by Mark Frost
Will waited a moment for all of that to settle.
“Whoa,” said Nick.
“But if the ones on the plane were the same group, we know that as least two of them survived,” said Ajay. “Nepsted and Hobbes.”
“Right,” said Elise, thinking it through. “And if they didn’t want anyone to know there were any survivors, they’d put their names on the memorial with the others.”
Wouldn’t be the last time somebody survived a “plane crash” around here, thought Will.
“Everything keeps circling back to this one moment in time,” said Will, holding up the photo. “Hobbes and Nepsted and the Knights of Charlemagne in the same room with Thomas Greenwood and the country’s soon-to-be vice president.”
“How do you know Greenwood was there?” asked Nick. “He’s not in the picture.”
“I’m thinking Greenwood took the photo,” said Will.
“There are ten other seniors in that photograph,” said Ajay. “I’m still trying to find out exactly who else was in attendance, but all the 1937 yearbooks are missing from the library.”
“I think we can get those names off the memorial,” said Will.
“Henry Wallace,” said Elise, making her own note. “We need to know more about him, too.”
“Ajay, I’m also working on permission to bring you up there to go through the boxes.”
“I welcome the opportunity,” said Ajay, cramming the last few items into his bulging backpack.
Nick picked up a hatchet and a can of lighter fluid Ajay was about to add. “Dude, what are you bringing these for?”
“The spirit of the Boy Scout motto, my good man,” said Ajay, taking them back and jamming them into his pack. “For instance, what if we need to start a campfire? Be prepared. I fashioned this hatchet in the labs myself, from high-density carbon steel. I believe it could be remarkably useful.”
“Guys, we’re going in tomorrow night,” said Will. “It’s Saturday, so they’ll be more relaxed about curfew. Let’s finish packing and get some rest. We’re going to need it.”
The others went back to work packing, purposeful and quiet. Ajay shouldered his backpack and staggered around the room. Will figured it must weigh at least forty pounds—Ajay had packed every gadget he owned—but he never complained about how heavy it was.
Will liked what he was seeing; solidifying a connection between Stan Haxley and the Paladin Prophecy had strengthened everyone’s resolve.
Seven o’clock Saturday evening. The setting sun still hung a substantial way above the western horizon, but the heat had finally started to ease up as they set out from Greenwood Hall. They departed in two groups, boys and girls, leaving minutes apart and taking different routes to avoid arousing suspicion. The school’s curfews were much less rigidly enforced in the summer months. If any guards bothered to stop and ask, they were headed out for a hike and then a picnic supper down by the lake. Since it would stay light until nearly 10:00 p.m., no one would even question the idea.
The boys struck straight out toward the old field house everyone called the Barn. They passed by the fierce statue of the school mascot—the Paladin—or rather a replica that had recently been installed after the original ripped itself loose and attacked Nick last November.
“When did that go back up?” asked Ajay.
“Last week,” said Nick. He eyed the figure warily, and then it triggered a thought. “Hey, I meant to show you this earlier. Check this out. They were passing ’em out at the pool today.”
He swung his pack around, rummaged around in the front flap, and fished out a yellow paper flyer, the kind you’d find stuck under your windshield wiper at a mall.
“This is the one I was telling you about,” said Nick, pointing to one of the photographs on it. “That’s the little wrestler dude who looks like Nepsted.”
It was a cheaply thrown together advertisement for a wrestling “extravaganza.” Being held next Saturday night at the old armory arena in New Brighton, the nearby town, where Nick worked as a lifeguard at the community swimming pool.
Six wrestlers were pictured in corny staged action shots—four men and two women. They wore makeup and outrageous costumes, oversized slabs of beef making aggressively silly faces.
Except for one of the men on the bottom row, a muscular, well-proportioned little person that they called, in big print below his picture, The Professor. Compared to the others, his expression was a portrait in dignified restraint, but apparently that was part of his character. He carried a walking stick, wore a sleeveless cartoon version of a dandy’s suit and tie, a jaunty top hat, and a monocle wedged over his right eye.
Will had to admit that, although the photo was a lousy reproduction and the guy was wearing that ridiculous getup, it was clear that the Professor bore a striking resemblance to Happy Nepsted.
“You see? What’d I tell you,” said Nick. “Practically dead ringers!”
“Yes, I see,” said Ajay. “But what does it mean?”
“I have no freaking idea,” said Nick. “But, dudes, next Saturday? We are so front row. I already bought us tickets.”
Will and Ajay looked at each other, undecided.
“What have we got to lose?” asked Will.
“Only our dignity,” said Ajay, waving his hand on the flyer. “Which is, thankfully, much more than you can say for these jokers.”
They trudged on, starting down the hill from the Barn toward the woods.
“Awesome,” said Nick. “Now I just have to work on the girls.”
By 7:30, they reached the observation point Ajay had established earlier in the day. Elise and Brooke arrived fifteen minutes later, following a path along the lake from the east. So far they were completely alone in the woods and no one had seen either group arrive.
So far, so good.
Will and Ajay took a long look at the north shore of the island. Once again, there were no guards in sight. Ajay didn’t even need his binoculars to confirm that the five tree-mounted security cameras were still making their regular sweep of the shoreline.
“Let’s motate, dudes,” said Nick, bouncing around with excess energy. “What are we waiting around for?”
“For the sun to drop below the tree line,” said Will. “Then you’ll go across first.”
“That’s cool,” said Nick. “Whenever. I’m ready, Freddy.”
Nick stripped down to the swimsuit under his shorts and took flippers, a mask, and a snorkel from his backpack.
“Stand by for the gun show, ladies,” said Nick, then arranged his arms in a bodybuilding pose.
“And me without my air sickness bag,” said Elise.
They waited behind the thicket until the sun finally slipped behind the trees to the west at 8:10 and twilight filtered the world around them to a uniform slate gray, reflecting the shade on the surface of the lake. A light breeze tickled the water, but conditions remained calm.
“I was just thinking,” said Nick, concentrating intently.
“Did you hurt yourself?” asked Ajay.
“About what?” asked Elise.
“Seriously, the totally worst time to have a stroke? Has to be during a game of charades.”
Will checked his watch again. “Time to go, Nick,” he said.
“Catch you on the flip side, kids,” said Nick.
“Be careful, Nicky,” said Elise.
“She cares,” said Nick, folding his hands under his chin like a lovesick goof. “She really cares.”
Elise slugged him in the arm. Nick crouched around the thicket and snuck down to the water’s edge while the others watched the island shoreline a couple hundred yards away. Nick reached the last bit of cover before the beach and looked back for a signal; Will gave him the thumbs-up.
Nick slipped into the lake without a ripple. He put on flippers, mask, and snorkel and immedi
ately used a dolphin kick to propel himself below the surface and out of sight. About fifty feet from shore, the tip of the snorkel appeared briefly, just long enough for Nick to take in a breath, then submerged again.
“Good gracious, look how far he’s gone already,” said Ajay, watching him closely. “He swims like a seal.”
“Toss him a fish and he’ll balance a ball on his nose,” said Elise.
“There’s someone on the shore,” said Brooke, peering through her binoculars.
Will trained his glasses over to where she was aimed.
A guard was walking along the rocky beach, heading directly for the section of beach where Nick was supposed to make land.
“What’s he doing?” asked Elise.
Will watched the guard stop near the water and take out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, looking around a little furtively as he lit one up.
“He’s sneaking a smoke,” said Will.
“Nice to know,” said Elise dryly. “Even the bad guys discourage smoking.”
The tip of Nick’s snorkel surfaced again, almost halfway to the island this time.
“He’s going to see him,” said Ajay, eyes wide with alarm. “We have to warn Nick!”
Will and Elise glanced at each other, thinking the same thing.
You want to try? Will asked her silently.
Elise tilted her head to the side and replied, Heck, if it works on my family’s golden retriever, I ought to be able to get through to Dolphin Boy.
She lowered her binoculars, closed her eyes, and concentrated.
Will trained his binoculars back on the lake. He saw Nick’s snorkel poke to the surface again about fifty yards offshore. It ducked under again briefly, then came up a moment later, in the same spot.
Elise opened her eyes and winked at Will.
“What’s happening?” asked Ajay.
“He’s treading water,” said Brooke. “Nick must’ve spotted him.”
“Why does that blasted guard have to smoke so slowly?” moaned Ajay. “Is he trying to catch cancer from a single cigarette?”
“Don’t worry, Nick can probably only tread water for about a month,” said Elise.
“Out of curiosity, Ajay, can you tell what brand he’s smoking?” asked Will.
Ajay opened his eyes wide and looked at the guard, without binoculars. “It’s filtered, but he’s already burned past the label. And he’s put the pack back in his pocket.”
“You can see that kind of detail?” asked Brooke, lowering her binoculars. “Without these?”
Ajay hemmed and hawed. “Well, you know, from this distance I just made an educated guess—”
“Yes, he can see that far and that well,” said Will. “You’re among friends, Ajay. We’re not going to tell anybody.”
“But I thought your big whoop was remembering everything you see,” said Elise.
“That’s correct,” said Ajay.
“Plus he can see everything,” said Will.
“Within reason,” said Ajay.
“How many fingers am I holding up behind my back?” asked Brooke.
“I can see things at a distance,” said Ajay. “I never said I could see through anything.”
“So, for instance, you can’t see our underwear right now,” said Elise, deadpan.
Ajay blushed and giggled, and then stifled his giggle with both hands and turned away.
Brooke gave Elise a low five.
Will looked at the guard through his glasses again. He put out the cigarette, sat on a rock, and unwrapped a candy bar.
“Great,” said Will. “Now he’s having a snack.”
“Snickers,” said Ajay. “To be precise.”
Can you nudge him? Will heard Elise ask in his head.
Will didn’t think he could push a suggestion over that distance, but answered, What the heck, time’s a-wasting. Worth a try.
He focused on the guard’s head, closed his eyes, and pushed a word picture at him: two other guards talking near the castle: Is that idiot sneaking a smoke again? Somebody check down by the lake.
The picture took a while to reach the guard—over three seconds—but when Will raised his glasses again, he saw the man react like he’d just been caught shoplifting. He glanced back at the castle, hastily flicked his candy wrapper toward the water, and hustled back into the woods.
“He’s gone,” said Will.
“And he’s a litterbug,” said Ajay.
A few moments later Nick’s snorkel peeked out of the water again. His head surfaced as he took a quick look and saw that the guard was gone. He went back under, and ten seconds later Nick crawled up on the beach. At first he lay flat to look around, but once he saw the cameras had rotated away from him, he scampered up the rocks to the edge of the tree line.
Will found Nick through the binoculars, signaling a thumbs-up back in their direction.
“He’s across,” said Will, looking at his watch. “Get ready to roll.”
Will stood up and waved his arms in an arc toward Nick. Nick waved back, then hustled through the woods toward the tree holding the security camera that was farthest to the left. He shimmied up the trunk to where it was hidden, staying behind the lens.
Will spotted him through the glasses again. “Nick’s in position. Hit it, Ajay.”
Ajay waddled down to the water’s edge under his heavy pack and shrugged it off near the waterline. He took out a heavy, compact black cube from the pack, about a foot square, set it on the sand, and yanked a rip cord that extended out of the cube’s center. A whoosh of air rushed into the cube and it began to rapidly expand and unfold. Within seconds the cube had re-formed into an entirely new shape: an oblong black rubber raft about six feet long and three feet wide.
Will, Brooke, and Elise took out and snapped together collapsible paddles. Will put together a second one from Nick’s pack, and then they all sprinted to the lake.
As soon as Nick saw them appear on the shore, he clamped one hand around the security camera and began to slow down its arc from right to left. Will noted the time on his watch. They had three minutes before the next camera would sweep over far enough to see them.
Wading in to his ankles, Ajay positioned the raft in water just deep enough for it to float. Ajay and the girls loaded in their packs, climbed aboard, and took their assigned spots. Will tossed Ajay the second paddle, shoved the raft into the lake, and jumped in. All four started paddling toward the island.
“Good job, Ajay,” whispered Will, sitting next to Brooke in the back.
“She’s holding together fantastically well, don’t you think?” said Ajay, smiling with pride.
“How did you make this?” asked Brooke.
“A latex mold I fashioned surreptitiously in the lab, patterned after the Zodiac rafts used by Navy Seals. I simply added a self-inflating friction intake valve for the bladder powered by pulling the rip cord—sorry, I don’t mean to bore you with the details.”
“No,” said Elise dryly. “Pray continue.”
“Anyway, I couldn’t be more tickled with the results—”
“Less talking,” said Will, “more paddling. Sound carries over water.”
“By the way, why is a boat a ‘she’? Why isn’t it an ‘it’?” whispered Brooke.
“Quite an interesting story, actually,” Ajay whispered back. “In ancient times, sailors named ships after various goddesses, an appeal for benevolence during perilous journeys—”
Elise scowled over her shoulder at Brooke: “You had to ask.”
“—and the custom continues to this day when captains name ships after wives or girlfriends; in fact, ships remain one of the only gendered inanimate objects in the English language, which is ironic since having a real woman on board is considered bad luck.”
At that moment the boat sprang a leak near
the front, spouting water right in front of Brooke.
“So I guess that doubles down with two of us on board,” she said.
“Why don’t you fix it with your hatchet?” asked Elise.
“Very funny,” said Ajay. “As it happens, I have a patch kit here in my bag.”
Ajay knelt down to repair the leak and nearly tipped over into the lake.
“Take it easy, Ishmael,” said Elise, steadying him.
Will looked toward the shore. They had made it nearly two-thirds of the way across, and he could see Nick in the tree restraining the camera from swinging over far enough to spot them.
Will looked over at the next camera, on a tree twenty yards to the right of Nick, which had begun to slowly turn back toward them. With Ajay working on the patch and only three of them paddling, Will realized they’d now be caught in its sights before they made it to the beach.
“It’s going to see us, isn’t it?” said Brooke, watching Will’s eye line.
“Hold on a second,” said Will.
It was one thing to push a suggestion to someone across a lake, and quite another to affect an object physically over that kind of distance. He’d never tried anything close to this before. Will set down his paddle, focused on the second camera, narrowed his eyes, and concentrated ferociously, blanking everything else out of his mind the way Jericho had taught him.
“What are you doing?” whispered Brooke.
Lost in concentration, unable to answer, Will felt the fingers of his intention rush out across the water toward the second camera, and this time his mind’s eye traveled with them. All of a sudden he was “seeing” the camera from midair, right next to that tree. He “wrapped” his fingers around the armature that attached it to the tree, applied resistance, then felt the camera’s motor protest as its arc slowed to a crawl.
“Paddle,” grunted Will, teeth clenched, sweat dripping down his forehead and neck. “Hurry.”
Ajay finished patching the leak and picked up his paddle, and the others dug away at the water, coordinating their stroke to Brooke’s whispered count. Will “held” the camera for as long as he could, letting it go just as the hull of the boat scraped bottom on the rocky beach.
