Fort

by Cynthia DeFelice

  And we had the picture to prove it.

  Now was the moment when J.R. and Morrie would flee in shame and terror, desperate to escape from their tormenters—which, this time, was us! Now they would run, wanting only to get out of these woods and never come back! Now they would make their mad dash to safety, and they would never bother Augie or me or Gerard again. Not as long as we had that photo.

  I savored the moment, watching and waiting.

  J.R. turned to Morrie. They exchanged a long look.

  Ha! Just as we thought! They were agreeing: it was time to get the heck out of Dodge.

  “Bye-bye, boys!” I called gleefully.

  But—I couldn’t believe it! Instead of leaving, they charged!

  Morrie grabbed Augie. J.R. grabbed me.

  And they began beating the snot out of us.

  19

  Things happened awfully fast after that. J.R. had knocked me down and was on top of me. His hands, sticky with garbage, were rummaging through my pockets.

  “Gimme that phone,” he grunted.

  Now, you might imagine that at this point I’d be thinking of ways to save my skin. But that weird part of my brain that comes up with crazy stuff at the worst possible times was wondering how come I got stuck with J.R., who smelled even worse than he looked, while Augie got Morrie, who was drenched in Floral Fantasy. If I was going to die, I wondered, why couldn’t my last vision be of Aunt Hilda? Why couldn’t the sweet scent of her perfume fill my dying nostrils, instead of the stench of a Dumpster?

  But then I heard gasping and struggling nearby, and Morrie’s voice saying, “Prepare to die, Lame-o.” And I knew Augie was having problems of his own.

  “Gimme the phone,” J.R. demanded again.

  “No way,” I said between clenched teeth, surprising myself with my bravery in the face of imminent death. That phone was our only hope of getting out of this, and I wasn’t going to just hand it over.

  While he tried to get at the pants pocket where I’d jammed the cell phone for safekeeping, I fought to get free of him. He smelled so bad, I had to concentrate on not breathing through my nose, for fear I’d throw up. Throwing up might have been a useful tactic, actually, but I never had to test it out.

  Because suddenly a terrifying roar burst through the night.

  I thought of Al, warning us that sometimes at night bloodcurdling screams came from the woods, sounding like somebody getting their heart ripped out by a wild animal while they were still alive. Is that what we were hearing?

  I froze. J.R. froze in his position on top of me. The sounds of battle coming from Morrie and Augie went silent.

  Then, breaking the utter stillness and quiet, a voice bellowed:

  “Be on your guard!”

  It was Gerard! On Al’s bullhorn! No wonder his voice sounded so loud—and so weird and robot-like. He’d started reciting the words to the song I’d made up that afternoon. There was a long pause. Oh, no. Had he forgotten the rest?

  Come on, Gerard, I urged him silently. I heard you saying the words over and over. Keep going!

  “’Cause I am Gerard!”

  Another pause. Come on, Gerard!

  “I know the liars

  Who like to set fires.”

  From above me, I heard J.R. gasp.

  “I kept my mouth shut

  Up until now, but—”

  Long pause.

  J.R.’s breathing got faster.

  “Be on your guard—

  ’Cause I AM GERARD!”

  There was complete silence for a few seconds. Then I could feel the air go out of J.R., like he was a big stinky balloon deflating on top of me. I wriggled out from under him, and he stood up, kind of shakily.

  Morrie let go of Augie and got up, very slowly and carefully, keeping a wary eye on Augie the whole time. I guess he wanted to make sure Augie wasn’t going to retaliate by punching his lights out.

  I have to admit, it was tempting. But Augie and I both stood by our no damage policy, which I would just like to point out shows a lot of self-control on our parts.

  Morrie stood. He was panting. There was a confused look on his face, which matched J.R.’s dazed expression.

  If I had drawn a thought bubble over Morrie’s head right then, it would have said: Uhhhh, what the heck just happened?

  One over J.R.’s head would have read: Uhhhh, what do we do now?

  It was pretty funny, but I figured laughing might not be the best move, no matter how unthreatening J.R. and Morrie looked at that moment.

  I glanced anxiously at Augie, who was on his feet by then. He didn’t look too bad. His shirt was ripped and his cheek looked a little red, but there was no blood. He gave me a quick grin. No missing teeth. I felt better.

  At that moment, Gerard’s voice blared out, singing his song all over again, faster this time.

  “Be on your guard,

  ’Cause I am Gerard.

  I know the liars

  Who like to set fires.

  I kept my mouth shut

  Up until now, but—

  Be on your guard,

  ’Cause I AM GERARD!”

  That last Gerard! was super loud. I couldn’t help smiling. When Gerard got something in his head, he sure liked to stick with it, which could sometimes drive you nuts. But in this case, it was perfect. When he said the part about the fires, I watched the same expression appear on both J.R.’s and Morrie’s faces. It was the look of a cornered rat.

  Gerard’s voice had sounded closer and closer. Now that the song was finished, he emerged suddenly from the darkness. He’d always been big. But right then he looked enormous, towering over us in that clearing in the woods. And, well, scary. He was holding his flashlight under his chin so that it cast ghoulish shadows across his big white face.

  He looked unfamiliar.

  He looked fierce.

  “Gerard?” I said, before I could stop myself.

  He smiled, but that only made him look even creepier.

  I noted with interest that J.R. and Morrie were staring at him with something like horror.

  I caught Augie’s eye, then started talking, hoping he’d help out if I got stuck on what to say.

  “So, gentlemen,” I said. I sounded a lot more sure of myself than I actually was. I don’t even think my voice was shaking, which it totally was, inside. “Here’s the situation. Our friend Gerard told us the whole story about seeing you guys set fire to Al’s shed. And about how you scared him into keeping quiet.”

  An idea crossed my mind right then, and I plunged ahead, making it up as I went along. “Then you two spread the rumor that Gerard was the one who did it, trying to make sure no one would believe him, even if he did talk.”

  J.R. and Morrie exchanged a furtive glance. Bingo! I had been right.

  Augie flashed me a thumbs-up sign.

  I was on a roll! “So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re not ever going to mess with Gerard or us again. Because if you do, Gerard talks. And I guarantee, people will believe him.”

  Augie jumped in. “You know Coach’s code of conduct. When he finds out about what you did, you’ll be off the football team so fast you won’t know what happened.”

  My turn to give him a thumbs-up.

  “But first,” he added, “the other guys on the team might be interested in seeing that picture Wyatt took tonight. How did it come out, Wyatt?”

  “Oh, it’s just perfect,” I said, waving the phone in the air. To J.R. and Morrie I added, “Just take a look at each other if you want the general idea. Only your faces look like this.” I opened my eyes and mouth in my best imitation of a victim in a horror movie.

  Morrie made a sudden lunge at me, in an attempt to grab the phone. But Gerard, who had been standing by, shining his flashlight on J.R. and Morrie, roared through the bullhorn, “Stop right there, stronzo!”

  Morrie did. He looked puzzled. “What’d he call me?”

  “You don’t want to know,” I said.

  J.R. had j
ust about jumped out of his skin at Gerard’s sudden shout. Now he stood, shaking, his eyes bugging out. So quietly we could barely hear him, he said, “I’m outta here. You coming, Morrie?”

  Morrie took one long look around, like he was trying to think of something that would give him the final advantage. But he had nothing, and he must have known it.

  Gerard, Augie, and I watched them disappear into the darkness. They went a lot more slowly than they had come, picking their way very carefully and flashing their lights ahead and up into every tree.

  We did a three-way high five before busting into uncontrollable laughter. I don’t know about Augie and Gerard, but I didn’t realize how nervous and scared I’d been until it was over. I was relieved and kind of stunned that we had actually pulled it off, and all I could do was laugh. Gerard and Augie, too. Every time one of us thought we had it together, somebody else would say or do something to start us going again.

  It was epic.

  Eventually we went back to the fort, where we passed my phone back and forth to look again at the picture of J.R. and Morrie. Then we took some shots of us goofing around by The Pink Palace sign. Then we built up the fire and sat around eating and reliving every minute of Operation Doom.

  Finally, we got quiet and sat staring happily into the dying embers of the fire.

  Suddenly Gerard spoke. “This is the best night of Gerard’s whole life.”

  “Mine, too,” I said.

  “Totally,” said Augie.

  20

  We had a bunch of stuff to clean up in the morning, but we didn’t care. It was actually kind of fun, because every empty bucket, every piece of fishing line, and every popped balloon reminded us of our triumph over the forces of evil.

  It was fun, that is, until we came to Herkimer.

  Or what was left of Herkimer.

  “Aw, man,” said Augie, picking up Herkimer’s body from the ground, which was strewn with feathers. He held up the partially flattened owl. “Somebody stomped on him.”

  One foot had snapped and was dangling limply from Herkimer’s leg. His wings were bent and broken looking. The feathers that remained were covered in dirt.

  Augie stared with disbelief at the thing in his hand.

  I unhooked the head from where it hung from the wire, bobbing gently at the end of its rubber band. An eye was missing, and the beak was twisted to one side. It looked like the head of a grotesque bride with Aunt Hilda’s nightgown trailing behind for a veil.

  I didn’t need to say it: a little superglue was not going to make Herkimer as good as new.

  Not even close.

  Gerard, looking sorrowful, took the body from Augie and patted it soothingly, the same way he did with his squirrel tail and rabbit’s foot.

  Augie was close to tears. “What am I going to tell Unk?” he moaned.

  “We’ll just have to tell him what happened,” I said. “I’ll go with you.”

  He nodded, but he didn’t look any happier. I wasn’t feeling too great about it myself.

  We finished up, then stood around putting off the moment when we had to go see Unk.

  “Let’s just get it over with,” I told Augie. “Better than sitting around here all day worrying about it anyway.”

  “Yeah,” said Augie mournfully. “I know.”

  Gerard called his mother to say we were leaving. He began nodding his head enthusiastically, and I guessed she had asked him a question. He was nodding his answer, not thinking about how she couldn’t see him over the phone. She must have asked again because then he said, “It was the best night of Gerard’s whole life!”

  Augie and I laughed. Whatever Unk was going to do to us on account of wrecking Herkimer, it had been worth it.

  Nobody was around when we got to Al’s. We waited for Mrs. DeMuth to come for Gerard, and told her how awesome her fried chicken was.

  “I don’t think J.R. and Morrie will be bothering Gerard anymore,” I told her as we put the cooler and Gerard’s stuff into the backseat of her car.

  “If they do,” added Augie, “you be sure to let us know.”

  “Be on your guard,” Gerard shouted loudly, “’cause I am Gerard!”

  “You bet you are,” Augie and I said together.

  We waved goodbye and were ready to grab our bikes when Al appeared at the door to his office. His clothes were rumpled and his hair—or what he had left of it anyway—was sticking out all over the place, and he was rubbing his eyes, as if he’d just gotten up.

  “Hey, Al,” we called.

  “What’s going on?” Augie asked.

  “Nothin’ much,” Al said as he tucked in his shirttails.

  “You look like you just got out of bed,” said Augie.

  Al turned and gestured into the office. “Do you see a bed in there?”

  “Well, what I meant was, you look like you were asleep.”

  “What are you, my boss, busting me for sleeping on the job?”

  Augie looked confused. “So you were asleep,” he said.

  “Is there a law says I can’t?”

  Now Augie looked bewildered. “No. I was just—Never mind. Um … Unk’s not here, is he?”

  “You think I’m hiding him under the bed that isn’t here either?” Al asked.

  We were all quiet for a minute. Augie and I looked at each other. I knew he was thinking the same thing I was: What was Al so grouchy about?

  Finally, Al broke the silence, asking casually, “Everything go okay last night?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Great,” said Augie.

  Al nodded. “Good. Now get outta here.”

  And suddenly I knew. Al had been asleep. He’d spent the night in his office so he’d be nearby in case anything went wrong. Maybe that was why he’d given us the bullhorn, so we could call for help. I was pretty sure the reason he was acting so grumpy was because he didn’t want us to guess what he’d been up to.

  I couldn’t help smiling. The fact that it appeared Al had slept through the whole thing wasn’t what mattered. What mattered was that he’d been there.

  “Hey, Al,” I said. “Guess what? We found out who burned down your shed, and it wasn’t Gerard.”

  “No kiddin’?” he said. “Who?” Then he put it all together. “Those two stronzos?”

  “Yep,” Augie and I both said together. We told him the whole story.

  “I shoulda known,” muttered Al, shaking his head angrily. “Ya know what? Burning my shed—that’s arson, by the way—that’s crummy enough. But what really blisters my butt is the way they blamed it on that poor kid.”

  He thought for a moment. “Truth is, I was actually happy to get rid of that old thing. Them burning it saved me the trouble of knockin’ it down and cartin’ it away.”

  Then he laughed. “But ya think I’m gonna let them know that? Not on your great-grandma’s girdle.”

  He smiled evilly. “They think they’ve gotten away with something? Well, guess what? Just ’cause your buddy Gerard is keeping his mouth shut doesn’t mean I am.” He pointed to his big barrel chest as he said this.

  “I think later today I’ll be having a little talk with those kids’ parents about the very valuable building their sons destroyed on my property, and the work they’re going to have to do for me to pay off the damage.”

  Al looked at Augie and me and nodded with satisfaction at his plan. “Ya mess with Al Juliano and ya find out what it means to mess with fire, am I right?”

  “Absolutely,” we agreed.

  21

  Then it was time to face the music. Glumly, Augie put his backpack, which held the battered parts of Herkimer, into the basket of his bike, and we rode to the Heindels’ house.

  Aunt Hilda came to the door, and we told her we needed to talk to Unk. She led us back to the bathroom, where he was busy painting, a brush in his hand and a roller sitting in a tray by the sink.

  “Lemon Zest,” he said gloomily, pointing the brush at the bright yellow walls. “With Summer Su
nset trim.”

  I felt sorry for him. “It looks nice,” I said.

  “Yeah, nice,” said Augie.

  “So what’s up?” Unk asked. “How did it go with J.R. and Morrie?”

  “Oh, yes!” said Aunt Hilda, her eyes sparkling. “Did you teach those boys a lesson?”

  Taking turns, we told them the whole story—well, not actually the whole story, not at first. We told them all the good parts: about the different booby traps, and about Gerard, and how he’d been blamed for the fire but didn’t do it, and how he scared off J.R. and Morrie. Unk got a big kick out of hearing how well his paint buckets had worked, and Aunt Hilda loved hearing how Morrie got doused with her perfume. I showed them the picture on my phone.

  Augie had so far avoided mentioning Herkimer, and I took my cue from him. I figured he would, once he’d worked up his courage.

  Aunt Hilda said, “So did that nightie of mine come in handy?”

  I waited to see what Augie would say.

  “It worked great!” he answered, without thinking. Then, realizing it was time, he hung his head and his voice got low. “Well, actually … there’s something I’ve got to tell you about that.”

  As Augie talked, I looked down at the floor, which was covered with a paint-spattered tarp. I know it was chicken of me, but they were going to be angry or, at the very least, disappointed in us, and I didn’t want to see it on their faces until I had to.

  When he’d finished, Augie opened his backpack and put the two parts of Herkimer’s remains on the countertop next to the sink. The lone yellow glass eye seemed to be glaring right at me. The body, squashed and broken and patchy with missing feathers, looked like roadkill.

  There was a long silence while Unk and Aunt Hilda took in the gruesome sight.

  Finally, Unk made a funny croak in his throat. I think he was trying to say, “Herkimer.” Then he swallowed hard. “I-I-” he stuttered, then said softly, “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Well, I do!” declared Aunt Hilda. “I’m sorry, Heinie. I know you loved that nasty, disgusting old bird, but I’ve wanted it out of my attic for years.”