by B. C. Tweedt
Jarryd made a face and spoke like a girl. “Oh, Greyson! So romantic! Romeo, oh Romeo! You make me want to stab myself!”
They all laughed as he plunged an imaginary dagger into his stomach and staggered about.
Liam pumped his eyebrows. “H-he’s ch-ch-checking out S-Sydney! G-going to g-get m-m-married!”
“No way. I’m 12. I’m not an impulse shopper.”
“Impulse shopper?”
“You know. Like when you’re waiting in line at the SuperMart and they line both sides of you with candy bars? And you’re like, ‘Yum’ and buy one without thinking? That’s an impulse.”
“So that’s what I am?” Jarryd asked.
“Totally. You’re not picky enough. You should be more frugal.”
Who am I to be giving dating advice? I saved a girl’s life and am still losing her.
“Maybe you’re just poor and can’t afford more than one grocery,” Jarryd said with a smirk.
“Well, maybe so.” He thought through the analogy. What was the opposite of an impulse shopper? “But I’m saving up for the best grocery in the frickin’ world! One that’ll make all the other groceries look sucky in comparison; and you’ll be stuck with a stomachache.”
Nick smiled and gave him a fist pound.
Jarryd cocked his head. “Wow. I must admit. That’s genius!” He pumped his chin and a sly smile crept up, exposing his big front teeth. “Except for one thing. A man’s gotta eat! What will you eat while you’re waiting? You’re going to starve!”
They broke to the right onto a less populated sidewalk. Smells of barbequed pork and turkey legs hung in the air. They turned their heads to the food hut – the source of the smell. Indeed, they were hungry again.
“Feel the hunger pains, Nolan?” Jarryd rubbed at Greyson’s belly until he shifted away.
He sighed. He felt them. But he didn’t want to admit it. He wanted to be with her now – and no one else. But would being with her satisfy his hunger?
“Yeah, yeah.” He eyed a sign advertising for a Live Gator Show across the fair.
Now there were some hungry animals. They’d do anything to devour their food.
Sam flashed into his mind. Are we animals fighting over the same prey?
No, no. It was more like one of those National Geographic shows where two dominant males fight over a mate. Sydney was not food. She was a person – intelligent enough to make wise choices. He would just have to help her make the right choice.
They arrived at the stunt-bike show just in time to find the last seats on the bleachers. Half-pipes, ramps, and giant nets were spread out over the fifty yards cordoned off in a long stretch of an open green field. The other half of the field was filled with RVs for sale. Dozens of them, just like the ones in the campgrounds, lined the area with barely enough room between them for prospective buyers to walk between. Wouldn’t it be cool if the stuntmen would jump the RVs?
But they didn’t. The show was entertaining and the stuntmen very skilled, but there never was any doubt that they would succeed. To Greyson, they made it look too easy. Still, he was glad he went. Not only for the show, but for the amazing luck.
They found him.
The boy in the white shirt, now in a blue volunteer shirt, had been walking between the RVs for sale just as the boys walked past with the crowd leaving the show. It was fortunate the boy hadn’t seen them. Greyson immediately took his hat off and turned his pack so it was hidden behind him. Without making a scene, he began walking on the other side of Jarryd and Liam, hiding his face.
“I see him,” Greyson whispered, walking behind his friends, glancing back at Kip who had begun to follow again.
The Plurb boy was with several other kids, all of them wearing the same State Fair Volunteer shirts that they had been wearing last night, all of them carrying a few tiki-torches under their arms. Talking with each other nonchalantly, one of the kids would stop periodically, check a piece of paper for reference, and then slam their torch into the dirt. The tallest boy, the Plurb boy, pushed his deep into the dirt, shook it to make sure it was in tight, and then made a mark on his piece of paper. They walked on.
Greyson put his hand on Liam’s shoulder and faked a smile toward Kip, who was out of earshot behind them. “We have to follow them. We are not losing them again.”
“What about Kip?” Nick warned. “If he catches on to what we’re doing, we’re toast.”
“We won’t follow them too closely. If he asks, we’re shopping around.”
Jarryd smiled. “Yes!”
“Okay. So play it cool. Don’t look at them too much or they’ll look at us and recognize me.”
“Aw snap!” Jarryd shouted, too loudly for Greyson’s comfort.
“What?”
Jarryd suddenly shot to the right, under a vendor’s giant white tent, filled with racks of clothing and tables of boots, cowboys hats, lassos, and everything western. “Quick. Grab a disguise before Kip comes!” He began shuffling through stacks of masks.
Though confused, the other boys caught on, snatched what they needed and threw their money on the counter. Thirty seconds later they were back on the trail as different people. Jarryd wore a horse-head mask, Nick a feathered-headdress, Liam a pair of aviator sunglasses too big for his face, and Greyson – a solid-red cowboy hat. Kip was confused as they emerged from the tent, but shook it off as normal boy stupidity.
“Now, if they ever see us again, they won’t think we were the ones following them,” Jarryd said through the mask.
“Yeah, but aren’t they more likely to be suspicious of us now?” Greyson asked.
“What? No. Why would they think we were suspicious? Who would try to follow someone while wearing these things?”
“Exactly, Jarryd. Who would?”
“Right. Get it?”
“No. But whatever. Just make sure they don’t see us.”
The four of them followed the teenagers for five minutes, drawing looks and laughs from almost everyone but the teens until finally the group ran out of torches, changed course, and headed toward the main concourse. It took another five minutes before the group arrived at their destination.
Acting inconspicuous, Greyson watched as the teenaged boy led his group down a walkway between the Security Building and another building. It was there that two uniformed men, the same men from the night before, were smoking outside a glass door. In the light of the day it was clear that they were definitely too large for their uniforms.
When the teenagers approached, one of the men took out a keycard attached to his belt and swiped it over the electronic card-reader. It buzzed, and he opened the door for the kids, barely looking at them. When they had passed, he continued smoking.
“The Security Building?” Greyson pondered. “Why would security be handling the parade decorations?”
Jarryd whistled to himself from underneath the horse-mask. “I knew it. I knew it.”
“What?”
He stopped the group in the middle of the concourse and put his hands on his knees letting out exaggerated sighs, like a frustrated horse. “Those tiki-torches are going to release some kind of toxic gas, we’ll all be infected, then the quarantine, then the graves, then the death. It’s going to happen all over again, just like the legend!”
“Wouldn’t it be death, and then the graves?” Nick asked.
Jarryd threw off the mask and hit him. “Whatever! I’ll dig your grave right now!”
“Shh! Don’t panic,” Greyson soothed. “First of all, the torches are just torches. We checked them, remember? Second, I’ll ask Kip about it when we get to lunch. If he thinks it is serious, he’ll handle it.”
“He’ll handle it?”
“Yeah,” he took a backwards glance at his bodyguard who was pretending to text on his phone. “He’s got the whole FBI on speed dial.”
Jarryd scoffed and began mimicking Greyson. “Hey, we can also talk to Sam. He’s got the whole government on his speed dial. He can handle our problems. N
o!” He leaned in toward Greyson. “If Kip gets one whiff of you sneaking around again, sniffing out trouble, he’ll take you back to your corny farm. No friends, no fair, no corndogs, no Sydney. Got it?”
He’s right. He couldn’t tell Kip unless it was serious. Only if it was serious.
“Alright. What do you propose we do?”
Jarryd took in a breath of pride. “We stake this place out. Watch and learn. If something stinks, we’ll call in reinforcements.”
“But what about lunch? Kip will catch on right away.”
“I know, I know. Hold your wiener horse. You will go to lunch. Nick and I will stake it out. We’ll report to you whatever we find.”
Greyson took in a deep breath, tipping his cowboy hat up to give his head some air. “I don’t know…”
“I dare you.”
“Hey, what? Don’t do that.”
“I dare you to let me and the bro handle this. And to hold off on telling Kip. If we figure out it’s legit bad stuff, then we call in the big guns. Deal?”
Indecisive, he glanced around the concourse. The last time he’d accepted Jarryd’s dare, he had discovered a massive terrorist plot. Sure, in the end it had ended well enough, but the last thing he wanted to do was to chance it a second time. Any kid who falls off a cliff and happens to live to tell about it rarely chooses to fly a kite at the edge of the Grand Canyon.
But then again. If it was the right thing to do…
“Fine.”
Jarryd pumped his eyebrows. “I can always count on you for a little adventure.”
Greyson cleared his throat. “Remember. Only watch. And let me know everything that happens.”
“Got it,” Jarryd chirped.
“Got it,” Nick repeated.
“Good.” He turned with Liam to leave and then turned back. “Oh. And don’t let them notice you.”
“Of course. We got this.” He put on his horse mask again.
For some reason, he believed him. They’d come through. Besides - they didn’t have to do anything. Yet.
But something still nagged at him. If God had given him instincts for sniffing out evil, then his nostrils were full of it. Those teenagers weren’t a decorating crew, and those weren’t security guards. The same something that was nagging at him was also warning him that this could get out of hand. This would be bigger than him, and he was scared.
Suddenly his father’s voice came to him. Do what is right, even if it’s hard.
And then Kip’s words came to him. It wasn’t his “job” to save people. It was Kip’s job and the FBI’s. But was it cowardly to pass off doing what is right to other people? Maybe. Or maybe I just need help.
Greyson shook his head, agreeing with himself. It wasn’t cowardly to admit needing help. In fact, it was humble. Plus, the last time he’d gone solo, he’d almost been stabbed to death. If this was as serious as his evil-radar said that it was, going in alone was a death wish.
The only person who could help was Kip. And that meant his trip to the fair was over.
Chapter 12
The birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and the corndogs were delicious. Everyone Greyson loved was around him, engaged in happy conversation over lunch, except for his mother – and the twins. Smiles were everywhere. The mood was so light that even Greyson was tempted to believe that the good times would never end. But they did.
“Hey everybody! My name is Sawyer Ford. Can I hang with you guys today?”
All heads swung to the boy’s voice. It was not Sawyer Ford.
“Sam!” Sydney was not shy with her excitement. “Hey!”
Sam rushed up to her with his fingers to his lips, whispering. “No, no. I don’t want people to recognize me today. So call me Sawyer.”
“Is that why you’re wearing that hat?” Greyson asked him, pointing to the blue hat with a white ‘S’ stitched on front.
“Yup. And I wanted to be more like you,” Sam winked at Greyson, who had already switched his cowboy hat back to his original.
Greyson attempted a smile. It looks stupid on him.
“This is my personal bodyguard and friend, Agent Murray,” he said, gesturing behind him.
Their attention turned to the man they’d been ignoring, standing behind Sam. He looked like every other bodyguard – buff, cropped hair, and the same jeans and plaid shirt combination they all seemed to wear when they wanted to blend in. It was almost the same shade of blue that Kip was wearing.
The table smothered their welcomes and greetings on the two, offering them places to sit and food to eat. Sam mentioned that he had already eaten, being that he was on a strict diet to maintain energy on the campaign trail.
“So, why Sawyer Ford?” Sydney asked when Sam had joined them at the table. “You get to pick it?”
Sam smiled. “Yeah. He’s my favorite character from the old TV show ‘Lost’.” He turned to Greyson. “Why’d you pick Nolan Schroeder?”
Greyson huffed. “I didn’t. It was given to me.” He pretended to glare at Kip, who laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
“I didn’t pick it either,” Kip explained. “If I did, you’d be John McClane.”
The adults laughed and began their own private conversations. Sam and Greyson watched the two bodyguards. It was fascinating to watch their limited eye contact as they talked to one another. They were more focused on their surroundings than anything else – constantly on the watch, analyzing and protecting.
“I bet my bodyguard could beat up your bodyguard,” Sam whispered into Greyson’s ear.
Greyson was offended at first, but then caught his smile. He was just kidding. And he’s totally wrong. “No way. Kip’s killed bodyguards like yours since he was a newb.”
Sam laughed. “Maybe so, but mine has six weapons on him right now.”
They both examined Agent Murray’s clothing. He kept them hidden very well.
“Well,” Greyson started, remembering Kip’s training, “mine says everybody has at least ten. Two fists, two elbows, two knees, two feet, one head, and most important…”
“His gun?”
“No – his brain.”
“Oh. That’s lame.”
They shared a good laugh and Sydney felt left out. “What are you two laughing about?”
“Oh, guy stuff,” Greyson said.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Sam said, backing him up.
“Alright. That’s how it going to be? Guys versus girls?”
Sam and Greyson exchanged looks. “Yup,” they said in unison.
“Okay. Then let’s see who can hold the biggest snake.”
“Uh…what?” Snakes? Anything but snakes.
“Ready?” she asked.
Sam looked around for a snake. “What? Now?”
“Yeah. Snakes Alive is just down the way. You on?”
Greyson already began to sweat. He’d hated snakes ever since he’d been bitten in the second grade. He couldn’t remember it very vividly, but his dad had said it had been a rattler. And that he almost died. They’d been camping in Colorado – using just the gear on their back, fishing for food, avoiding bear tracks, and really roughing it. He’d been having the time of his life learning survival skills, taking in majestic landscapes, and joking around with his dad. It was just when his dad was making him laugh with his Smokey the Bear impression that the snake struck.
The clearest image he could remember was the thing leaping at his ankle, jaws wide open and fangs dripping with venom. Well, the fangs probably were dripping with venom. The next thing he could remember was drifting in and out of consciousness as his dad carried him down the mountain. The worst, most painful thing, though, had been seeing his dad panic. For the first time, he had looked afraid.
Sydney shot up from her seat and announced their plans. The bodyguards nodded to them and Greyson suddenly remembered. He hadn’t told Kip about the Plurb going to the Security Building yet. But Sydney and Sam were already on their way to Snakes Alive. What am I s
upposed to do? Let them have the afternoon together petting snakes? Sam would show her how unafraid he was, and she would swoon and drool and probably make out with him.
Nope! Not happening! He would have to tell Kip later.
He checked his phone. No update from the twins yet.
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Jarryd and Nick sat on a park bench, reading newspapers across from the Security Building. Though the passersby thought they must have been well-informed preteens, really, they were spies. And really good ones, too.
The group of kids had left the building with more torches, and the twins made sure to note what they were wearing. Twenty minutes later, Jarryd had found matching State Fair t-shirts in a booth in the Varied Industries Building, minus the word ‘Volunteer’ on the back. The twins now both wore them, without any masks or headdresses. If the guards ever noticed their espionage, they would merely write them off as more of their own. Genius.
“You see this?” Nick pointed to an article. “It says that Pluribus has pro-secessionist candidates running for offices in seven states, and with more to follow. They’re not going to win, but it’s scary.”
Jarryd shook his head. “You’re actually reading the paper?”
Nick sighed. “Yeah. Can you actually read?”
“Yeah, duh! There’s a sale at Victoria’s secret. Ten percent off brass-ee-air-ees. Whatever those are.”
“Wow. Brassieres are women’s hats,” Nick lied. “You didn’t know that?”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot,” Jarryd lied in return.
“Sure ya did.”
“Whatever. You keep reading your paper. I’ll be watching the Pubic area.”
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Greyson couldn’t stop staring at the snake. Its glassy eye was watching him, too, snapping from his neck to his eyes as if it were debating when to strike his jugular. Greyson guessed it was timing its assault with flicks of its forked tongue. In preparation for the attack, it had even stopped moving its massive body, which was thicker than his leg and longer than Sam, Sydney, and Greyson combined. It could eat them all.
