I guess judges can hang around as long as they want. Marnie sidles up to him with a pitcher of lemonade on a tray. There is nothing fake about her smile.
"Would you care for some lemonade, Judge?" she asks.
"Thank you, I would, Marnie," Gulp says. "It's nice to see you again."
She pours him a glass, all the while pressing closer to him than is necessary.
"That will be all for now, Marnie, thank you," Amitha says.
Marnie returns to the kitchen and stands waiting coyly in the doorway.
"I was in the area, so I thought I'd stop by," Judge Gulp says. "Figured I may as well check up on your foster child while I'm at it."
"How nice," Amitha says.
"I told the social worker not to bother coming over, since I'd be out this way." The judge sips his lemonade. "I said I'd handle the home inspection for her. They're awful busy, you know, the social workers."
Mrs. Grech keeps smiling, but a dagger glitters behind the grin.
"How thoughtful of you, Judge," she says. "Billy has been doing just fine. He likes it here very much."
"Glad to hear that," the judge says.
The hairs on the back of my neck bristle; I grind my teeth. Gulp sips more lemonade while Marnie watches him sweetly from the kitchen doorway. Amitha keeps smiling. The silence is getting awkward. Then Mr. Grech comes in.
"Hello, Judge," he says. "Good to see you."
They shake hands.
"Good to see you, too, Albert," the judge says. "I was just telling Amitha here that I'll be handling the foster care inspection this time around. Thought I'd interview young Billy myself."
Mr. Grech produces a little white envelope. Quick as that, the Judge's hand grabs it and flicks it into his suit coat pocket.
"On second thought, I don't think an interview will be necessary at this time," Gulp says.
The bum! He's just taken a bribe so as to leave me to my fate. I choke back my rage.
"So, Albert, how is the citrus grove business doing these days?" the Judge asks.
Mr. Grech slips him another envelope. It disappears into Gulp's pocket.
"Fine, fine," the judge says. "I'm glad to know you're doing so well."
He drains the last of his drink and hands the glass to Marnie.
"I really must be going," he says. "Thanks so much for the lemonade. Let me know if there is anything else I can do for you."
"There is one thing, Your Honor," Albert says. "It's about the new people across the road."
"Oh?" Gulp said.
"I was wondering if you could check them out, and ... well, let me walk you to your car, Judge."
The two men leave through the front door, continuing to plot outside.
"What a fine gentleman the Judge is," Marnie says.
"Humph!" Mrs. Grech snorts.
I feel angry enough to explode, but I just have to wait where I am, pressing myself into the picky carpet like a mouse. A couple of minutes later, Albert comes back in.
"That old windbag gets greedier all the time," he says.
"Humph!" Mrs. Grech repeats.
"At least we don't have to put up with him too much longer," Albert says. "This will all be over soon enough."
I don't like that last comment, it has a fatal ring to it. I slip back up to my room. My skin crawls with goose bumps all the way.
7: Tracker Puzzle
As I sweat
in my stuffy attic waiting for Amitha to call me back downstairs, I churn over the frightening new information. The stench of cooked tar from the roof is almost unbearable.
Well, at least I know where I stand with the law - absolutely nowhere. I am just another kid dropped through the cracks in the foster care system. I've been thrown to the wolves, actually.
All right then, if the people who are supposed to look after me won't do it, I'll look out for myself!
It all boils down to the tracking device. The most important thing is to learn its true capabilities. When Albert chained the thing on my ankle my first day here, he claimed that it could do everything except fly.
"If you try to take this off or tamper with it in any way," he said, "it'll send an alarm to the Sheriff's office and to my own monitor as well. Got that, boy?"
"Y-yeah," I managed to say through my horror.
"Go too far from the house, and it'll transmit a locating signal," Albert said. "Either me or the cops will find you in no time. Better hope it ain't me who gets to you first."
What else? Would some alien spaceship fire a death ray at me from a million miles up?
It's hard to believe that the small, clunky thing could do all that, but what do I know? A DVD is just a shiny little disk, but look at all the stuff they can cram on it.
I have to find out more. The raspberry patch might be the place to learn. I hear Amitha's voice shouting up the stairs.
"Get down here and finish the vacuuming, boy!"
"Yes, Ma'am."
I clunk downstairs in my noisy boots and get back to work. Everyone is in a foul temper, except for Marnie who is still mooning over Judge Gulp, so this is not the time to start anything. Just do a good cleaning job and keep out of their way.
8: Raspberry Surprise
Things have settled down by the next morning, so I decide to push ahead with the first phase of my escape plan.
"There are some raspberry bushes nearby," I say in my most helpful voice. "I could pick some for us, before they get too ripe."
Amitha grunts and turns a yellowish, twitching eyeball my direction. It's as if a watery, sunny side up egg is staring at me - but that can't be right, Amitha has no sunny side. I am totally revolted but keep a smile on my face.
"I kinda like raspberries," Albert says.
"Yes, sir," I say, "and they won't cost anything. Raspberries are expensive at the grocery store."
That clinches it. Those two cheapskates would never pass up a freebie. I'll bet that Amitha wears dentures simply because the dentist ran a special on pulling teeth one day.
