“Nice try,” Calvin said. “Now follow the trail around to the river.”
He marched us past the house and instructed us to head east, down toward the river. I saw flashes of blue through the pine trees as we neared the water. I figured they were going to try and kill us, but as long as Brad was gone, we had a chance of escaping. We just had to act fast.
Down by the river, Calvin ordered us onto a short wooden walkway that served as a bridge to his battered boathouse. As we shuffled over the planking, I noticed plastic jugs of gasoline and other odds and ends spread out on the shore. Calvin had removed anything we could use to escape from the structure.
“Get in the boathouse and keep quiet,” he said. “And don’t even think about trying to swim away. I’ll be sitting outside watching, and I’ll blast you out of the water before you make it anywhere.”
I followed Eric and Rachel into the old building. We listened as Calvin snapped a padlock on the door.
“We have to get out of here,” Eric whispered.
Rachel nodded. “When Brad comes back, we’re all dead.”
I looked around the boathouse, which, by the way, held no boat. It was dark inside, but there was enough light reflecting from under the sliding boat door that we could see pretty much everything. Only there wasn’t much to see. A metre-wide walkway ran along three walls of the building. And the space for the boat was about the size of a parking stall. Water gurgled and splashed against the timbers under our feet.
Eric began rubbing his plastic handcuffs against the edge of a rough wall beam. “Step one,” Eric said, “is getting rid of these stupid things.”
Rachel fumbled in the front pocket of her shorts and pulled out the lighter she had found in the trunk. “Maybe this will help.”
Eric and I watched as she spun the flint. Nothing.
“Rats!” Eric said.
Rachel tried the lighter again and again. “Too bad,” she said. “I was really hoping to use the lighter to light the flare.”
“The flare?” I said.
“Yeah, I took it from the car too,” she said. “I shoved it in my shorts under my T-shirt.” She lifted her shirt and pulled out the stick.”
I looked at Eric, and we both grinned.
Rachel glanced up at me. “What?”
“You don’t need a match or a lighter to light a safety flare,” I said softly. “You just rub it against a rough surface—like brick or pavement—and it ignites.”
“You did good, Rachel,” Eric said. He grabbed the flare from her and peeled off the paper seal. He dropped to his knees and ran the flare along a plank like he was lighting a giant match. The flare sparked and crackled, then burst into a bright flame.
“Beautiful,” Eric said.
I stretched my wrists as far apart as I could and let Eric burn the thick plastic cuffs. As the restraints began to melt, I felt a new hope that we would at least be free inside the boathouse. The cuffs were just starting to drip liquid plastic onto the decking, when suddenly, the flame died.
I quickly forced my hands apart before the material could harden again. The plastic linking my wrists together stretched like pizza cheese, then finally separated. My hands were free.
“Come on,” Eric shook the flare and quietly cursed it.
“What happened?” Rachel said. “Shouldn’t it burn for longer than that?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It must be a dud, or really old, or something.” I took the flare from Eric and tried to press the tip against his cuffs, hoping there might still be some heat left.
“It’s no good,” Eric said after half a minute. “It’s gone cold.”
I dropped the flare and began searching the boathouse again. “There must be something in here we can use to free your wrists,” I said. I patrolled the walkway and examined every inch of the building, but found nothing—no forgotten tools, no hidden saws, no hatchets.
Meanwhile, Eric continued to rub his cuffs on every surface that felt abrasive, but nothing seemed to affect the tough polymer material. “These things are strong,” Eric said, exasperated. “We need a sharp knife or some kind of snippers.”
I stared at the water in the boathouse.
“Maybe we could trick Calvin,” Rachel said, “like on TV. I could say I have to pee. And then we could jump him and overpower him.”
“Maybe,” I said, still staring at the dark water, thinking hard.
Eric walked over and stood beside me. Now he was studying the water too. “You could do it,” he said.
“What?” Rachel said.
Eric ignored his sister. “It’s a long swim, for sure,” he said. “But you could totally do it.”
“What?” Rachel demanded. “Tell me what you’re talking about.”
Eric explained, “It’s simple. If Cody can swim out of the boathouse, he can get help.”
“Are you nuts?” Rachel said. She tried to whisper, but it came out pretty loud. “Calvin will shoot him as soon as his head pops up on the other side.”
Eric held up his cuffed palms, trying to calm Rachel down. “No. Cody can hold his breath longer than anyone. All he has to do is stay down deep. Calvin will never know.”
Rachel didn’t look convinced.
“I have to try and do something,” I said. “We’re dead if we stay here.”
“But what about my plan?” Rachel said. “Can’t we just trick him?”
“He has guns, Rachel,” Eric said. “And he watches TV too. I doubt he’ll fall for a lame trick like that. Anything we do or say to lure him in here will make him suspicious . . . and trigger-happy.”
“Don’t worry,” I said to Rachel. “This boathouse is in a little bay. All I have to do is swim underwater until I’m around the bend.”
“And then what?” she asked. “There’s no one around for kilometres. Where will you go for help?”
I hadn’t thought that part through all the way, so I didn’t know what to say.
“Look, Rachel,” Eric said, “the main thing is that one of us gets out of this boathouse. Cody is the only one with free hands, and the only one who can possibly escape. Once he’s away from here, he can improvise.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rachel asked.
I wondered the same thing, so I waited for Eric to explain.
“It means,” Eric said, “that Cody can adjust his rescue plan depending on what he sees outside the boathouse.”
Rachel nodded and seemed to accept that vague answer, but I was hoping for something a bit more specific. Because to be honest, I wasn’t sure exactly what to do once I was free, either.
CHAPTER
13
“PLEASE BE CAREFUL,” Rachel whispered.
I nodded.
“Never mind ‘careful,’” Eric said. “Just hurry. You have to get us out of here before Brad gets back.”
I kicked off my shoes and slipped into the water at the rear of the boathouse. The water was only up to my chest, but I knew it would be deeper near the sliding boat door. But that was good; I didn’t want Calvin to see any ripples on the surface from me swimming for freedom on the bottom.
I dipped my head under and tried to get used to the water temperature. It was comfortably warm for a swim, but the stress of the situation made me tense and nervous. And that wasn’t good. I needed to be relaxed in order to maximize the length of time I could hold my breath and stay under.
Be cool. Be calm.
I silently swam to the boathouse opening. I peeked through the three-inch gap under the door and looked outside. The shore that curved to the right seemed a shorter dive, so I decided to go that way. If I could stay out of sight and underwater for thirty metres, I should be okay. At the swimming pool, I could dive two lengths underwater—no problem. Thing is, those were ideal conditions. This was a murky river and a life-or-death situation—in other words, less-than-ideal conditions.
I began the process of hyperventilating, preparing for the most important freedive of my life. When I was ready, I gave a
final nod to Rachel and Eric and dove to the bottom of the boathouse. I swam out into the bay and slowly turned to the right.
And that was when I swam into weeds. Lots and lots of weeds. Now, weeds creep out most swimmers—including me—but today they were downright dangerous. They slowed me down, tugging on my arms and legs. Not good. The weeds were really going to reduce the distance I could cover with one breath of air. I took a chance and swam up and out of the weeds, looking to the surface at the same time.
I still had about a metre of water above me, and I hoped that was enough to avoid being spotted by Calvin. My lungs began to tighten as they craved new air, but I swam on and on. I curved more to the right, still skimming above the giant weed-bed.
When I thought I was about to black out, I gave another ten kicks and headed for shore. But I knew I couldn’t just pop out of the water gasping for breath. I had to be cautious and stealthy like a . . . like a Navy SEAL. So when my knees bumped into the mud, I stopped.
Raising my head slowly, I surfaced. I blinked the water from eyes and studied the shore: all clear. I lifted my nose and mouth above the water and exhaled. When I felt like my brain and my lungs had recovered again, I crawled onto the shore and hid in the brush that lined the river. I rested for another minute, wondering what to do next. Sure, I had escaped, but now I had to figure out how to free my friends.
If I had lots of time, I could have jogged back to town and found help. But time wasn’t on my side. Brad could return before I ever reached a telephone. And then Rachel and Eric would be dead. I had to figure out something else . . . and fast.
I cautiously zigzagged through the trees back toward the house. When I reached the overgrown yard, I stopped and looked around. To the left, I saw Calvin’s truck. And way over to the right, I saw the boathouse in the distance. But there was no sign of Calvin.
Is he in the house? Or is he guarding the boathouse down by the water?
I prowled along the tree line, heading for the truck. When I got as close as I could by hiding among the trees, I sprinted across the weedy gravel and ducked behind the tailgate. I glanced in the box of the truck to see if our statue was still there. It was. I crept to the passenger door and stuck my head in the open window. I was hoping to find another gun or some kind of weapon—but of course, that was wishful thinking. Except for all the junk food wrappers and empty drink containers littering the floor, the cab was empty.
But the keys were still in the ignition. Calvin had either forgotten them in the truck, or he’d never removed them, thinking his property was immune to theft. I opened the door slowly and yanked the keys from the steering wheel. As I began to close the door again, I heard a faint beep coming from somewhere in the cab.
I stopped, opened the door wide, and re-examined the truck. On the seat, under a potato chip bag, was Calvin’s cell phone. It was the same model my dad had, a Samsung. I looked at the screen: one missed call, it said. I pocketed the phone, gently closed the door, and sprinted back into the trees.
I dialled 911 and asked to be connected to the Pine Falls Police Station. As soon as the dispatcher answered the phone, I asked to speak to a police officer.
“One moment please,” she said. “I’ll transfer your call.”
Ten seconds later a voice barked, “I told you never to call this cell phone. What’s going on?”
I froze. It was Brad Murphy, a.k.a. Jerkface.
“Is there a problem?” he said slowly regaining his cool.
I disconnected the call without saying a word. Not good!
The dispatcher must have transferred my call directly to Brad. And Brad obviously had call display and thought Calvin was phoning him.
I stared at the flashing LOW BATTERY icon, wondering how much juice was left to call Dad . . . or somebody. The phone in my hand suddenly vibrated. It was so unexpected that I dropped it. I scooped it up and scanned the display. The caller ID was blocked, so I couldn’t tell who was phoning Calvin’s phone, but it had to be Brad calling back. Only I couldn’t answer it. He’d recognize my voice, and he’d know we’d escaped. But by not taking the call, Brad would also know something wasn’t right. In fact, he might even be turning his car around and racing back out here right now. Bottom line, I had just made things a lot worse by trying to call the cops, and my friends were in more of a pickle now than before I escaped.
Way to go, Cody!
I quickly dialled home and waited, anxious to hear Mom’s voice. But after two rings, the phone went silent and I heard nothing at all. I glanced at the Samsung. The screen was blank. No power. The phone was useless, but I wedged it in my wet pants anyway.
I ran through the forest and looped around to the boathouse. When I neared the river, I stopped and searched for Calvin. I found him sitting on a folding lawn chair. He was sipping on a beer can with the rifle across his lap.
A bell began ringing at the house.
Now what?
The ringing stopped for a second, and then began again. On and off, on and off. Finally, I understood. The telephone in the house was connected to a bell outside, so it could be heard from anywhere in the yard.
Calvin ignored the ringing and groped around in his pockets for his cell phone. He seemed to be wondering if it was worth getting up and fetching his phone from the truck.
Go, you lazy poop-sack!
The bell at the house began ringing again, suggesting that whoever was calling really wanted to get a hold of Calvin. Finally, he stood up. His injured leg must have been causing him a lot of pain—too bad—because it took him a long time to hobble up to the house and out of sight.
When he was gone, I raced to the boathouse, snatched a paddle from the ground and wedged it under the heavy latch.
I tapped on the door. “Hey, you guys,” I whispered. “It’s me. I’m going to try and pry the lock off the door.”
“Hurry!” Eric called back.
“Please don’t get caught,” Rachel said.
The paddle was old and snapped like a rotten branch. I threw the pieces into the weeds.
“Okay, forget the door,” I said. “Jump in the water and swim to the right. I’ll help you out.”
I knew they would have a hard time swimming with their hands bound, but I couldn’t waste any more time working on the reinforced latch. Seconds later, Rachel emerged from the water and kicked her way to shore. I grabbed her hand and hauled her up. Eric surfaced next, sputtering and coughing water. I yanked on the plastic handcuffs between his wrists and dragged him out. He had my runners wedged in his shorts, and he handed them to me.
“Thanks,” I said, quickly slipping them on.
“Where’s Creepy Calvin?” Eric gasped.
“At the house,” I said. “He’ll be back soon.”
I looked again at the stuff Calvin had removed from the boathouse—gas cans, fishing nets . . . There! Under his lawn chair was a small toolbox. I flipped the clasps, opened it, and grabbed a utility knife. I closed the box and slid it under the seat again.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”
CHAPTER
14
I RAN BACK into the woods, guiding my friends away from the farm. When we were a safe distance, I stopped and cut their hands free.
“Thanks,” Rachel said, rubbing her wrists. “You did it.”
“I love it when a plan works,” Eric agreed.
I told them what I’d done and what I’d seen.
“That’s not good,” Eric said. “If you accidentally called Brad with Creepy Calvin’s cell phone and didn’t say anything when Brad answered, he might think something’s wrong out here.”
“I’ve got even more bad news,” I said.
“That seems to be the only kind of news we ever get,” Eric said.
“What is it?” Rachel asked.
“Well,” I said, “the phone at the house started ringing like crazy right after I called the police station.”
“Brad,” Eric said.
“Calling back,” Rachel
added.
I nodded. “I think that Calvin went up to the house to answer the phone. And if that was Brad, they might figure things out pretty quick.”
“Unless,” Rachel said, “Calvin can convince Brad everything is okay and we’re still locked up in the boathouse.”
Eric frowned. “If I was Calvin, I’d look in on us as soon as I got off the phone.”
“I’m sorry, guys,” I said, “I sure never thought Brad would get the call when I phoned the cops for help.”
“It’s not your fault,” Rachel said. “We would have done the same thing. Plus, you did get us out of there.”
“Brad must be covering for all the real cops,” Eric said, “while they’re out on patrol or on holidays.” He peeled off his T-shirt, wrung out the water, and slipped it on again.
“With the cell phone dead,” Rachel said, “I guess we’re on our own.”
I nodded. “We have to get away from this place fast. I’m still worried Brad is on his way back here.”
“We could hike north along the river,” Eric suggested. “Maybe flag down a passing boat.”
“I haven’t heard a boat motor since we got here,” I said. “We could be waiting a long time to catch a ride.”
Rachel squeezed water from her ponytail. “Isn’t the old Boy Scout camp around here?” she said. “What if we made it there? Maybe we could call for help from the camp.”
“Yeah, it is in the direction of town,” Eric said, “but it’s also across the river. And the river is pretty wide down here. I wouldn’t want to swim it.”
That was when I remembered Calvin’s truck keys. I pulled them from my pocket and dangled them in the air. “Or,” I said, “we could just swipe Calvin’s truck and drive ourselves back to town.”
Eric grinned. “Sometimes the simple plans are the best plans.”
Rachel held out her hand. “But I’m driving,” she said. “You guys make me nervous.”
“So,” Eric whispered, “now what?”
We were hunkered down in the forest at the edge of Calvin’s yard. The truck was about thirty metres away, and the house another thirty metres beyond that. There was no sign of Creepy Calvin. He was either in the house, down by the river again, or searching for us in the woods.
In Too Deep Page 10
