The way Ashley was taking charge was a little much, but if Miguel could take it, Jack guessed he could, too. After he’d changed out of his bathing suit, they settled themselves at the picnic table—Jack and Miguel on one side, like the troops; Ashley on the other, like the general. Jack thought, I don’t ever want to live in a world run by girls. But he kept quiet because he was curious to hear what Ashley was hatching in her little pea brain.
“I’ve wanted to keep Miguel a secret because Mom and Dad will have to call Social Services, and the officers will take Miguel away and send him back to Mexico, like they did the other two times.”
When Miguel heard the word Mexico, his face clouded. “No Mexico,” he told them.
“But how long can we keep a secret like this?”
Jack protested.
“That’s just it. Maybe we don’t need to keep Miguel a secret any longer because I’ve been thinking,” she announced. Obviously, while Jack and Miguel were in the creek, she’d been constructing a whole scenario of her own. “I’m figuring this: When Mom and Dad see Miguel, especially now that he looks so nice with that great haircut, they’ll think he’s cute.”
“And your point is…?” Jack asked.
“Well, you know how we take in foster kids?”
Oh, wonderful, Jack thought. The one vacation we’ve had without a foster kid tagging along, and she wants to pick up one on the road. Out loud he said, “Ashley, that won’t work. No matter what you’re cooking up, he’s still an illegal alien. He can’t be a foster kid in the Social Services system if he’s illegal. They’ll have to send him back.”
“Back? Nogales? No!” Miguel shook his head.
“I don’t want Miguel as a foster kid,” she said impatiently. “This is my idea: We’ll adopt him! Then he’ll be a U.S. citizen. He couldn’t be sent away.”
Jack sat in stunned silence.
“Listen, I’ve figured it all out. He’ll sleep in the extra bedroom in our house where the foster kids usually stay, and when school starts in the fall, he’ll go with me on the bus, because this year you’ll be in junior high, Jack, so we won’t be taking the same bus. I don’t suppose Miguel will be put in my grade until he learns to speak English better, but he’s smart, and I’ll help him learn, so I bet by the end of the year—”
“Ashley!” Jack yelled to stop her.
“What?”
“You can’t decide everything for everybody. Maybe Miguel doesn’t want to live with us.”
“Who wouldn’t want to?”
“Me, sometimes!”
“What are you talking about?” Ashley looked at him with her chin thrust out stubbornly.
“Look, it’s one thing to give someone a haircut when they don’t want one, but it’s a whole different thing to boss them on how they’re going to live the rest of their lives. You can’t just take over people, Ashley. You gotta stop this—hey, are you listening to me? I’m trying to talk to you.”
“Shhh. Wait a second. Did you hear that?” Ashley held up her hand, motioning for Jack to be quiet. Looking toward the woods, she peered intently into the distance, her eyes narrowed.
“Come on, Ashley—”
“No! I mean it! Listen!”
Jack strained, but he heard nothing except the chirping of birds and the rustling of the wind through the treetops. “It’s just the wind.”
“No, there it is again. I can just barely hear. Way off, it’s like a thumping. Boom, boom, boom.”
“Are you trying to psych me out?”
Ashley shook her head. “It’s really soft…like…I don’t know…a heartbeat.” Tilting her head, she asked, “Didn’t you hear that?”
The tiny hairs on the back of Jack’s neck stood up when he heard the sound—a soft thumping in the distance, as if the air itself were pulsating. From the direction, he guessed it was coming from an area on the farthest edge of Quartz Creek Loop, maybe a quarter of a mile from their campsite. Whoever it was, they were back in the trees, well hidden from the Landon camp.
“I don’t get it. No one is supposed to be in here,” Jack said. “The entrance into Quartz Creek Campground is chained. This whole area is closed.”
“Well, somebody’s in the woods,” Ashley shot back. “It sounds like music.”
“The only other people who could possibly be back there are rangers. Or hikers.”
“Maybe. I just hope it’s not….” Ashley’s face clouded. She bit her lip and looked at Miguel.
“What?”
Mouthing the words, so that she barely made a sound, Ashley whispered, “The police!”
Miguel must have been able to read lips. He jumped forward so fast Jack barely had time to grab his arm. “¡Policía! ¡Policía!” Miguel exploded.
“Hold on, Miguel, don’t listen to Ashley—she’s just crazy. ¡Loco! There’s no police!”
“No Nogales! No!” Miguel cried, tugging at Jack’s arm. For someone so small, Miguel was amazingly strong. It took all of Jack’s strength to hold him.
“Way to go, Ashley,” Jack hissed at his sister. “You’ve got him all freaked!”
“I was just thinking about the newspaper. They said the police were looking for him.”
“Police don’t crank up music in their patrol cars in the middle of the woods. Now Miguel believes he’s about to be deported. Nice going!” Then, to Miguel, “Calm down. Listen to me, you’re OK.”
Miguel stared at Jack, his eyes round with panic, his breathing shallow.
“No police, Miguel. No worries. It’s just hikers.” He moved his index and third finger through the air as if they were walking. “Hikers. ¿Sí?”
Suddenly, as abruptly as it started, the music stopped. The woods around them were silent once again, as if a giant plug had been pulled. A beat later it blared once again, only to be silenced just as quickly. The three of them stared at each other until Jack whispered, “Weird.”
“We ought to check it out,” Ashley said. “I have a great sense of direction, and I know I can take us right to where that music was coming from. But we won’t go all the way there. We’ll get Dad’s binoculars so we can spy on them through the trees.”
“Spy on who?”
“Whoever’s out there playing that loud music. If we use the binoculars, we don’t have to get too close, just in case it really is—uh—the P word.”
Luckily, Miguel didn’t panic this time because he didn’t connect “the P word” to “police.”
Jack was about to remind his sister that they weren’t supposed to stray from their campground, but he was a little curious, too, about who might be out there in the woods.
“OK,” he told Ashley. “Go get the binoculars.”
The sun had long since burned off the early morning mist, and now the noon sky beat down in a stifling wave of heat. As they waited for Ashley, Jack and Miguel stayed at the picnic bench, huddled at the end where tree shadows offered shelter. Miguel’s fingers picked tiny splinters from the wooden tabletop; every few seconds, he scanned the trees, watching for any movement, and then, like curtains being shut, his lids would drop down again. He looked scared, Jack thought. And why not? If Jack and Ashley couldn’t make sense of the strange sounds, what must Miguel be thinking?
“Come on, Ashley,” Jack called. “Hurry up.”
“I’m trying. Just hold on—I can’t find them.”
“Dad said he left them in the trailer.”
“I know, but he didn’t say where. Give me a second.”
Flies punctuated the stillness as they buzzed around the picnic table. “Ashley, come on!” Jack yelled impatiently.
“I give up,” she said, emerging from the trailer. “They’re not in there. Dad must have taken them with him by mistake.”
“Great. No binoculars. Now what?”
“Well, I was thinking that if we hike up to the top of the loop in the road, maybe we could see who’s back there,” Ashley answered. “There’s a lot of trees t o hide behind.”
“Ummm, I don’
t think so,” Jack told her, shaking his head. “That’s pretty far away, and we’re supposed to stay right here in our own campground. If Mom and Dad found out we left here, we’d be grounded for life. Spying with binoculars from far away is one thing, but—”
“It’s not that far! Look at Miguel, he’s afraid the you-know-who are going to arrest him, which is my fault for bringing it up in the first place. I know that was dumb, but he’s still scared. Don’t you want to show him it’s safe?”
Jack looked at Miguel, whose eyes flicked back and forth from Jack to Ashley to the road.
Weakening, Jack countered, “Maybe we ought to wait until Mom and Dad get back.”
“By then whoever is doing whatever they’re doing might be gone! Come on, Jack, we’ll be like spies. We’ll find them, we’ll watch, we’ll leave. Do it for Miguel if you won’t do it for me.”
That convinced him. “OK, but you have to do exactly what I tell you, and go back when I tell you to, no questions asked.”
“Absolutely!” Ashley agreed.
“All of us need to stay close and keep quiet. Shhh,” he told Miguel, his finger to his mouth.
Miguel had barely taken three steps from the picnic bench before he fell, sprawling in the dust. “Shoes too big,” he said, kicking off Ashley’s sandals. He went to where Jack had left the garbage bag to retrieve his old, torn sneakers.
“No, they’re too dirty,” Ashley protested.
“I think he wants to be able to run if he needs to.”
“Well, if he has to wear those nasty shoes, then at least I’m going to scrape some of the dirt off.” Ashley snatched the shoes from Miguel before he could sit down to put them on. “I’ll take them to that green pump over there and squirt water on them. That’ll help.”
“He doesn’t care about the dirt,” Jack protested, but Ashley had already reached the pump and was pulling on the handle, lifting it and then shoving it down, again and again, until water began to gurgle and then came pouring through the spout. She held the sneakers on their sides beneath the rush of water, pumping the handle continuously. If the cloth in the sneakers didn’t look much better, at least all the mud was being washed off the soles.
Miguel stood on the metal door that lay like a lid over the concrete compartment sunk coffinlike into the ground next to the pump. “¿Qué es?” he asked, lifting the lid and pointing to the pipes inside.
In answer, Jack showed him the small red sign on the front of the pump. “It says ‘Notice, this water is treated with iodine.’ I guess those pipes are part of the….” How was he supposed to explain the process of iodization to Miguel, when he couldn’t even get him to understand that the police in the United States didn’t go into closed campgrounds and crank up rock music to catch illegal aliens? He could sign the basics to Miguel, like food or a haircut, but ideas were something else. He needed words. Words that he didn’t have. The whole thing was so frustrating! “Uh, the pipes put stuff in the water, that’s all.”
“Give it up, Jack, he doesn’t understand a thing you’re saying. Here you go, Miguel,” Ashley interrupted, holding out the dripping sneakers.
“Good show, Ashley,” Jack said. “Now every step he takes, he’ll squish.”
“But if he tries to run away from us, he might go slower.” She nodded at Jack, a small smile curling the edge of her lips.
Jack answered with a grin. Sometimes his sister could be pretty smart.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ashley in front, Jack in back, with Miguel in the middle, they hiked down a lane with two dirt tire tracks running in dusty parallel strips. The road through Quartz Creek Campground was shaped like a lasso, a straight stretch topped by a gigantic loop. The Landon camper was parked on the left side of the lasso; the sound seemed to have come from the farthest edge of the right side of the loop. Whoever they found would be too far back to know anyone else was in the campground.
Stopping abruptly, Ashley asked, “Ooooh, do you smell that awful smell?” Wrinkling her nose, she said, “It’s like something really rotten.”
Jack hadn’t noticed it before, but once Ashley mentioned it, he could smell it, too, especially when a small breeze wafted toward them. “I don’t know what it is,” he answered, “but this whole thing is getting strange.” Maybe the mystery would be solved when they got a look at who or what was back there in the trees. Or maybe it wouldn’t turn out to be much of a mystery: Probably hikers had come in from the back country, not needing to unlock the chain at the entrance.
The farther they walked, the worse the smell became. With every breeze, a fresh wave of stench would curl up Jack’s nostrils, as if death itself were riding the wind.
It didn’t seem to bother Miguel, though. Nothing, it seemed, bothered him, not the rough ride in the camper, not the lack of food, not his dirty clothes, not anything except the police, whom he had good reason to fear, and even that danger he was prepared to face. With his frayed shoes and borrowed clothes, Miguel was at ease in his own skin. That kid, Jack mused, could teach him a lot.
Suddenly Miguel grabbed at Ashley’s arm and motioned for Jack to stop. “Por allí,” he whispered, pointing. “There.”
“What?” Jack hadn’t noticed anything, not the slightest movement or flash of color.
Miguel pointed, then repeated, “Por allí.”
“OK, I’ll go first. You guys follow,” Jack instructed.
“No,” Miguel said. “I go first.”
He must want to see if the police are there, Jack thought, as Miguel cut off the path and moved into the woods. After a hundred more feet, he started ducking behind tree trunks, one at a time, slowly and softly moving forward, nothing more than a shadow. Ashley and Jack followed, doing exactly what Miguel did. Underbrush thickened, scraping Jack’s skin. Twigs snapped underfoot. The mysterious smell grew nauseating.
When they reached an opening, Miguel dropped to his belly and pointed. At first Jack could see nothing, but as he strained forward he made out the shape of a delivery van—dark green and inconspicuous in the midst of all the foliage. Jack motioned for his sister to stay down. Ashley made herself small, her eyes barely clearing the tall grass.
“That’s not the police,” Jack whispered to Miguel. “Look at the license plate. They’re from Washington State, where Seattle is. No policía.”
“Sí.” Miguel nodded, growing tense.
The tension had nothing to do with Miguel’s concern about police. Devouring the scene in front of him, he stared fiercely, hardly breathing, and Jack knew why. Miguel had heard the magic word Seattle. Jack followed his gaze.
Two men sat on folding chairs half hidden by a cluster of bushes, casually talking as though they were merely enjoying a vacation in the woods.
“Man, this silence is killin’ me,” one moaned.
“Then next time, moron, remember your headphones. You touch that stereo one more time, and I’ll break your hand off.”
“No one’s even out here, Terry. What’s the big deal? You think maybe a squirrel’s gonna report me? I hate nature—it’s too quiet. Drives me crazy!”
“Will you stop with the music already? You’re just antsy ’cause it’s taking a lot longer this time,” said the man called Terry, who sat with his left ankle perched on his right knee. He wore wraparound sunglasses, the metallic kind that made it impossible for his eyes to be seen. A Greek fisherman’s hat tilted down so far that its brim touched the top of the sunglasses. His body seemed strong and athletic, but his mouth looked hard.
“I know it. I was thinkin’ maybe the wind’s blowing in the wrong direction,” the other man said. “But you’d figure with that rotten deer over there, you wouldn’t need to depend on a breeze to carry the smell. Whoo, that baby is ripe.” He slapped his knee, maybe for emphasis, maybe hitting a bug. He was bareheaded, with no sunglasses, and young, about mid-twenties, with long, reddish hair so curly it was almost fuzzy. He wore a muscle shirt that might have been white once but was now a dingy gray. His shoulder—the one facin
g Jack’s direction—was crowded with tattoos.
Holding her hand over her nose, Ashley pointed past the men to the bloated carcass of a deer, a hundred yards from where the men sat. Why didn’t they move away from that awful smell? It was bad enough to make Jack gag, and the two men were closer to it than he was. What was going on here? Maybe they ought to leave before they were spotted. Silently motioning to Miguel and Ashley, Jack began to back slowly through the trees.
“Hey Max, did you hear something?” asked Terry, the man in the hat.
Had they been seen? Jack, Ashley, and Miguel froze, hardly breathing. Jack’s heart began to bang in his chest. Every muscle stiffened.
“Yeah! Maybe this is it,” Max answered quietly. “It’s coming through on the left! I hope it ain’t a big male. Give us a sow with three cubs.”
Jack’s breath escaped in a puff. They hadn’t been seen. The men were looking off into the woods to the east of them.
“Yeah—that’d be luck,” Terry agreed. “I’d settle for two cubs. Two’d be lucky. That’d earn a K for you and a K for me.”
K? Did they mean a thousand? Dollars? For what? Jack reversed himself and crowded closer.
“Maybe we oughta move back even farther so it can’t see us,” Max murmured.
“We’re pretty much hidden, but OK.” Both men faded backward into the trees, not more than ten yards from where the kids lay hidden. Now the sound of rustling grew louder. Twigs snapped and popped. Something big was coming, cracking branches, shifting leaves.
“Got the gun?” Max asked softly.
“Ready and loaded. Come on, bear,” Terry said, his voice hushed. “Come get your lunch. Thatagirl.”
A grizzly head appeared, weaving from side to side, the snout working as the adult female sniffed the air. One cub tried to push ahead of her; she swatted it back. A second cub stood unmoving near her back feet.
“Score,” Max declared. “Two cubs.”
Jack drew in his breath. In spite of the thick foliage, he could tell that Terry had raised a gun to his shoulder. They were going to kill the mother grizzly! Should he yell? Warn the bear? Reveal their position and take their chances? He twisted his head toward Ashley. His sister’s skin had blanched white, and her eyes were wide with terror as she gripped Jack’s arm. “It’s a grizzly!” she mouthed.
The Hunted Page 6
