by David Lubar
I saw my first dead bird at the start of the second week. I was out near the clearing, looking for arrowheads. The bird was lying at the edge of the woods, dark and ruffled. I couldn’t say for sure that it had been killed by a BB, and I wasn’t about to conduct an autopsy, but the sight didn’t make me feel very good.
I saw three more dead birds in the next two days. And a dead squirrel that had been shot in the eye. Finally, I forced myself to do something I really didn’t want to do. I told a counselor that Elton had a BB gun under his bed. I watched from the doorway as the counselor stormed into the cabin and reached under the bed. He slid the blanket out and dropped it on the mattress.
Elton sat there, not saying anything. He seemed weirdly calm for someone who was about to get in a ton of trouble. The counselor unfolded the blanket, revealing a two-piece fishing rod.
“Sorry to bother you,” the counselor said. He glared at me as he left the cabin.
Elton flashed me a smile, then went back to his magazine. I figured he’d jump me later, when it got dark. But I made it through the night without trouble.
The next afternoon, when I was swimming in the lake, I felt a sudden sting on my cheek. I dove underwater, figuring it was a bee. But when I came up, I spotted Elton on the far bank. He was holding something behind his back. Then he walked into the woods. I touched my cheek. There was a small round hole—not deep enough to draw blood, but deep enough to sting.
I got shot a couple more times that week. I would have put up with it, maybe, except I also stumbled across a whole cluster of dead birds.
I needed to stand up for the animals. Elton must have hidden his BB gun in the woods. That much, I’d figured out. I’d just have to follow him tonight and see where he kept it. Then I could break it or jam it somehow, so he wouldn’t be able to use it again.
After he slipped out of the cabin that evening, I followed him. “You’ll be safe soon,” I whispered, looking up at the birds overhead. I knew that was stupid. But I felt like I was here to protect them.
There were more birds overhead than usual. I saw a steady stream of them flapping toward us from all directions. There was something odd about the way they were flying, but I couldn’t tell for sure what the difference was. Maybe they’d all been injured. That thought gave me the courage to do whatever it took to stop Elton.
He crossed the clearing and entered the woods on the far side. He kept going until he reached a smaller clearing. There were birds all over, circling in the air and swooping across the sky.
I moved closer, but stayed out of sight behind a tree. Elton reached under a bush and pulled out the BB gun. As he raised the gun, I thought about tackling him. Even though he outweighed me, I was pretty sure I could take him in a fair fight. But I had the feeling he was a dirty fighter. He’d probably hit me with the butt of the gun. This would be better. I could wait, and then break the gun after he left.
My fists clenched in anticipation of his first shot. But before Elton could pull the trigger, he said, “Ouch!” and slapped a hand on top of his head. He put the hand back on the trigger and looked around, like he was puzzled about something. Then he shrugged and raised the gun to his shoulder again.
“Ouch!” This time, he dropped the gun and looked up. I still had no idea what was going on. But I heard the next one. I guess it hit his forehead. There was a definite plunk. Elton jerked, grabbed his head, and hunched over.
Above us, the birds chirped and swooped. I heard a couple more isolated thumps, and then a steady cascade of taps and clunks as the birds dropped their rocks. Pebbles and small stones rained from the sky.
I took a couple steps toward Elton, thinking maybe I could lead him back to the shelter of the woods. But one hit from a plummeting stone on my knuckles was enough to make me change my mind.
Elton staggered toward the trees, but the bigger birds had shown up by now, with bigger rocks. They dove toward him before releasing their loads, striking him at an angle and forcing him back to the middle of the clearing.
I didn’t want to see this part. Eager to move beyond the sound of striking stones, I made my way back toward camp. I guess out here, deep in the woods, Nature sometimes finds a way to deal with human nature.
THE PRINCESS AND THE PEA BRAIN
Once, there was a prince who was less than perfect. Far, far less than perfect. His parents, the king and queen, worried that he would suffer some terrible fate if he didn’t have a princess to look after him when the time came for him to rule the kingdom.
“You need to find a wife,” the queen told the prince.
So the prince went off to search for the perfect princess. He traveled throughout the realm and met many beautiful young ladies, but none of them seemed quite right for him. Not only was he somewhat dim-witted, but he was also far too picky. So he returned to his castle without a bride.
A month later, a terrible storm blew across the land. As the wind and rain beat at the walls, a beautiful young lady entered the castle, drenched and dripping. Her clothes, as wet as they were, seemed to be those of royalty. Her posture and charm also spoke of royal blood.
“Are you a princess?” the queen asked.
“Yes, I am,” the princess said. “Though I have lost my home and have wandered far in search of a place where I can belong.”
The king and queen exchanged meaningful glances. “This might work,” the queen whispered to the king.
“As long as she’s a real princess,” the king whispered back. “We can’t let the prince marry a commoner.”
“We can test that,” the queen said, for she was wise in the ways of royalty, and had once been a princess herself.
The queen told the princess, “You must be exhausted. I’ll have a room prepared for you, with a comfortable bed and a warm fire.”
The princess curtsied, for she had perfect manners. The queen found the prince and took him to the royal guest room. “Get a pea from the kitchen. A single pea. Place a pea on the mattress. And then place another ten mattresses on top of the pea.” She made sure to explain each step carefully, since the prince had been known to become easily confused. “We’ll see how well the princess sleeps.”
The queen went off and led the princess the long way through the castle, giving the prince plenty of time to place the pea and the mattresses on the bed. The queen hoped that, for once in his life, the prince paid careful attention to her instructions.
All night, the princess tossed and turned atop the pile of mattresses. She felt as if she was sleeping on a large round rock.
“How did you sleep?” the queen asked her in the morning.
“I didn’t sleep,” the princess said. “There was a lump in my mattress. It was as hard as a boulder.”
The queen squealed in delight and ran off to find the prince. But the prince was nowhere to be found. The queen had everyone search the castle.
Finally, someone noticed a foot sticking out from the other side of the bed. They found the prince beneath ten mattresses.
“It appears he crawled under there with a pea in his hand, and got trapped,” the royal coroner said. “Though I can’t imagine why he’d do something that foolish.”
“That explains the lump,” the princess said, rubbing her stiff back with her hands. “And the way the bed seemed to shake for a while. I’d thought there might be an earthquake. But then things settled down.”
“So we still don’t know if she’s really a princess,” the queen said. “Anyone would have felt that lump.”
“I suppose it doesn’t really matter,” the king said, “since we have no prince for her to marry.”
“But you still have a kingdom that will need a ruler,” the princess said. “And I need a kingdom to rule.”
“Then it is settled,” the king said, for he knew when he was getting a good deal.
And so they all lived happily ever after. Except for the pea-brained prince, of course, who died horribly, ever earlier.
PETRO-FIED
I heard the gro
wl from next door while we were sitting at the dinner table. It sounded like a prehistoric beast. I could even feel the slightest bit of vibration where my feet rested on the floor. Mr. Swinkle must have just pulled into his driveway.
Dad glanced over, too. “What a waste,” he muttered.
“Totally.” I had to agree with him. Mr. Swinkle’s car, a brand-new Humongo V12, couldn’t possibly get more than three or four miles to the gallon. And he was proud of that.
As the engine shut off, I heard three doors slam, followed by the high-pitched squeals of Effie and Steffie, Mr. Swinkle’s unbearably snobby daughters, who were little gas guzzlers in training.
The Swinkles had moved here last year, and they immediately started adding stuff to their house. They expanded the garage so it could hold three cars and a boat. They put in a heated pool, which they ran all year round. I can’t even imagine how much energy they burned keeping the water warm through the Pennsylvania winter. Even now, in April I could see steam rising from the pool when Dad drove me to school each morning.
Mr. Swinkle owned more gas-powered stuff than anyone—a riding mower, a walking mower, a leaf blower, a snowblower, a weed trimmer, a hedge trimmer so big it could be used to slay a dragon, and a boat with not one but two enormous out-board engines. Effie and Steffie each had go karts, minibikes, and ATVs. They’d probably get gas-powered flamethrowers when they turned eighteen. I’m surprised the Swinkles didn’t have their own gas pump.
We’d learned about conservation in science class, and about how important it is not to waste energy or natural resources. I guess some people just didn’t get the message. Mom and Dad sure did. They drive a hybrid car. Dad drops Mom off at her job on the way to his so we only need one car. And we put low-energy bulbs in all our lamps. I hope we’re doing enough to make up for people like Mr. Swinkle.
That night, Dad said, “Do you mind walking to school tomorrow? I have to go to work early.”
“No problem.” It was a long walk, but I could usually count on running into a friend on the way there, so I didn’t mind. Before Dad left, I asked him, “Are we going to run out of oil?”
“Not for a while,” he said.
“But the fields here ran out.” The first oil wells in the country were in Pennsylvania, not far from where we lived. But there aren’t any working ones left. They got all of the oil out of the ground, and then went off to other states.
“That’s why we need smart kids like you,” Dad said. “So you can find other sources of energy. Believe it or not, before people drilled wells, most of the country’s oil came from whales. Now it comes from dead dinosaurs and prehistoric plants. Actually, it’s more complicated than that. But you’re right—it won’t last forever.” He ruffled my hair. “So start thinking of other ways to power our cars and that video game you spend so much time playing.”
I hoped it wasn’t up to me. I didn’t feel all that smart. I was a lot better at gym than at science. Even if I didn’t have any answers, I guess the problem stayed in my mind because, that night, I dreamed Mr. Swinkle was draining my blood to fill his tank. The ghosts of a billion whales drifted past me.
The next morning, thunder woke me before my alarm went off. “Oh, great,” I said when I heard the rain slamming against the side of the house. It looked like I was in for a wet walk.
I kept hoping the rain would slack off, but as I ate my breakfast, the water just seemed to come down harder and harder. When I stepped off the porch, it was like wading into the ocean. As I headed down the sidewalk, I saw Mr. Swinkle backing his Humongo out of his driveway. The roof of the car, pounded by the rain, sounded like a steel drum.
Mr. Swinkle pulled over to the curb. “Hop in, Dominic. I’ll give you a ride.”
Oh, man. I didn’t know what to do. I was going to drown if I walked. But if I took a ride from him, that was almost the same as saying it was okay to drive around in a car that sucked gas like a sponge and spewed fumes like a volcano.
“Come on, you’re getting wet.”
I guess, since he was going there anyhow, it wasn’t all that bad for me to get inside. Effie and Steffie were in the backseat, watching two different movies on the video screens that dropped down from above. There was still enough space next to them to fit five more kids, a small horse, and a couple motorcycles.
Mr. Swinkle pointed to the front passenger seat. I walked around, opened the door, and climbed up. The seat must have been eight feet off the ground. The inside of the car was larger than my room.
“Thanks,” I said. Even if I hated his car, there was no reason not to be polite.
“No problem.”
He drove on through the rain. Behind me, the girls chattered with each other. I couldn’t help it. I had to ask him something. “Aren’t you worried we’ll run out of oil?”
He laughed. “Not in my lifetime. There’s plenty to take me where I want to go.”
I glanced over my shoulder. What about your kids? But I didn’t ask. I figured he’d just make fun of me.
My attention shot toward the windshield as Mr. Swinkle slammed on the brakes. A large tree blocked the road ahead of us. “Yay,” Effie shouted. “We can’t go to school.”
“Sure you can,” Mr. Swinkle said. “That’s why I bought this baby. She’ll go anywhere.” He cranked the steering wheel hard, and drove up the hill on our right.
“Do you know where you’re going?” I asked. I could barely see anything now, but I could hear tree branches swiping at the sides of the car.
“Don’t have to know.” He tapped a screen on the dashboard. “Got a GPS to tell me where to go.”
A voice from the dashboard said, “Recalculating route.” Above the screen, I could swear I saw the gas gauge slowly moving. The Humongo had an endless thirst.
We went uphill for a while, and then down. And then across a field. When the rain slowed for a moment, I saw something towering in the distance. It was the remains of one of the old oil wells.
“Turn left,” I said. I knew exactly where we were. If we headed left for half a mile, we’d come out right on Bear Creek Road, just a couple hundred yards away from the turn for the school.
Mr. Swinkle pointed to the GPS. “Nope. We need to go straight. You can’t outthink technology.”
“But…”
He didn’t even look at me. He just kept driving. A strong gust of wind blew the rain off the windshield for an instant. I saw something else up ahead. Something larger than the rusty remains of the oil wells.
I shook my head and blinked my eyes. It couldn’t be. I stared, and waited for another glimpse.
Yeah. It was there. No mistake. The Humongo slowed down as we crossed a muddy stretch of field.
“You know what. I think I can walk from here.” I wrapped my fingers around the door handle and prepared to argue with him. No responsible adult would let a kid out in the middle of a field in a major thunderstorm.
Mr. Swinkle shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
I felt the car roll to a stop. Am I sure? I stared through the window again. The rain blurred the view, but I was sure. I stepped into the full fury of the storm and headed in the direction of the school. I wanted to get as far from the Humongo, and the people who rode in it, as possible. Rain and wind tore at my body. Mud dragged at my feet.
The car drove off. Fear fought with curiosity. I needed to know what would happen. I turned to watch. Ahead, near one of the wells, I saw what was waiting. They were huge. Even though they were transparent, the sight was enough to make me drop to my knees. My pants got soaked, but I didn’t care. I was hypnotized by the magnificence and size of the creatures.
All three of them moved toward the Humongo. They were unbelievably graceful, despite their size. They seemed to grow more solid with each step. Soon, I could no longer see through them.
The first—I think it was an apatosaurus—reached the car ahead of the others. It raised its left front leg and placed its massive foot on the hood of the Humongo. The tires kept turning, spraying mu
d, but the car stopped.
The second dinosaur, a triceratops, moved in from one side and placed its horns against the roof. I couldn’t identify the third, but it looked like a carnivore. It strode up behind the Humongo. Then all three of them pressed down on it. I heard the tires spin for another moment, then stop as the rims moved below the mud.
Once, oil had oozed from the ground here. Now, a car sank down. The whole Humongo disappeared beneath the surface.
The three dinosaurs lumbered off toward the wells, fading as they moved. I watched until they were totally swallowed by the rain and by the past. Then I turned and headed to school. Along the way, I thought about energy and oil and the future.
I got to school late and wet. But I got there. From that day on, I never flipped a light switch or got in a car without thinking about those ghosts.
TIME OUT
Maxwell’s dad is a genius. Maxwell’s my buddy. His dad was out in Sweden getting some kind of important science prize. Maxwell and I were down in the basement, where his dad had a workshop. “Is this what he got the prize for?” I asked, pointing to a large box that was covered with all kinds of dials and buttons.
“Nope,” Maxwell said, shaking his head. “Nobody knows about this yet. It’s a secret.”
“What is it?” I walked over and took a closer look at Maxwell’s dad’s secret. There was a big switch on the left side that said ON/OFF. I flipped it to the ON position. The machine hummed like a copier warming up.
“Hey, don’t fool with that,” Maxwell said. But he didn’t flip it off.
“Well, what is it?” There was a panel in the front, like the display on a micro wave. The number 00:00 was flashing.
“Promise you won’t tell anyone?”
“I promise.” Next to the display, I noticed a keypad with numbers and other symbols.
