Lost Cipher

by Michael Oechsle

“Where you from, Lucas Whitlatch?”

  “West Virginia,” Lucas replied, aiming his thumb west. “Probably what you’d call the middle of nowhere.”

  “Actually, I thought this was the middle of nowhere. But then, I’m from DC. My backyard’s about the size of this cabin.” He looked around at the mountains. “All this nature and stuff kinda feels like another planet.”

  “Funny,” Lucas said, “my backyard’s pretty big.” He could’ve told Alex plenty about the mountain, but he doubted a city kid could appreciate it much. Besides, he had a million questions to ask Alex about Washington. A couple of his friends had been, but he couldn’t see his grandparents ever taking him, even if they could afford to.

  He had just opened his mouth to ask when a loud crash from inside their cabin rattled the little building.

  Lucas was through the door first. Another boy lay belly up at the foot of the ladder to the bunk above his. An enormous pack was strapped to his back, and he was rocking back and forth, struggling to get to his feet like an overturned turtle. Some of the pack’s contents were scattered on the floor next to him, including a roll of toilet paper that had popped loose and rolled across the cabin floor, unfurling as it went.

  The boy stopped moving and grinned sheepishly at Lucas and Alex as they came through the door. He stuck out his arms toward them.

  “Little help here?” he said.

  CHAPTER 5

  Lucas and Alex had to use both hands to pull their roommate to his feet. Though much shorter and a little younger, he was a lot rounder. His hair was red, and his cheeks were sweaty and pink from the struggle to get back on his feet. He wore clunky hiking boots and thick socks, and a green-and-gold T-shirt with the face of a bear surrounded by the name of a middle school. A big watch bristling with buttons was strapped to his wrist.

  “Dude,” asked Alex, “what happened?”

  “I was trying to get my pack up there,” the boy said, pointing to the top bunk.

  Lucas reached for the boy’s pack. “Why not just lift it…Dang! What’s in this thing?” The pack felt like it was loaded with concrete.

  “You know, gear and stuff. Maybe just a few snacks.”

  “And your personal toilet paper?” said Alex, handing the roll back to the new kid.

  The boy snatched the roll out of Alex’s hand. “Hey, you ever seen the toilet paper in these places?” he asked. “It’s like sandpaper. I went to a summer camp a couple years ago. You think the poison ivy and the bees and the rain are bad? I swear, the toilet paper in these places will give you a diaper rash so bad, it’s like you’ve been eating Mexican food for a…”

  The new kid stopped and studied Alex. “I mean, no offense.”

  “He ain’t Mexican. He’s Salva…salva-somethin’.” Lucas chimed in.

  “American.” Alex shot Lucas a hard look. “Jeez.”

  “Yeah, American. That’s what I meant.”

  “Sure.” Alex rolled his eyes. “What’s your name?” he asked the new kid.

  “George. Funderburk,” he replied.

  “I’m Alex Cruz. This is Lucas Whitlatch.”

  “Cruz and Whiplash?” laughed George. “Sounds like some kind of cop show or something. Me, I usually get ‘Thunderbutt’ or ‘Thunderburp’ or something, but Cruz and Whiplash, that’s pretty cool.”

  “Naw, it’s Whit—latch. Like on a gate,” said Lucas. “Hey, how’d you even get here? How come we didn’t hear no car drive up?”

  “My dad’s idea,” replied George. “He dropped me off at the office. Said I could get in some practice with the pack if I hauled it from there. Plus he’s got a flight to catch tonight.” His smile faded. “That’s pretty much all he does—catch flights. Especially since my mom died.”

  Lucas and Alex stared at the floor, and the cabin went deathly silent, as if a shadowy hand had reached in and snatched away the easiness the three boys had just begun to feel.

  “Jeez, what did I say?” asked George. “I mean, it’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

  Lucas looked past George out the window. There were now four girls gathered on the porch across the lawn, looking like best friends already. “Yeah, but we ain’t got to talk about it, do we?” he finally said.

  George threw up his hands. “Hey, it’s not like I’m planning on sitting around holding hands and crying all week. Look, I just want to go for a swim. That lake’s probably cold as a penguin’s butt, and I’m sweatin’ like an Eskimo in Africa.”

  Lucas shook his head. “That how you always talk?”

  “I was going to ask you the same thing,” George said.

  Alex laughed. “Guess we’re going swimming,” he said, unzipping his pack.

  A few minutes later, Alex and George had changed into swimsuits, but Lucas still had on his shorts. Back home, they worked for swimming in the creek too.

  They were heading for the front door when they heard the crunch of gravel and the idling of an engine behind their cabin. Through the back door, Lucas could make out enough of the car to tell it was a big, expensive sedan. A door opened, and they heard a man’s voice.

  “Please remain in the car while I retrieve your bags, Zachary.”

  George looked at the other two boys and mouthed the words, Retrieve your bags? He arched his eyebrows and gave a comical bow toward the door.

  A pale, stiff-looking man struggled into the cabin lugging an expensive-looking backpack and an overstuffed duffel bag. He wore a crisp, white shirt and red tie, with perfectly creased dark pants. He looked completely out of place in the rustic cabin, and his uncomfortable expression let them know he wasn’t thrilled to be in such uncivilized surroundings. Without acknowledging them, he dropped the pack and bag next to the open closet and scurried back out the screen door. His exit was followed shortly by a boy’s voice.

  “Tell my father I made it here alive. And don’t be surprised if he calls you to pick me up early. I doubt I can take a week in this dump.”

  The boy who came through the screen door looked perhaps a year older than them. Lucas wasn’t skinny—“lean” is what his grandma called him all the time—but this kid was big in the chest and shoulders, like some of the eighth grade kids who played football at Lucas’s school. He wore a backward, flat-brimmed cap, with bright blond hair poking out from under it. Slung over one shoulder was a slick, brightly colored daypack with a rubber water tube hanging out of the top. Like his clothes, the pack looked straight off the store shelves. And expensive.

  George was the first to speak. “Welcome to Camp Misery,” he said with a goofy grin.

  The new boy ignored him. Instead, he unzipped one of the pockets of his pack, retrieved a metallic red smartphone and plugged a set of earbuds into it. He tossed the phone and the pack up onto the bunk George had just tried to claim.

  “I guess this one’s mine, huh,” he said and started to climb up the ladder.

  Lucas spoke up. “Actually, George was…”

  The older boy froze, one foot on the ladder, and stared over his shoulder at Lucas.

  “George was what?” he asked, more annoyed than threatening. But it was hard not to be intimidated by the older, bigger kid.

  “He was going to take that one, but he didn’t get a chance yet,” replied Alex.

  The kid grinned, enjoying the little confrontation. He continued up the ladder and plopped onto the mattress. He dangled his feet off the edge and made a show of looking around, even checking under the pillow. Then, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise, he looked straight at Lucas and said, “I don’t see his stuff up here anywhere. Or his name.”

  Lucas looked back hard at the boy, but George, red in the face again, interrupted.

  “Jeez, girls. Relax. No need to fight over me. One bunk’s as good as the others.”

  Before Lucas could say anything else, the older boy said, “Great!” He lay back on his
pillow, stuck his earbuds in, and began messing with his phone.

  “Wasn’t we goin’ for a swim?” Lucas said, loud enough for the new kid to hear.

  Alex threw his towel over his shoulder. “Yeah, I think we were.”

  A hand came off the phone and gave them a sarcastic, finger-wagging wave.

  Outside, George said, “Is it me, or is that kid a total butthead?”

  All Lucas could think about was his grandma and her pickup, already halfway back to Indian Hole.

  CHAPTER 6

  George Funderburk wasn’t much of a swimmer, but his dives were another story. Standing atop the platform, pale belly jiggling, he would announce himself as the “Fabulous Flying Funderburk” and give a special name—like the “Lake Shaker” or the “Fish Flattener”—to each thunderous cannonball or jackknife he was about to perform. The one he simply called his “Thunder Butt,” a cannonball requiring a two-handful grab of his rear end, quickly became the crowd favorite, at least for some of the other boys. The girls, on the other hand, either shook their heads in embarrassment or tried to ignore George and his enormous splashes. When the camp bell sounded, Lucas had nearly forgotten their surly roommate back in Cabin One.

  Maggie’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “Attention, all campers, please meet at the top of the zip line. Bring your swimsuits and your courage. No wimping out allowed.”

  The swimmers cheered and began swimming to shore. As Lucas, Alex, and George dried off, they saw other kids emerging from their cabins. Just when they thought their roommate wouldn’t take part, they saw him bound off the porch of Cabin One, a towel draped from his shoulders and white, wraparound sunglasses pushed back on top of his long, blond hair.

  “At least he’s not planning on playing with his phone all week,” muttered George.

  “Yeah, and if we hurry, he’ll still be stuck at the back of the line when we’re already flying across the lake,” said Alex.

  The three boys hustled up the hill, following the campers and the counselor ahead of them into the forest above the head of the lake. When they reached the platform at the uphill end of the zip line, a counselor on top was already preparing the first rider. From the base of the platform, where the line was beginning to form, they could see the zip line’s entire route through the trees, out over the lake, and all the way down to the far end near the bathhouse. At the end of the long downhill flight, two other counselors in blue camp shirts waited to receive the riders.

  They watched as the first rider, an older girl, was strapped into the harness dangling from the cable. The counselor gave her some last-minute instructions, then, with a gentle shove, sent her zipping down through the trees and out over the water. Hoots and cheers erupted from the waiting campers when the girl plunged off the platform and hurtled downhill, screaming the entire way. After what seemed like a full minute of zipping high across the water, the girl came to a gentle, gliding stop into the arms of the two counselors at the other end.

  George was in front of the other two boys. “This is going to be awesome!” he declared.

  “Yeah, if you don’t poop your pants on the way down, George,” joked Alex.

  “Are you crazy?” he replied, smacking his hands on his freckled, white belly and grabbing a couple handfuls of flab. “This body was meant for flying!”

  Two girls in line behind them shuddered visibly. One, a skinny girl with frizzy red hair, whispered to her friend, “Did you see him? That was disgusting!”

  George noticed the attention. “Pardon me, ladies, but once you’ve seen the Fabulous Flying Funderburk, you’ll understand the meaning of aerodynamics.” He struck a bodybuilder’s pose, the strain of which caused him to accidentally emit a noisy fart.

  The kids around them erupted in laughter, and the red-haired girl’s friend said, “O…M…G!”

  Lucas turned away, embarrassed, while Alex simply buried his face in his hands, trying not to laugh. “Jeez, George!” he exclaimed through his fingers.

  “What?” he said, grinning proudly. “That’s my jet power.”

  Just then they heard a loud voice in the line behind them. “Relax, people. I’m just catching up to my roomies.” The blond-haired boy from their cabin was moving up through the line, leaving annoyed campers in his wake. When he reached the two girls behind them, he said, “Excuse me, ladies, but do you mind if I cut in front? These are my roommates.”

  The girl with the red hair pointed at George and said, “No problem. We’re too close to that one’s jet power anyway.” George only struck another ridiculous muscleman pose for them.

  The rich kid stepped up behind his three roommates and greeted them like best friends. “Hey guys, thanks for saving me a spot.”

  “You ain’t takin’ mine,” Lucas replied, turning his back on the older kid.

  “Whoa, take it easy, country boy,” their roommate said, putting up his hands and pretending to be scared. “As long as I’m not back with the riffraff, right here’s fine with me.”

  “Look,” said Alex, “if you’re gonna pretend we’re your best buddies, maybe you can at least call us by our names. His is Lucas.”

  “Hey, no problem. Lucas it is. Mine’s Zack. You girls ever ride a zip line before?”

  No one replied, so Zack went on.

  “So I figured. Me, I’m a total beast on these things. Did one in Costa Rica, another one up near Seattle, and, oh yeah, a really extreme one over in the Alps.” He leaned forward and whispered smugly to Lucas, “Those are in Europe, in case you’re wondering.”

  Another rider, a boy in bright green trunks, took a running jump and plummeted toward the lake. He threw his arms out to imitate an airplane, relying totally on the safety harness to keep him in the air. The crowd cheered again, some more nervously than others.

  On top of the platform, the counselor in charge hollered down to the boys, “All right, guys, you four can climb up and get your flight instructions.”

  Zack muttered, “Lame,” under his breath.

  Lucas turned to face Zack. “So why run up here and cut in line if it’s gonna be so lame?”

  Before Zack could answer, the counselor got their attention. “Let’s go, guys! We’ve got others waiting.”

  The four of them climbed the ladder and stood on the platform while the counselor launched into his instructions.

  “Okay, guys, listen up.” He had one hand on a black nylon harness for the rider’s waist and thighs. It hung from a T-shaped metal bar attached to two wheels that rode on the cable above them. “It’s pretty simple. Once I strap you in to the harness and give you the go-ahead, you get a running start and take off. You don’t have to hold on to the T-bar if you don’t want to, but I’d recommend it if you’re a little scared. If you’re more than a little scared, feel free to scream.” He winked and lowered his voice. “It scares the other kids waiting in line.”

  “George here’s gonna be screaming like a baby the whole way down,” Zack taunted.

  “Yeah? Watch me,” replied George.

  “Enough of that—listen up,” said the counselor. “The most important thing to remember is this.” He pointed to a brightly colored ring attached to a pin that went through two metal pieces at the top of the harness. “Read my lips, boys. Do not pull—or even touch—the orange ring! It’s for the counselor on the other end to get you loose quickly. If it’s pulled while you’re zipping, you’ll only be hanging on by your arms. You let go of the bar, you fall. You fall, you get hurt—probably bad. So keep your hands off the ring. Am I clear?”

  Alex and George nodded and Lucas said, “Yessir.” Zack just grinned, but since he appeared to be paying attention, the counselor didn’t wait. “All right now. Who’s up first?” he said.

  George stepped up quickly and saluted the counselor, sucking in his gut and puffing out his chest. “The Fabulous Flying Funderburk, sir. Strap me in.”

&nb
sp; “Hey, Zack,” said George, “you want extreme? Watch and learn.”

  “Yeah, watch out for his extreme jet power!” a girl at the foot of the platform yelled.

  “All right,” said the counselor, trying not to laugh. “The Fabulous, Jet-Powered Flying Funderburk it is.”

  It took him a little longer to strap George in because the thigh straps had to be loosened twice. When he was set, the counselor gave him the thumbs-up. Now attached to the line, George backed up past the other boys to get a running start. He paused to look down over the rail at the redheaded girl and winked at her. “This one’s for you,” he said.

  The girl made a gagging sound and pretended to throw up, and Lucas and Alex buried their faces in embarrassment again. Then, like an overloaded bus with wings, George threw his arms straight out to his sides and began his takeoff roll for the edge of the platform.

  At that moment, Zack made his move.

  In one motion, he grabbed the orange safety ring above George’s head and yanked it free. George saw what was happening but a second too late. He shot his hands up to the T-bar and tried to skid to a stop at the edge of the platform, but his momentum carried him off the edge. Immediately the cable sagged under his full body weight, bouncing him wildly up and down as he picked up speed through the trees.

  Zack turned back to face Lucas and Alex. He was twirling the orange ring around his finger and beaming from behind his mirrored sunglasses. “There goes the Fabulous Flying Thunderbutt,” he jeered. “Definitely extreme now.”

  The counselor took Zack by the arm.

  “Take a seat on the bench!” he snapped, fumbling for the radio at his belt. “Get ready to go after this kid in the water!” he yelled into the radio at the lifeguards below. “A kid up here on the platform pulled the safety ring, and there’s no way the one coming down is going to hold on!”

  Most of the campers in line saw George’s awkward takeoff, but only a few had seen Zack pull the ring. By the time the news raced through the crowd, George had hurtled out of the forest and over the lake, his body hanging like deadweight and his head pressed firmly between his pudgy arms as he strained to hang on. The campers grew quiet as the reality of George’s predicament sunk in. Clear of the trees, he still had nearly a quarter mile to cross the lake. If he didn’t hang on, he would tumble into the water from at least forty feet up. At high speed too.