by Ike Hamill
Her foot slapped the water and plunged to the slippery rock. Her leg was bent to absorb the shock of the descent, but instead buckled as her weight compressed the tired muscle. Snow Fawn’s foot slipped forward off the rock and sent her sprawling to her back in the rushing water. Her left leg flew forward untethered, but the right one, the one that had slipped off the rock, caught between the flat rock and its neighbor, causing her leg to bend back unnaturally.
She screamed with pain and anger. Pushing her arms back, trusting her boy to the sling which held him to her chest, she tried to stand in the current. Her left leg slipped and she nearly spilled again when her right leg refused to take any weight. She hopped to the opposite bank and clawed her way to the shore.
Snow Fawn turned to assess her pursuer. She sobbed with relief to see the creature gingerly picking its way into the shallows before it balked and returned to the opposite shore. Suddenly this giant attacker looked more like a little boy than an evil spirit, and she watched it as she pushed away from the shore and attempted to regain her feet. Her boy, sensing the partial ease in his mother’s fear, coughed a brief cry.
Across the stream the creature pointed to her—“Boy,” he said and then paused, “must die.”
Snow Fawn’s jaw dropped and she froze, shocked to be addressed by a spirit. When she found her composure, she was surprised that her first emotion was righteous anger—“He has a tooth,” she spat. “He deserves to live.” All the families shared the same rule—if an infant survived until it had its first tooth, it should be allowed to live. She squared her shoulders to the creature and stood as straight as she could on her injured leg.
“No,” said the giant.
Her thwarted pursuer turned his shoulders away, as if he would retreat, but his hips stayed pointed across the river at Snow Fawn.
“You can’t follow me,” she said, realizing that this was a hope more than solid fact. Snow Fawn backed a single pace and reached out to grab a sapling to help her pull her injured leg along.
On the other side of the river, the creature’s upper half snapped back around to face her. The only thing missing from his moonlit body was his trailing arm—that came around last, in a wide arc. She never saw the rock as it hurtled towards her chest, but she heard it. Her arms came up to protect her baby boy, but they were an instant too slow. The impact of the big smooth rock knocked her back. To keep her balance, Snow Fawn braced her legs, but the injured knee failed and she collapsed to her back with her right leg sticking up, knee bent at an odd angle.
She screamed.
Her hands found a wet mess where her baby’s head should be. She screamed high and loud until her voice ran thin and then gave out entirely. She tried to cup her son’s tiny crushed head to her dripping breast. Eventually, Snow Fawn rolled to her side and wept as she clutched her dead son to her chest.
The Hunting Tree had claimed his first victim.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Davey
“WHAT’D YOU GET FOR number seven?” asked Paul.
“Twenty-four,” said Davey.
“Wait a second,” said Paul with his shoulders hunched as he glanced around the library, “you put down twenty-one.”
“Yeah, but the answer is twenty-four,” said Davey.
“Start making sense, jag-off,” demanded Paul.
“Just because I know the answer doesn’t mean I have to put it down,” said Davey, focused on creating the perfect curve of a shoulder. His thin paper was scarred by dozens of erasures.
“I don’t get you,” said Paul. “How come you know the answers but you never pay attention? And how come you don’t just put down the right answers?”
Davey stopped drawing and looked up at Paul with puffy, sleepless eyes. “You remember when I got straight A’s last year?”
“Yeah.”
“You remember how my mom started talking about me going to that other school, and how she got all those papers for those stupid summer classes?” asked Davey.
“Oh, so you don’t want people to think you’re smart?” asked Paul.
“It’s just easier that way,” shrugged Davey. “I get to hang out with morons like you, and I don’t have to do much work.”
“What’s that a picture of?” asked Paul, pointing to Davey’s mangled sheet.
“Nothing,” said Davey. “You want to go play in the gym?”
“It’s not four yet,” argued Paul.
“I mean at four, artard,” said Davey.
“Whatever,” said Paul. “Explain to me how to do number eight.”
“I can’t explain it, you just have to memorize it,” said Davey.
“You weren’t even here when Mrs. Roberts explained this stuff. How come you already know how to do it?”
A thin woman approached the table from behind a bookshelf—“Sharing our work today, boys?” she asked.
“No Ms. Smit,” said Davey. “I missed class when Mrs. Roberts explained how to do this stuff, so Paul was just explaining to me how to do it.”
“That’s great Davey,” Ms. Smit said. “Next time you should think twice before offering such an obvious lie,” she put her hands on her hips.
“It’s not a lie,” Davey said calmly.
“You’ve got a full page of answers, next to a drawing of a very muscular man,” she noticed. “Paul has,” she began, turning her head to read Paul’s paper, “about half a page of answers. If he’s helping you, why are you done?”
“I don’t know,” said Davey.
“Excellent,” said Ms. Smit. “Perhaps you can figure that out in the study room.”
Davey lowered his eyes and began packing his papers into his pack. Paul tilted his head back and let out an exasperated breath. He looked about to lodge a protest when Davey shot him a warning glance. Paul closed his mouth and started to gather his things.
“You can come back tomorrow, but I want you to keep this in mind,” said Ms. Smit. “The library is a privilege. I don’t get paid extra to let students study here while I work. It’s a benefit I grant to only those children who respect my rules without constant supervision. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Ms. Smit,” said Davey. “I’m sorry that we broke the rules. It won’t happen again, and thank you for letting us come back tomorrow.”
Paul held his breath. In his experience, speaking reasonably to an adult never ended well. To his surprise, Ms. Smit paused and then smiled at Davey.
“Well, thank you,” she said. “You are very polite.”
Davey nodded and waited for Paul before heading for the door.
Out in the hallway, Paul couldn’t contain his surprise. “When did you get so smooth?”
“What do you mean?” asked Davey.
“That was awesome, the way you talked to Ms. Smit.”
“Whatever,” said Davey. “We’re still going to the stupid study room. I hate that room.”
“Just show the people that you already have your work done and maybe they’ll let you skip,” suggested Paul.
“It doesn’t work that way,” said Davey. “Those people don’t even really work for the school. They’re just being paid by the hour to make sure that all kids show up, don’t leave the room, and don’t talk.” He set down his bag and took a long drink from the water fountain.
“They don’t let you leave the room?” asked Paul. “What if you have to go to the bathroom? Let’s go back up the hall so I can go now.”
“It’s twenty of. You can’t make it twenty minutes?” Davey wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t know,” said Paul.
The two boys retreated back up the hall, towards the bathroom. A few paces from the restroom, Davey’s feet got tangled and he crashed down to his knees. He sprung back to his feet, but a troubled expression furrowed his brow.
“I just thought of something,” said Davey. “Ms. Smit probably doesn’t even talk to the study room people, we should just not go.”
Paul�
�s eyes grew wide and he slowed—“Seriously? What would we do?”
“Whatever we want, I guess,” said Davey. “We could go hang out in the woods behind that creek until your mom comes.”
“How would we get out?” asked Paul.
“We just go out the side door. It’s not locked or anything,” said Davey. “What are you afraid of? Our parents pay for this after-school stuff, it’s not part of normal school. We can do whatever we want to, really.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” said Paul. He pushed into the boys room and Davey followed. Paul went into the first stall and Davey went to the sink and looked at his face in the mirror.
“Hey,” said Paul over the stall wall, “maybe we could steal one of the kick-balls from the gym, and play with it in the woods.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Davey. “Mr. Mulgrove is always in his office. He’d probably catch us.”
Paul flushed the toilet and Davey glanced down. “Don’t take your pants all the way down to pee, you artard.”
“Why not?” asked Paul, appearing from the stall.
“It’s just dumb, is all,” said Davey.
Paul moved to the sink and ran a hand through his hair.
“Gross,” said Davey. “You didn’t even wash your hands.”
Paul looked ready to respond, but whipped his head around as the door creaked open. Both boys froze and waited. Around the corner, Ted arrived carrying a wooden hall-pass.
“Well, well,” said Ted, “Stinky and Dummy, pulling each other off in the bathroom.”
“Shut up, Ted,” said Davey.
Ted puffed up his chest and tilted his head back, raising his chin, and stalked towards Davey.
“What’d you say to me, Stinky?” demanded Ted.
“Just shut up, is all,” said Davey. “Why don’t you go ask your stepdad to teach you some more stupid things to say.”
“You don’t even know what you’re talking about,” said Ted. “I should knock you out right here. My brother showed me how to knock out punks like you.” He moved closer, invading Davey’s space.
Davey folded his arms, gaining a little distance from puffed-up Ted. “There’s two of us, Ted,” said Davey.
“So what?” asked Ted. “I’ll knock you out and take care of the dummy before you even hit the ground. I learned two new submission holds last weekend. You’re going to tap out and beg me to stop.”
“Go ahead,” said Davey, pushing back against Ted’s chest with his folded arms. “Why don’t you stop talking and just go ahead and do something.”
“Oh you don’t even want that,” said Ted. “You’ll be in the hospital.”
“Look, Ted,” said Davey, lowering his voice and staring into Ted’s eyes. “I know you’re mad. You’re mad that your real dad took off. You’re mad that that new guy is staying with your mom. You’re mad that sometimes he hits you. But you’re not mad at me, so stop pretending that you are.”
“You are so dead,” said Ted, punctuating his last word with a shove to Davey’s chest.
Davey took a half-step back, but braced himself for the second push and didn’t lose any more ground.
“Let’s go then, Ted,” said Davey. He bent his knees slightly and pushed up, sending his left fist in a wide loop around towards Ted’s head. Surprised by the aggression, Ted ducked his chin and raised both arms to ward off the blow. The instant Ted’s arms came up, Davey shifted his weight and launched a powerful uppercut with his right hand to Ted’s stomach. The two punches landed simultaneously—the hook glanced uselessly off of Ted’s arms, but the uppercut caught Ted off guard and easily knocked the breath out of him.
Ted doubled over, clutching his stomach and gasping.
“See ya, dumbass,” said Davey. He strode past and shoved Ted’s shoulder hard, sending him sprawling to the floor, under the sink.
Paul rushed towards the door to the hall and Davey walked casually.
Out in the hall, Paul was flushed but ebullient. “I can’t believe you did that,” he said as they passed a closed office door. “That was so awesome.”
“He deserved it,” said Davey.
“Well yeah,” said Paul, turning around and walking backwards to face Davey. “He’s always deserved it, but nobody ever had the guts to knock him down like that. What was that stuff about his step dad? Do you know him?”
“Just a guess,” said Davey. “Ted had all those bruises on his back that time, and then Mr. Mulgrove talked to him, you remember?”
“Sure,” said Paul. “But it only ever happened once.”
“Yeah, but you could see bruises right below the line of his shorts last summer, when we were playing soccer. I don’t think his step dad stopped beating him; he just stopped beating him where everyone could see. And I figured it was his step dad because Ted and his mom have different last names.”
“Wow,” said Paul. “That’s cool that you figured that out.”
“Turn,” said Davey. “Turn here,” he pointed to the short stretch of hall that led to the music room and the side door.
Paul looked up and down the hall and clenched his fists. He looked like a coiled spring as he changed direction and started towards the door. Davey followed casually, looking natural and almost bored.
“What if there’s an alarm?” Paul whispered.
“There would be a sign,” said Davey.
“You open it.”
Davey reached out and pressed the metal bar, swinging the heavy steel door outward. It squeaked and screeched, and bright light burst through the doorway. The overload of sensory input startled Davey, and for a second he thought that the door might indeed have sounded an alarm. He paused to let his eyes adjust to the light and then cocked his head and let the door shut on its own.
“What are you doing?” asked Paul, looking around nervously. “We’re going to get caught just standing here in the hallway.”
“Relax,” said Davey, “we’ll be able to hear anyone coming. I want to wait for a second.”
“What for?” whined Paul. “This is a bad idea. We’re going to get caught.”
Davey held up his hand with authority and Paul hushed. They waited for a few more seconds, with Davey holding his head at an angle. Davey pushed the door open again and waved Paul through. He followed closely, slipping through the door as it closed, and pointed Paul up the small hill, towards the woods. The two boys trotted to the edge of the thick undergrowth and Paul began to pick his way into the brush.
“Quick,” said Davey, pushing Paul into the leaves and following close behind. He shoved his friend to the ground and they both spun around to look back at the school.
“Ow,” complained Paul.
“Shhh,” said Davey, pointing towards the door they had just exited.
As they watched, the school’s vice principal, Mr. Vincent, pushed the door open about a foot and poked his narrow face through the opening. He looked left and right and then pulled back inside, shutting the door.
“Wow,” breathed Paul. “That was close.”
“He saw the door on the camera,” said Davey.
“What camera?” asked Paul, pushing back to his hands and knees.
Davey pointed at the corner of the building where a dark bubble protruded from the brick wall. “It’s up there,” he said.
“We gotta go then,” said Paul. “They probably saw us run up here.”
“No, I waited until they weren’t looking before we left the school,” said Davey.
“What? How did you know?”
“I just did, okay?” said Davey. He lifted himself from the ground and sat cross-legged in the leaves.
“Yeah, right,” said Paul. “Look, knowing how to do the math workbook is one thing, but you can’t just know when a camera is looking at you. It’s impossible.”
“Mr. Vincent didn’t come looking, did he?” asked Davey.
“I bet he will,” said Paul.
“What’ll you bet?” smiled Davey.
Pa
ul opened and shut his mouth without replying. After losing several treasured video games to hasty bets with Davey, he had finally learned to be cautious. “I’ll bet you a piece of gum,” Paul said finally.
“No bet,” said Davey. “You already owe me gum from when I gave you some this morning.”
“No bet then,” agreed Paul. “So then how did you learn to know when cameras are looking at you?”
“Nunya,” said Davey.
“What’s that mean?”
“Nunya business,” smiled Davey.
“You doofus,” laughed Paul. “Let’s go play over at the nature trail,” said Paul, crawling through the bushes and rising to his feet behind the screen of leaves.
“Okay,” said Davey.
They wound through the dense trees, taking a wide route around the playground, and the swampy area near the road. Their winding path brought them to a narrow wooden footbridge which crossed a bubbling creek. With his finger, Paul traced the carved letters of a sign that talked about the types of trees around the path.
“We’ve gotta figure out what to do about your mom,” said Davey.
“What do you mean?”
“She’s going to try to pick us up at the front of the building, but we can’t go back there,” Davey explained.
“I didn’t even think of that,” said Paul. “We can just sneak up from the side and pretend that we were inside the whole time, can’t we?" Paul gathered a handful of small rocks from path and took them atop the footbridge so he could drop them over the railing.
Davey lowered himself down on a rock and poked a stick into the gurgling water. “They count off the kids that go to the gym,” said Davey. “I’ve seen them with the clipboard, they’re going to know that we weren’t there.”
“Really?” Paul paused from his rock-dropping and stared at the water. “We’re going to get in trouble.”
“Not if we can think of a way out of it,” said Davey.
“Like what? They know we didn’t go. This whole thing was such a bad idea. My mom always says that you’re a good influence, but you’re not,” whined Paul. “Lately all you do is get me in trouble. When you stole that car from the toy store—who got blamed? Me.”
