“Aaaaack!” Vik jumped back. The spider raced to the center of its web, standing its ground. It might as well have been shaking a stick at Vik. “Let’s get out of here,” said Vik. He sounded genuinely scared. “That spider freaks me out.”
“It’s just—”Nate began.
But Vik cut him off. “Let’s go,” he said, and started off down another trail.
“Sure, okay,” said Nate agreeably.
Vik set a brisk pace. After the boys had walked a while, Vik said, “Sorry we didn’t find the owl.”
“Hey, finding the pellet is nearly as good,” said Nate. “I’ll keep looking.”
“You mean, we’ll keep looking,” Vik corrected him. “Count me in, ’cause except for the spider, it’s been a ho-oo-ot.”
“You got it,” said Nate. He tucked the owl pellet in the pocket of his shorts. He’d have to soak the pellet for a while, but eventually he’d be able to pry it open and find out what was hiding inside. Sort of like a time capsule, he thought. He glanced at Vik. Or a kid with a secret.
Crunch, rustle, crunch, crunch, dried sticks cracked beneath their feet as Nate and Vik headed—or thought they did, anyway—back to Birch Cabin.
Nate and Vik walked in silence for a while. Then Nate said, “I think we’ve gone too far.”
“Yeah,” agreed Vik. “So, like, are we lost in the woods in the middle of the night?”
“Not exactly. We just don’t know where we are,” Nate joked. “But don’t sweat it. Just think that instead of a short cut, we’re taking the long cut back to Birch.”
A few minutes later, they were both glad when, through the trees, they could see the dusty, dry dirt road that led into camp.
“Don’t ask me how we ended up here,” said Nate. “I’m all turned around.”
“I think it’s my fault,” said Vik. “I was so rattled that I led us in the wrong direction after we saw the spider.”
“Well, the road’ll lead us back now,” said Nate. “No problem-o.”
Just before they emerged from the woods onto the road, Nate stopped.
“Wait!” he whispered.
“What?” said Vik. “Owl?”
“No,” said Nate. “Over there on the road. I see someone.”
“I see him too,” said Vik. “It’s probably Carlos or Simon looking for us.”
“No, it’s some guy I’ve never seen before,” said Nate.
“Maybe it’s a madman on the loose,” said Vik. “Or, maybe it’s the ghost of Camp Wolf Trail. Maybe it’s . . . nah . . . let’s just get out of here.”
“Wait,” said Nate again. He was curious.
The boys turned their flashlights off, stood behind a tree, and watched the man. He was older, tall and thin, and wore a cowboy hat. He held a cell phone to his ear. As he got closer, Nate and Vik could hear bits and pieces of his conversation.
“No, I’m up on the road,” said the man. “There’s no cell reception at the farm.” He paused, and then sounding angry, he said, “I understand. But you’ve got to understand that now we’re out of options. This could be the end for Herschel. Now he’s probably done for.”
What’s that all about? thought Nate. Whoever Herschel is, he’s in trouble.
Nate took a step back as the man walked past, heading away from camp. Snap! Crack! Nate stepped on a dry stick. The man turned his flashlight into the woods and shined it near the boys, searching for the source of the noise.
“Who’s that?” the man asked.
Nate wasn’t scared, just a little shaken. He was about to step forward and speak to the man, but Vik grabbed a handful of Nate’s sweatshirt and held him back.
“No!” Vik hissed. “Run!”
Vik took off so Nate followed. Both boys clicked on their flashlights as they thrashed through the underbrush, with no idea where they were going. Beams from their flashlights bounced crazily on the ground and the low bushes that lined the path. Nate was fast, but Vik was faster. Vik’s legs flew, his shoulders leaning forward, one hand out in front of him swatting at branches that grabbed at him. Even so, a thorny limb scratched Vik’s face and Nate heard him yelp.
Nate was about to slow down. He wasn’t even sure why they were running; the man wasn’t chasing them. But then, Ar-ooo! A blood-curdling howl cut through the woods.
Nate gasped. He heard something behind him. It wasn’t the man. This thing had four legs. It sounded like a wild animal panting, chasing, and crashing through the woods, hot on the boys’ trail. Was it a bobcat? A bear? A wolf? Now Nate was scared.
Vik looked over his shoulder.
“Don’t look back,” Nate panted. “Just run!”
Nate’s heart practically pounded out of his chest. Wildly, he scrambled through briars clawing at his shirt. He didn’t look back. The panting and crashing kept coming. Closer, closer . . .
Finally, miraculously, Nate saw that Vik was leading him toward the faint glow of the batterypowered lantern that hung outside Birch Cabin. He and Vik threw themselves up the stairs, dove through the door, and landed in a heap on the floor, huffing and puffing, as the door slammed shut behind them.
Their seven cabin mates sat bolt upright in their sleeping bags. Someone shouted, “What’s going on? What’s—”
Then the door burst open again. A wild, hairy, flailing creature flung itself full speed at Nate and Vik.
Aroo, it howled. Ar–ooooo!
Chapter Three
Instantly, seven flashlights pointed light at Nate and Vik and whatever it was that was attacking them. In a nanosecond, everybody shouted, “Cookie!”
Cookie, the camp dog, smiled a drooly doggie smile and slurped Nate right on the face.
“Cookie?” Nate laughed, breathless. “It was you?”
“Aw, man,” said Vik, shaking his head. “Talk about embarrassing.” Vik’s face was scraped, and the arm of his sweatshirt was stained with blood because he’d wiped his face on his sleeve, but he was laughing too. “Cookie the dog was the scary monster chasing us!”
All the guys laughed. Nate thought that they might poke fun at him and Vik a little bit, but instead, Zack said, “Hey, don’t feel bad. Don’t you remember? Cookie pulled that same stunt on Jim and me.”
“Yeah,” said Jim. “When Cookie chased us, I thought for sure the famous Wolf Trail wolf was on our tail. I was like, ‘Run for your life!’”
Arf! Cookie barked, sounding proud of himself.
“Where were you guys, anyway?” Yasu asked Nate and Vik. “Did it take you this long to put out the fire?”
“Nah,” said Vik.
Nate tensed. Would Vik tell everybody about the owl hunt? Nate wasn’t really ready to go public about his interest in birds yet.
But Vik only said, “We were kind of on a wild goose chase.”
Nate relaxed.
Vik went on, making the whole misadventure sound funny by poking fun at himself. “I freaked out when I heard Cookie-the-Killer-Dog chasing us,” he said, “and before that, I freaked out when we heard a mystery man talking on his cell phone. And before that, I freaked out when I saw a spider.” Vik flapped his hands and comically imitated himself, “Aaaaaccck! Help! A big, mean spider!”
As the guys laughed at Vik’s exaggerated imitation of himself, Nate thought, So being scared of spiders is not Vik’s secret. It must be something else.
“I was a mess,” said Vik. “But not Nate. Talk about cool under pressure. He’s not scared of anything.”
“Oh, yeah, right,” said Nate. “Except I sure was scared of Ferocious Cookie.” He nodded his head toward the dog, who had already fallen asleep and was snoring. “No prizes for smarts or bravery for me tonight, I guess.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” said Jim. He hauled out from under his bunk a huge care package full of junk food. “I’ve got prizes for everybody tonight.”
“Yahoo!” hollered all the campers. They stampeded over to Jim’s bunk to sort through his stash.
“Bad news, guys,” joked Zack. “My tr
usty wilderness book, The Outdoor Adventure Guide, says that candy in the cabin will attract wild animals. This cabin will be an all-night diner to animals not so cute as Cookie over here. So we have a choice. We can either make Nate, who Vik says is not afraid of anything, lie by the door and guard us from The Attack of the Critters. Or, we’ve got to eat all of Jim’s stuff tonight, right now.”
“Let’s eat!” hollered the boys.
“No one goes to sleep until every chocolate-covered peanut, gummy worm, and bag of Mammoth Munch has been eaten,” said Jim.
“You got it!” cheered all the guys.
“Watch this!” said Zee. He dangled a green gummy worm above his own mouth and made it jiggle before he dropped it in.
Inspired, Kareem began to sing:
Great green globs of greasy grimy gopher guts . . .
Vik laughed. He sprang up and pulled a tennis racket out from under his bunk. He yanked off its cover then strummed the strings as if the tennis racket were a guitar and he was providing music to go with Kareem’s song.
After the boys had hollered out the last line—And I forgot my spoon—Jim nodded toward Vik’s tennis racket.
“That’s the first time you’ve used that thing,” he said.
“What is it, a giant fly swatter?” joked Zee.
Vik quickly joked, “No, it’s a spider swatter.” He swung the racket crazily, as if he were fighting off a swarm of spiders. “You know me: Vik the Spider Chicken.”
“Well, why’d you bring your tennis racket if you never use it?” asked Erik.
“Why’d you bring your toothbrush, Erik?” teased Yasu. “You never use it.”
Not at all offended, Erik stuck a blue gummy worm across his top front teeth.
“Is that what that little brush is for?” he asked, pretending to be surprised. “I thought it was just a weird hair brush.”
Yasu threw his pillow at Erik and soon the cabin was full of flying pillows.
It wasn’t until later, when he was falling asleep, that Nate ran through the questions the night had brought up: Where is that owl? Who is that mystery man? Who’s Herschel? And what kind of trouble is Herschel in?
Nate woke up the next morning to the slow scritch, scritch, scritch of branches scratching Birch Cabin’s shingled roof—the side of it that wasn’t covered with spongy, green moss. An early morning breeze carried a pine scent through the air. The scent almost overcame the sweaty-T-shirt-and-old-sneaker smell of Birch Cabin, which today had the added aroma of dog breath. That was thanks to Cookie, who’d spent the night on the floor.
Nate sighed happily. He never felt anything but content when he woke up in Birch Cabin. Like all the others, Birch Cabin was set out in the woods by itself. Soft summer light snuck in through the ivy that covered the old screens. Untouched tubes of toothpaste and half-full bottles of sunscreen lined a shelf. Trunks of various colors and sizes lined the walls; they were open and spilling out shoes, sweatshirts, and backpacks, mixed in with wet towels, swim trunks, a few books, and a lot of candy wrappers. On top of the heap on the floor lay a furry, snoring beast.
“Cookie,” Nate whispered.
Cookie opened one eye.
Nate—his hair a fuzzy mess of bed-head—and Cookie were the only two awake in the cabin.
“Hey, buddy,” whispered Nate. “Still tired from making Vik and me look like doofuses last night?”
Without moving his head, the dog turned his big brown eyes toward Nate. Cookie exhaled, as if to say, “Huh! That was easy!”
Nate looked around. There was Jim, his long legs sticking out the end of his bunk, and Erik, who was quiet only because he was asleep. Yasu and Zee were just lumps in their sleeping bags. Kareem, a first-year camper, slept in a Camp Wolf Trail T-shirt he’d inherited from his dad, who’d come to camp twenty-five years ago. Sean, another newbie, was wearing his swim trunks.
Then there was Vik, the scrapes and cuts on his cheek scabbed over. Not too bad, but still. Ouch. His face. Nate grimaced with sympathy.
Careful not to make noise, Nate slipped off his top bunk and dropped to his feet. He tiptoed around the dog and the crinkly candy wrappers that littered the floor, eased his notebook and pencil out of the back pocket of the shorts he’d worn the day before, and swung himself back up to his bunk.
He opened his notebook to a clean page and admired its potential. What would he draw or write this morning? He used to keep the notebook just for jotting down the names of the birds he’d seen. But over the winter, his grandfather had given him a book about drawing birds. Now the pages of his notebook included sketches of birds and bird parts. Sometimes he made notes about what the birds did or where he’d seen them, and lots of times, he wrote questions to ask himself.
I didn’t get to see that owl, thought Nate. But I could draw what I think it might look like.
He picked up his pencil and drew two circles for the owl’s eyes, a circle for the head, and an oval for the body. He filled in details with feathery strokes of the pencil and drew a branch for a perch. He wished he had his colored pencils from home to make golden rings that would be the owl’s eyes; he kind of liked to do things right.
Cookie heaved himself up and shook, sending dog hair and bits of dust flying through the air. The dog glanced up at Nate as if to say, “I’m outta here.” Cookie stretched, then walked toward the door. He nudged it open with his nose and slipped out.
Slam! The door swung shut behind him.
At the noise, the other Birch Cabiners started to stretch and roll in their beds.
Quickly, Nate dusted eraser crumbs off of his unfinished owl sketch and wrote the date. Under that, he scrawled:
Nate closed his notebook, shoved the pencil back into the spiral wire, and tucked it under his pillow, thinking no one had noticed.
But Jim had. “Oh, good idea,” he said to Nate. “Writing, I mean. If I don’t write home soon, my family’ll come up here and make me.”
Vik sat up and shot Nate a look that said, Phew, that was a close one. He knew that Nate didn’t want everyone to know that he wrote about birds in his notebook.
“Yowser!” said Sean, looking at Vik’s face. “Nice war wounds. Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” said Vik. “My face hurts a little.”
“It’s killing me!” joked Yasu.
“I’ve got one word for you people,” said Zee, already in his swim trunks. “And it’s mana-plungee! Word-of-the-day. It means, Let’s go.”
“Mana-plungee!” Books and pillows fell to the floor as the boys jumped off their bunks yelling, “Mana-plungee! Mana-plungee!”
They yanked on their swim trunks, sprinted out of the cabin, then ran full-tilt, yipping and screaming “Mana-plungee” as they careened down the path to the lake, kicking up dust the whole way.
Chapter Four
Of course, the boys couldn’t go swimming without a counselor present. But luckily, Simon was an early riser and on waterfront duty already. There he was, his whistle strung around his neck, sitting in a wobbling, grungy lawn chair. He was reading a thick book, his legs propped up on a rock.
“You guys are insane,” Simon shouted, jumping up from his chair as the boys stampeded toward him. “I love it!” He stuck a twig in his book for a bookmark. “Buddy-up!” he ordered. “Flip your tags on the pegboard. And nooooo-body jumps in till I say so.”
In pairs, the boys went to the pegboard to turn their tags from green to red. Then they padded out to the end of dock, their bare feet slap, slap, slapping on the smooth wood, and waited. They all knew Simon was a total stickler for safety. After the last pair of boys had checked in, Simon grabbed the foam rescue tube, then walked out to the end of the dock, standing with his feet apart in lifeguard stance. “Ready,” said Simon. “Go!”
“Mana-plungee! Yahoo!” The boys cannonballed, dove, belly-flopped, jumped, flipped, and jack-knifed off the dock into the morning-cold water. Nate held his breath, anticipating the shock. He rose up on his toes, pushed off, and sliced into the water i
n a perfect dive. At the same time his swim buddy, Sean, fell backward into the water hollering, “Mana-plungee!”
“Splash fight!” yelled Erik. Wildly, the boys swatted the water to make it splash up, or kicked so hard with their legs that pretty soon it seemed surprising to Nate that there was any water left in the lake at all. And all the while, the boys were making a deafening racket, howling and yowling as loud as they could. Nate wondered if Simon would tell them to stop. He didn’t, but Nate did notice that they had scared away a few geese that took off honking and squawking and flapping their huge wings. I’d like to sketch those geese in flight, Nate thought. Then he asked himself two questions: I wonder if they’ve got a nest nearby? Nate grinned to himself. And I wonder if Vik’ll be up for a real wild goose chase later?
When they were tired of splashing, the guys swam out to the old wooden floating raft anchored partway out in the lake for round after round of jumping in, swimming around, climbing back on, and jumping in again. After a while, as if they all understood each other’s thoughts, the boys headed back toward the main dock.
“The water feels so warm now,” said Zack, breathing hard after his swim back to the dock. “Warmer than the air.”
Nate hated to get out of the water. But his stomach growled. Breakfast! A morning plunge had a way of making a camper extra-hungry. Nate danced a little jig to shake off the dripping water. The rest of the boys followed. They hopped and shook like dogs, pushing each other and laughing. They turned their tags on the pegboard from red to green and picked up their towels to dry themselves off.
Just then, the clunky jangle of the breakfast bell clanged.
“See ya, Simon!” said Jim, as the parade to the dining hall began.
“No way! I’m coming to breakfast with you guys,” Simon said. “Otherwise, all the food’ll be gone by the time I get there. Just coffee grinds and orange rinds’ll be left.”
Nate's Story Page 2
