by Bryan Davis
“Walter!” Billy called. “What’s wrong?”
Walter pulled up and plopped his hands and elbows on the handlebars while he tried to catch his breath. “I borrowed Frank’s bike . . . rode all the way . . . here.” After a few seconds he was able to speak more easily, and he squinted at Billy. “How’d you get back so fast?”
“I left quite a while ago. What happened?”
“Haven’t you heard? A bunch of kids at school saw a huge bat creature carry a kid away. It flew up into the clouds with him kicking underneath. I saw it, too, right before it disappeared. Everyone was pointing, so I just looked up, and there it was.”
Billy sneaked a look at Bonnie out of the corner of his eye. She was hunkered down and peeking out the corner of the open window, listening to the conversation.
Walter went on. “All the girls screamed, and even some of the guys, and everyone ran for their lives. Dr. Whittier was out there limping toward the parking lot, but two moms dragged on his arms, screaming like banshees about their missing kids, and they wouldn’t let him go. Some parents were still dropping off kids, and they were going nuts, yelling at them to get back in the car. Frank got a ride home with the Jacksons; that’s why I took his bike.”
Billy turned to look down the street. “So that’s why he’s not here yet.”
Walter followed Billy’s glance. “Who’s not here? Frank?”
“Never mind.” Billy put his hand on Walter’s shoulder and looked him right in the eye. “Listen, Walter. Do me a huge favor. Stick around here, but stay out of sight. If my dad comes home, tell him we went to the airport and he has to come meet us right away. But if Dr. Whittier shows up, make sure he doesn’t see you.
“Dr. Whittier? Why would he come here? You didn’t swamp the bathroom again, did you?”
“No!” Billy rolled his eyes and tried to stay calm. He took a deep breath and looked him in the eye again. “Just do it, okay? If my dad doesn’t get here in, say, thirty minutes, you can go on home. All right?”
“Sure, Billy, but aren’t you wondering about the bat creature?”
“Don’t worry about the bat creature. She won’t hurt you.”
Walter’s face lit up. “She? You know the bat creature? Cool! Can you show her to me?”
Billy shook his head and groaned. “Not now,” he pleaded. “Just watch for my dad, okay? It’s a matter of life and death!”
Walter raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! You know a female bat creature that flies away with school kids for no good reason, and you don’t want to let me in on it. I understand. Makes perfect sense to me.” He looked down the road again and then back at Billy. “So what’s so important? What if your dad asks why you need him?”
Billy paused to think, but he drew a blank. What should Walter say?
“Walter!” Billy and Walter both spun around. It was Bonnie. She had leaned forward to speak through the front window. “Walter, tell him this: A dark knight is coming quickly.”
Walter cocked his head and stared at her, his eyes narrowing. “Why is Bonnie here?”
“You know Bonnie?” Billy asked.
“Everyone knows about Bonnie Backpack.” He leaned forward to get a better look at her. “She’s not wearing it!”
“Never mind! Now what are you going to tell my father?”
“That it’s going to get dark early tonight.”
Billy groaned again and grabbed Walter’s shoulders. “No! Listen! A dark knight is coming quickly. Exactly like that. Got it?”
Walter’s eyes grew large, and he stared at Billy’s gripping arms. “A dark night is coming quickly. Got it!”
Billy nodded and started walking to the car, but he had a feeling Walter wasn’t quite on board, so he watched him over his shoulder. Walter stared at the ground with his chin in his hand, and he looked up at Billy. “But I thought it was going to be a full moon tonight. You said the other day that the fish bite better when—”
“Walter!” Billy shouted, his hand extended to stop his friend’s question. “Just say the words.”
Walter shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever you say, boss. A dark night is coming quickly. Who am I to argue with the keeper of the mysterious bat creature?”
Billy was about to yell at Walter again, but his mother burst out of the house and ran toward the car. “Why is it I can never find a pen when I need one?” She jumped into the driver’s seat, and Billy got in beside her. He stared back at Walter and pointed his index finger at him. “Say it again,” he ordered.
Walter rolled his eyes, but he managed a smile. “A dark night is coming quickly.”
After one unsuccessful grind of the ignition, the Beetle roared to life. The sound brought welcome relief and made Billy’s frown melt away. He felt bad about getting upset at his friend, and he softened his tone. “Great, Walter. Now remember, stay out of sight unless my dad comes.”
As the car screeched backwards down the driveway, Walter pushed the bike to a clump of bushes at the corner of the house and disappeared among them. He crouched in the mulch and watched the antique yellow bug putter away, wondering what was going on.
How can a bat creature be nothing to worry about? What does Billy know about it, anyway? Was he the one the creature carried into the clouds? I guess that would explain how he showed up at home so quick. But how did Bonnie get here? He held his hands on the sides of his head. It’s all just way too weird to believe!
A roaring engine speared his thoughts. A dark blue Cadillac thundered from the direction Billy’s car had just gone and squealed to a stop in front of Billy’s house. The right rear door flew open, and two men, one tall and one short, jumped out. Walter gulped when he caught a glimpse of the driver. Dr. Whittier! Walter scrunched down low and peeked through the leaves. Dr. Whittier shouted orders as he slung his door open.
“Break the door down if you have to! If they’re not home, Sam, check with Olga. She knows what to look for.”
She? Walter thought. Okay, so the shorter one’s a woman. I can see that now.
The pair ran toward the door. Dr. Whittier limped behind them, his cane digging into the grass as he struggled to catch up. Olga jiggled the doorknob and then thrust the end of a crowbar into the jamb. She braced her foot against the side panel and ripped the door open, allowing them to rush inside.
Walter spread the outer branches a bit wider to watch Dr. Whittier. The principal scanned the yard and then the roof, and Walter hunched down even farther to avoid detection. Within seconds Sam returned carrying the crowbar and a piece of paper.
“Here’s a note,” he said. “What do you make of it?”
Dr. Whittier took the scrap of paper and read it out loud, slowly and deliberately. Walter strained to listen, barely able to make out the words.
“Jared. The little bird is here and the black hawk pursues. Hurry and fly away with us.”
Dr. Whittier crumpled the note and stuffed it in his pocket. “Lousy code. Couldn’t fool anyone. Bannister’s a pilot, so they must be going to meet him. Was that a yellow Volkswagen we passed?”
Sam nodded. “Female driver. I didn’t notice anyone else. If they were in there, they were hiding.”
Dr. Whittier took the crowbar and slapped his open palm with it. “I’m going to the airport. Finish the search and then burn the house to the ground. I don’t want one stick of this house to curse this land. We’ll meet . . .”
Try as he might, Walter couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation. But he had heard enough. Big trouble was brewing, and Walter could only watch and wait.
Sam popped open the trunk of the Cadillac, pulled out a plastic gas can, and hurried back to the house, one shoulder sagging with the weight of his load. Dr. Whittier took another quick look around and limped back to his car. Seconds later, the tires spun a high-pitched squeal, leaving a puff of gray smoke behind, and the car roared down the street.
Walter stayed low, guessing that the two goons might come out of the house at any minute. He wondered what h
e was getting into. Burn the house down? And here he sat right next to it! His heart pounded, and he tried to slow his breathing to compensate. If not for the cool breeze, he would have broken into a sweat.
He waited, catching whiffs of smoke, stronger and stronger as the minutes passed. A swirl of smoke crawled out of the window over his head, seeping under its bottom edge. He heard a slam, and Sam and Olga sprinted out. Walter craned his neck to listen.
“Don’t worry. The flames will climb the stairs . . .”
That was all he could hear. When Olga closed the door, she and Sam turned and stared at the street. Walter looked, too. A beige pickup truck had just turned onto the road about a hundred feet away.
Walter was delighted when he recognized the truck. It’s Mr. Bannister!
Sam and Olga hurried across the grass and onto the sidewalk, pretending they were just walking by, but Billy’s father apparently wasn’t fooled. He skidded to a stop on the street and jumped out. “What were you doing in my house?”
Walter couldn’t hear Sam’s answer. He seemed to be making an excuse, but Mr. Bannister wasn’t buying it.
Before Billy’s dad could reply, Olga pulled a small handgun from under her jacket. With a hyper-quick thrust, Mr. Bannister kicked her wrist, sending the pistol skidding on the sidewalk. When Olga lunged for it, Billy’s dad bolted toward the house. After scooping up her pistol, Olga charged after him with Sam following close behind.
The house belched smoke from under the front door, but Mr. Bannister swung it open anyway and vanished into the cloud. He left the door open, and his pursuers dashed in only a few seconds behind him, Sam first and then Olga, both waving their arms to clear the way.
Smoke poured through another window near Walter and it blew into his hiding place. He couldn’t help it; he just had to cough. The choking fumes were flushing him out. No time to grab the bike. Gotta run!
He staggered from the bushes to find another place to hide, maybe a bush farther away from the house. He headed for the street, but the sound of someone else coughing made him turn back. Billy’s father had run outside again. He was leaning over and hacking with dry, retching spasms, sucking in precious air after every coughing spell. In his arms he carried a terrified cat, and as soon as he let the struggling mass of flailing legs down, it took off like a furry-tailed fireball into the next yard.
Since neither Sam nor Olga was anywhere in sight, Walter ran to help. “Mr. Bannister! Are you all right?”
Billy’s father raised his hand, signaling “wait just a minute,” and coughed several more times. He nodded and tried to choke out a reply. “Yes—” He bent over and let out yet another series of dreadful, sandpaper coughs before wiping his mouth and clearing his throat. “Whoever those burglars were, they weren’t very bright. I clubbed the first one with a baseball bat I keep in the coat closet. It was so smoky, the second one couldn’t see what happened. So I just bashed her, too.”
“Didn’t you get them out?”
Mr. Bannister shook his head. “The second one grabbed me on her way down. I guess I aimed too low and got her on the shoulder. I lost the bat, and we rolled into the fire. Her clothes caught, and my shirtsleeve did, too.” He held up his arm to show Walter his scorched sleeve. “When she screamed, I finally figured out she was a woman. She let go, and I got away. Her buddy was already burned up. The flames were everywhere. It was all I could do to get out.”
Before Walter could say anything else, he jerked his head around. “I hear sirens.” He turned back to watch tongues of flame shooting through the roof.
Billy’s father sighed. “Yep. I guess somebody called 9-1-1.” He turned to join Walter in watching the tragic sight. “I see the VW’s gone, so Marilyn couldn’t have been home. Have you seen her?”
Walter couldn’t believe Mr. Bannister’s calm voice. His house burned like a doomsday inferno, and a creepy lady with a gun had just tried to kill him! And now he was acting like he just had a bad day at the office! “I saw them,” Walter replied, pointing down the road. “She and Billy both left a little while ago.”
Mr. Bannister glanced upward. “Thank the Maker!” he said before turning his gaze back to Walter. “Billy was home? Is school out?”
“Sort of, but Billy asked me to tell you something, so I’d better tell you now.”
“Okay. What is it?”
Walter quoted his part slowly and carefully. “A dark night is coming quickly.”
Mr. Bannister’s forehead wrinkled. “A dark night? That doesn’t make sense; there’s a full moon tonight.”
Walter gave a shrug. “I know. That’s what I told Billy. But he seemed to think you’d know what it means.”
Mr. Bannister rolled his eyes upward and tapped his shoe on the ground. Suddenly, his eyebrows lifted, and he leaned over to look at Walter face-to-face. “Did he mean a dark N-I-G-H-T or a dark K-N-I-G-H-T?”
Walter shook his head. “I dunno. He didn’t spell it for me.”
Mr. Bannister paused, rubbing his chin. “What else did he say?”
“Just that they went to the airport. You’re supposed to meet them there.”
Two fire engines blared their sirens as they careened onto the neighborhood block. The pumper stopped right behind Mr. Bannister’s truck, and four uniformed men spilled out, grabbing equipment and unraveling hoses.
One firefighter ran up to Walter and Mr. Bannister. “Is everyone out?”
“No,” Mr. Bannister replied. “The two who set the fire are trapped inside. I think they’re dead.”
The firefighter rushed back to the truck. “We’ve got two on the skewer!” He grabbed a gas mask, and two others with masks followed as he raced to the door.
Mr. Bannister put both hands on Walter’s shoulders. “Thank you for the message, but you’d better get home. Those two were looking for trouble, and I don’t want you here if any others show up.”
“Sure, but there’s one more thing you should know.”
“What’s that?”
“Our principal, Dr. Whittier, was with them. I think he was going to the airport to catch up with Mrs. Bannister and Billy and Bonnie, and he’s the one who ordered the house burned down.”
“Bonnie? Who’s Bonnie?”
Walter was about to answer, but Mr. Bannister didn’t give him time.
“Never mind. I have to go.” He ran to his pickup, shouting behind him. “Get home, Walter! And if you can come back with your dad and find Gandalf, I’d appreciate it. I’m pretty sure I left my cell phone at the airport, so you can’t call me until I get back there.” He threw open the door, started the engine, and roared away.
Walter stared at the scene around him, his mind filled with awe. A house he knew so well crackled in flames, and firefighters scrambled all around, two now anchoring a gushing hose that rained onto the roof. Three women approached from other houses to watch, and several young teenagers congregated in the street, apparently arriving at home after their early release from school. The crowd gathered around Walter and pelted him with a dozen questions at a time.
He felt a strange sense of importance and tried to answer as many as he could, but he knew he had to keep some things secret. He hoped Billy would make everything clear later. After a few minutes, the crowd grew tired of asking the same questions over and over, giving Walter a chance to muse about the excitement. A bat creature at school, burglars with guns, a house on fire. What a day!
Chapter 8
THE SLAYER’S WRATH
Billy stared at the road through the car’s rear window. The tailpipe coughed in fitful spasms, blowing a train of miniature gray clouds into the long line of cars slowly crawling behind. He felt like their little yellow Beetle was the head of a snaking, segmented worm, and each trailing car contributed a set of four spinning legs. One of the segments, a large, dark sedan, shot out from the line, roared ahead of a big SUV, and pushed back just before an oncoming truck could slam it head-on. It was the Cadillac! But a new driver gripped the wheel, sitting higher in th
e seat than did the shorter guy who had been spying on him. Billy strained to get a better look, but the car still trailed too far behind. Could it be Dr. Whittier?
The Cadillac lurched out again, zoomed past three cars, careening around the serpentine slopes, and jerked back into line just in time. Billy shivered. This guy was nuts! He turned to see if his mother noticed. She had the gas pedal smashed to the floor, and her eyes darted between the windshield and her rear view mirror. Billy slapped his hand against the dashboard. “C’mon you old bucket of bolts! Can’t you go any faster?”
When the Beetle neared the top of the last hill before town, it chugged, backfired, and finally crested the top. Once on the downhill slope their car seemed to sigh as it coasted into the valley.
Billy’s mom wiped her hand across her moist forehead, breathing easier but keeping an eye on the erratic driver still a few cars back. “Okay. Now we just have to get through town. It’ll be crowded today, you know.”
“Yeah,” Billy replied, turning again to the rear. “The festival’s tonight.” He glanced at Bonnie. She sat low, scrunched down to keep her head below the rear window level. Her eyes told him that she knew someone was following them.
Now that they had driven onto a long straightaway, several cars passed them by, leaving only bare road between the little yellow Volkswagen and the crazy blue Cadillac. The maniacal car pulled right up to their bumper, and Billy recognized the driver’s scowling face. “It’s Dr. Whittier, all right!” It was too late to hide. The principal’s evil glare attached to Billy like cobra fangs.
His mother mumbled her thoughts out loud. “Where’s a police car when you need one?” She took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. “Maybe I can lose him when we get into town.”
Billy felt the hatred in Dr. Whittier’s stare, as though his principal’s eyes were cutting open his head and reading his thoughts. He couldn’t stand it. He turned to look at Bonnie again. Her wide, fearful eyes stared into space, but when they focused on Billy’s, she smiled sheepishly. He guessed that she was embarrassed about her fear, so he gave her a smile in return and whispered, “I’m scared, too.”
