by Bart King
Cataract Grove? That name rang a bell…and then I remembered. After Coby ambushed me at the bus stop, I’d run into wires holding a sign for Cataract Grove.
Jason pulled up next to me on his bike. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The sign showed a sprawling new house surrounded by trees. In the front yard, adults waved merrily as kids played catch with a football. And in the imaginary house’s backyard was…a waterfall.
My blood ran cold.
In the distance, I heard the deep rumble of an engine. Jason looked back, hopped off his bike, pushed it behind the sign, then started sprinting up the trail. “Come on!”
I quickly hid my bike too, then looked around. “Jason?”
“Psst! Over here!” Jason hissed from a patch of tall grass. I walked over, and he pulled me down next to him.
“What’s going on?”
“Look!” Jason pointed down to the road just as a pickup roared into view. The truck was black, with flames painted on the hood and the sides of the cab. But the flames weren’t yellow or red—instead they were camouflage flames, with splotches of green and brown and gray.
“You’re afraid of camo?” I asked. Jason glared at me. “Wait, I get it. It’s dumb to make the flames in camouflage, because—”
“Forget the paint job,” Jason interrupted. “Look who’s behind the wheel.”
I looked at the driver. It was Coby Cage! But how could that be?
“That’s Brock Cage,” said Jason. “Coby’s older brother. He dropped out of high school to become a Mixed Martial Arts fighter.” Jason plucked at the bright-green hoodie I was wearing. “Get down! This thing is so bright, he’ll spot you from a mile away.”
I ducked. “But why would Brock be looking for me?”
Jason sighed. “Look, I didn’t want to say anything, but Ronnie Ramirez texted me. He says that Coby said something to his brother, and now Brock’s out for revenge—”
I stood up. This had nothing to do with the black swift. And I was done running away.
“Noah? Hey, what are you doing?”
I was already headed up the trail to the waterfall. Jason easily caught up with me, and a few minutes later, the two of us burst into the little clearing at Noyd Falls.
It had changed since my last visit—a LOT. For one thing, there were wooden stakes pounded all around the canyon floor. Tied around the top of each stake was a bright-red plastic strip.
“Hey, those are survey flags,” said Jason. “I remember them from when Dad worked construction, back before Mom—” He stopped, and his lips tightened. “Anyway, these stakes mean someone’s already measured out this whole area.”
“So Cataract Grove is going to be right here?” I clenched my fists. “That means houses will back right up to the waterfall. And the black swift—”
Plik-plik-plik-plik.
I spun toward the falls. And there, almost hidden by the water’s spray, the black swift was hanging on a wet rock, watching us.
“Whoa,” whispered Jason. “That’s the bird who lives behind the waterfall? Awesome.”
“I know, right?” A hot breeze swept through the air. The black swift called again.
Plik-plik-plik-plik.
This time, muffled by the waterfall, there was an answering call from behind the falls.
Plik-plik-plik-plik.
“There are two of them,” I said.
Jason held up his finger. “Listen!”
Plik-plik-plik-plik.
This third voice was faint and tiny—like a baby’s. A defenseless baby.
“There’s a whole bird family here,” Jason said. His smile disappeared, and he looked away. I knew what he was thinking about.
A whole family.
And then I pictured Jason’s mom.
MRS. ELLEN BRIGHT (Cygnus benignus)
APPEARANCE: Tall. Fit. Ruddy face, dark hair. Big, perfect teeth.
VOICE: Kind words, rich laughter.
PLUMAGE: Unpredictable. One day, she might wear a Pokémon T-shirt and a skirt, the next, an expensive black pantsuit with a colorful scarf.
RANGE: Anywhere you needed her to be.
SOCIAL BEHAVIOR: Always smiling. People flocked to her everywhere she went.
STATUS: Extinct.
I listened to the faint birdcall again.
Plik-plik-plik-plik.
It’s almost for sure that the builders behind Cataract Grove didn’t want to drive away the black swifts. Most likely, they didn’t even know about the birds. They were driving and fiddling with the stereo.
Or if the builders did know, they didn’t care. They were knocking over dominoes without even watching where they fell. Or knowing they existed.
It was just so stupid—
“Noah?” Jason was snapping his fingers in my face and looking concerned. “Noah! Take it easy.” He pointed at my arm. I’d been scratching angrily at my scar through the hoodie. Pushing the sleeve up, I could see it was now a bright-red, angry seam.
“Is that blood?!” Jason asked. “You got blood on my best hoodie?”
“It’s not blood,” I said dully.
Jason crossed his arms. “Okay, so what is it, then?”
I looked down. “Oh, that. Yeah, it’s blood.”
Jason rolled his eyes. “It’s okay, you just made a rash decision.” He forced a laugh. “Get it? A rash decision!”
I really wanted to tell Jason what I’d been thinking about, but why remind my best friend that his mom was dead?6
Jason glanced up. The sun was pale and starting to set behind the trees. “It’s getting dark. Let’s come back tomorrow—”
“No way!” I said. “This could all be bulldozed tomorrow. We have to do something about this now.”
“Totally,” agreed Jason. “Listen, let’s play paintball near the Cataract Grove billboard. Who knows? Maybe we’ll ‘accidentally’ hit it over and over. And you can write some clever signs for us to put on the trees. You know, something like, ‘Whoever chops me down will suffer greatly.’ Okay?”
“Great ideas,” I said, nodding—but I had a very different plan in mind. “You know what, why don’t you go ahead, Jason? I’ll catch up with you later.”
His eyes narrowed. “Hey, you’re not going to do something crazy up here, are you?”
I held up my hands in surrender. “When do I ever get crazy? And don’t worry, if it gets dark, I’ll use your green hoodie to light the way.” I looked at its sleeve. “Sorry about the blood.”
“I don’t really care about that,” he said. This was probably a lie, but it was a nice lie. “All right. Later.”
We fist-bumped, Jason took off, and I went and sat on a rock. I needed to wait for darkness. Water splashed, birds rustled in the forest, and after a long while, twilight deepened.
I’m a birder, so I’m good at being patient. But as I waited, time passed more slowly than ketchup dripping from a bottle. Finally, the sky turned a deep violet. Stars started popping out here and there.
Plik-plik-plik-plik, called the baby black swift. I imagined the little bird staring out at the flowing wall of water in its front yard. Did it dream of the world beyond the waterfall?
Staring up at the stars, I thought of my first plane trip. I was six. My parents and I were on a night flight to Georgia for a job. At thirty-five thousand feet, I’d pressed my nose against the window and looked out at the constellations of house and town and city lights far below.
I’m way up here, but people are living their lives way down there.
It was an amazing feeling.
Looking up at the constellations above Noyd Woods, I had that same sense of wonder. But now it was mixed with anger. I’m in the middle of an infinite universe. But in that whole vast space, there’s only one species called the black swift. It’s a precious, amazing animal…but people just live their own lives without noticing anything else. So nobody cares about the black swift at all.
Nobody but me.
IT WAS TIME TO BEGIN.
Pulling the lime-green hoodie over my head, I tied the drawstrings tight. That would have to do for my disguise. Now I was almost ready for action—but a thought nagged me. Was I “sticking up for what I thought was right” or “doing something crazy”?
Or both?
I felt for the indentations on the back of the quincunx. When I’d put a finger in the center one, a pop-up menu appeared. But what would happen if I put five fingertips in all five quincunx holes?
As I tried different fingertip holds, I nearly dropped the disc a couple of times. But I found that if I balanced the quincunx with my thumb in the middle dot, my other four fingers could find the corners.
And with the quincunx perched on my fingertips, two things happened.
1. The screen appeared and turned red.
2. A beautiful song started playing. A beautiful song that was playing in my hand!
The quincunx was ringing. And its ringtone was a catchy little tune, like you’d hear on a baby’s computer game. It even had words—sweet children’s voices singing:
“Greetings! You have a message! Oh, greetings! Please check your message!”
Okay, so the lyrics weren’t that great. I was so stunned that all I did was stare at that red screen. My heart started racing as the song got louder and louder.
“GREET-INGS! Please check your MESS-AGE!”
“You’re sort of freaking me out right now,” I said to the quincunx.
Could it be? Was this the moment? Was it finally time for all of my questions to be answered?
I took a deep breath and tapped the quincunx’s screen—and it turned emerald green as words appeared:
GREETINGS. THIS IS NOAH?
My palms were slick with sweat. There was no keyboard to write back. I held the quincunx up to my face. Very loudly and very slowly, I said, “Yeah. Yes. This is me. I mean, I’m here. You know, Noah. Who is this?”
The green screen’s words changed:
I AM []
I was so startled, I bobbled the puck. See, when I looked at the “[],” the quincunx made an odd sound, like a seal trying not to giggle.
“Um, I’m not sure I can pronounce your name?” I found that looking at the strange symbols triggered the stifled seal giggle again.
VERY WELL, the screen flashed. I BELIEVE A CORRESPONDING VERSION OF MY NAME IN YOUR LANGUAGE WOULD BE…ZORCHA T’WIRPO.
“Oh, come on,” I said. “Seriously?” There was an awkward silence. “So how’s it going…Zorcha T’wirpo?”
A new message: IT GOES WELL. THANK YOU FOR THE INQUIRY. YOU MAY REFER TO ME SIMPLY AS “T’WIRPO.”
I waited. And at some point, I realized Zorcha T’wirpo wasn’t going to add anything else. I don’t know who this is, I told myself. But this could be an alien…which means I could be the first human to ever speak with someone from another world. So now’s the time to make a good first impression!
I smoothed my hair down with one hand, adjusted my glasses, and tucked in my T-shirt so it didn’t stick out under the hoodie. That should do it! “T’wirpo, can I ask where you live?”
YES.
Nothing. “Hello? Still there?”
APOLOGIES FOR THE STRANGENESS OF MY POOR ANSWERS. INTERACTING WITH YOUR SPECIES IS NEW TO ME.
My species?
ALSO, I AM DISTRACTED BY THE FILAMENTS OF DEAD PROTEIN COMING OUT OF YOUR HEAD. DO THEY HURT YOU?
I brushed my hair out of my eyes. “No, not really. I’m supposed to get them cut next week.” So this Zorcha T’wirpo can see me. “Can you tell me where you’re from?”
FAR, FAR AWAY.
I rolled my eyes. “Could you be more specific? Like, are you in this solar system?”
I WAS BORN IN A PLACE SO DISTANT, YOUR SCIENTISTS ARE NOT AWARE OF WHERE MY POO IS.
This was the weirdest conversation I’d ever had. “T’wirpo, why do you think our scientists would care about your poo?”
BECAUSE MY POO WOULD TELL YOU SOMETHING ABOUT ME.
The odd thing was, this actually made sense. I mean, biologists study bird poop all the time. So alien poop really would give scientists interesting information. (But still!)
A new message winked onto the quincunx screen. APOLOGIES! I AM USING INITIALS FROM YOUR LANGUAGE. “P-O-O” STANDS FOR “PLANET OF ORIGIN.”
“Oh!” I said, relieved. “So your planet of origin is really far away.”
YES. BUT EXTRATERRESTRIAL “POO” WOULD ALSO BE EDUCATIONAL FOR HUMANKIND, I AM SURE.
Great. I was using an intergalactic cell phone to talk to an advanced life form about poo. “T’wirpo, where can I leave this, um, device so that you can get it back?”
YOU CALL IT THE “QUINCUNX,” NO? IT IS A FINE NAME. BUT NO, YOU MUST KEEP IT. I GREW THE QUINCUNX FOR YOU.
A picture popped up on the quincunx screen. At first it looked like a blurred photo of a small bush growing in a backyard garden. But everything about it looked a little…different. For example, the bush’s branches were heavy with fruit—but the fruit were quincunxes that sparkled and glittered in the light. These discs had different shades; some glittered emerald and purple, like mine; others had iridescent shades of gold and blue and black and—actually, I’m not sure I had even seen some of those colors before.
The rest of the scene seemed pretty normal…that is, aside from the four moons in the sky behind the bush. The smallest moon had two rings around it, sort of like an overachieving Saturn.
“Wow,” I said. And I meant it!
The picture faded back into the green screen. MY PROJECT WITH YOU MAY END SOON, NOAH. PLEASE CONSIDER THE CHOICES YOU WILL MAKE IN THE MEANTIME.
“Wait, what project?” I asked. “What choices?” But there was no answer, and the quincunx screen went blank, then disappeared entirely.
I guess they don’t say “good-bye” on his POO. I ran my finger over the quincunx’s bump. And hey, this really is its stem!
I looked up at the stars and felt like waving. My heart was drumming as fast as a hairy woodpecker drilling into a tree. I was just talking with—with—what, exactly?
Whatever it was, T’wirpo had told me to think about the choices I wanted. Okay, fine. I looked around me. Cataract Grove had invaded the nature preserve with its red flags and lumber and bulldozers.
What I want is for all of that to go away. I looked at the quincunx. So am I supposed to just wish for it? Or should I use the quincunx…?
Grayed-out words flashed past as I scrolled through the menu. Here and there, the blur of a word in black darted past: EXPROPRIATE…LANIATE…WRACK…
I had no idea what these words meant. Still, all I had to do was look at the little red ribbons surrounding me to see how much was at stake. So I tried something new—I thought about what I wanted. Then I backtracked on the menu, looking for the word that felt right to me.
Got one! Taking a deep breath, I made my choice. And here we go.
EXPROPRIATE
EXPROPRIATE
EXPROPRIATE
[TV NEWS THEME MUSIC FADES OUT.]
News Anchor Jim Bottoms: Good evening, and welcome to the Eleven O’Clock News on Channel Five. In our top story tonight, Santa Rosa police are looking for clues to a mystery at a local construction site. Rayla Rafferty has more at the scene. Rayla?
[Cut to live remote camera.]
Rayla Rafferty: Jim, I’m here LIVE at Noyd Woods. Developers recently purchased the quiet woodland area from the Noyd family—but all plans for the site are currently on hold. That’s because earlier tonight, Noyd Woods became the site of a mysterious disappearance. In a Channel Five exclusive, Santa Rosa Police Chief Mitch Castleberry tells us more.
Chief Castleberry (blinking in the bright TV lights): Hello.
Rayla Rafferty: Chief, you’re on the air. Please tell us about this shocking crime!
Chief Castleberry:
Well, I don’t know if it’s shocking. I do know that Noyd Woods was recently divided up into residential building sites. The developers moved in some heavy machinery as well as construction materials—
Rayla Rafferty (impatiently): But then something horrible happened?
Chief Castleberry: Well, all of the survey stakes are gone, if that’s what you mean.
Rayla Rafferty (turns dramatically to camera): But that’s not all that’s gone, is it, Chief?
Chief Castleberry: No. It also looks like all of the construction materials are missing—including the bulldozers.
Rayla Rafferty: Chief, are there any suspects? A competing construction company? College pranksters? Environmental extremists?
Chief Castleberry (holding up his hand): We have no idea. Right now, we’re treating this as a simple case of theft. How the perpetrators did it so quickly and quietly is a puzzle, but we are pursuing some leads—
My hand was shaking as I hit the “mute” button to my bedroom’s TV.
The police already found out? That was fast.
I ran my fingers through my hair. “It’s going to be okay,” I said to myself. “There’s no way the police can know it’s me.” Taking a deep breath, I turned the volume back on.
Rayla Rafferty: —the police do have one eyewitness. Sharon Shuey was hiking here at Noyd Woods when the disappearances occurred. Sharon, who’s this you have with you?
Sharon Shuey (holding a beagle in her arms): This here is my big boy, Tipper. He likes to take evening strolls in Noyd Woods, don’t you, boy?
Tipper: Ah-oo-ga!
Rayla Rafferty: Isn’t he precious. Now, can you describe what you saw tonight?
Sharon Shuey: Tipper and I were headed up the trail when we saw a person in a green hoodie coming downhill, toward us. Of course, I wasn’t frightened. Lots of our neighbors hike here. Plus, I had my flashlight, and Tipper has the heart of a lion. Don’t you, boy?
Tipper (licks microphone)
Sharon Shuey: It was dark, so I didn’t get a good look at him. “Hello,” I said, but the person just sort of grunted and scurried down the hill. Then I thought “Now that’s suspicious.”
