Forts Special Edition: Fathers and Sons

by Steven Novak

  Once the sounds disappeared completely, Donald felt the bony hand being removed from his mouth. In the darkness he heard the creature splash through the cold water that he and Tommy knelt in, the murky liquid covering their stomachs. The blackness surrounding him was stuffy and humid, but at least he was not inhaling copious amounts of dirt - so he saw this as a positive thing.

  The light of a torch suddenly bathed the area surrounding the boys in a warm brightness, which led them to believe that they were in some kind of underground tunnel. The dirt walls looked uneven and handmade, as if a hundred hurried hands with no real plan had dug them out. A few feet away, in the low ceilinged tunnel, the strange white creature was holding a torch. The reflection of the fire in its red eyes glowed brightly as it stared at the ground above them, listening intently with its huge ears, making sure that whatever had been chasing them was completely gone. One thin finger remained pressed against its lips, indicating to the boys that they needed to remain quiet.

  Both boys took its advice.

  When the creature seemed sufficiently sure that the danger had passed, it turned toward their still shaking forms, half submerged in the puddle. Cocking its head to the side slowly, it examined every single solitary inch of their bodies. A thick pink tongue poked its way out of its mouth, running gently across its dry lips, moistening them. Putting one long leg into the water the creature awkwardly moved closer to the boys, using the torch to light up different parts of their faces as it inspected them closer still. Both Tommy and Donald moved away from the creature, but were stopped by the dirt wall.

  Neither had any idea what to say, and even if they did, it was unlikely they could formulate the words.

  None of this made any sense. What was one supposed to say while being examined by skinny monsters in dark tunnels after being chased through a red forest by gigantic elephant feet?

  Silence seemed the only option.

  The creature stopped scanning them. Lowering its torch, it stepped back out of the puddle. Reaching up with one hand, much the same way that a monkey might, it scratched the top of its stringy haired head with a set of four rapidly moving fingers.

  “You know what …you two don’t look anything like I expected.”

  *

  *

  CHAPTER 10

  THE FINAL PIECE OF THE PUZZLE

  *

  From behind a row of sparse bushes on top of the hill, Owen Little watched with growing interest as Donald Rondage’s friends came running out of the trees they had just entered not more than five minutes before. Immediately after clearing the tree line, the group of boys scattered in every direction, like a flock of birds after hearing a loud noise. As they moved further up the hill, Owen ducked down to keep from being seen. The frantic group of boys seemed to be too scared to have noticed him anyway, even if he were standing right in their path, waving his hands in the air and screaming at the top of his lungs. Once the wild yelping ruffians had moved past him, Owen again peeked out from behind his hiding place, gazing toward the tree line at the bottom of the hill. What on earth could have scared Donald’s goon squad like that? He had seen every one of them get mouthy with teachers, parents and other adults on more than one occasion. He had witnessed them beating up just about everyone in school at one point or another. Occasionally a few of them smoked in the bathroom, and though he was not one-hundred percent positive, he was pretty sure they had been responsible for spray painting an enormous male reproductive organ on the front doors of city hall last summer. These were the absolute toughest, meanest fourteen-year-olds in Baxter County. Nothing could scare them – nothing. One part of Owen’s brain told him that the smart thing to do was to turn around and run in the very same direction they had gone, and not stop running until he got home. Whatever was in those trees, whatever could scare Donald’s brawny henchmen was not something he wanted any part of. Yet another part of his brain told him that this was a mystery worth investigating. It convinced him that this was a situation that could not simply be left unchecked. This was the same inquisitive and slightly nosey part that made him watch Tommy Jarvis get beat up in front of his house just the day before. This was the same part that tricked him into believing that sneaking around and following Donald and his friends into the woods this morning was a smart idea as well.

  This was the part of Owen’s brain that had often gotten him into trouble, because it was the part of his brain that, try as he might, he could not ignore.

  Timidly, Owen made his way out from behind the bushes and started moving cautiously down the hill. As he got closer to the tree line he heard voices. Someone was crying, then yelling, though he could not quite make out what was being said. Moving closer still, he could tell that it was a girl’s voice.

  “No! Nicky! Get out! GET OUT!”

  She sounded hurried, wild and hysterical. Owen stopped for a moment to rethink what he was doing. Who was Nicky? He could not think of anyone named Nicky, and whoever Nicky was, he was still down there with a hysterical girl and Donald Rondage. Just what did he think he was doing? What was the point of looking? What if something bad was happening? Or worse yet, what if something really bad was happening - something he was not supposed to see? What would he do then? What could he do? As was more often than not the case with Owen, despite common sense, the nosey investigative side of his brain had once again won out. It tackled the common sense side to the ground, rubbed dirt in its mouth, gave it a wedgie, and instructed Owen to keep moving.

  Which was exactly what he did.

  Reaching the trees at the bottom of the hill, Owen crept up behind one of them, peeking out just in time to see a brown-haired girl go splashing into a stream headfirst. Quickly Owen ducked back behind the tree, his heart pounding harder, his chest rising and falling in double-time. After much deliberation, he again peered out from behind the tree, staring at the predominantly still stream waters, with just a few air bubbles sporadically breaking their surface. Swiftly he pulled his head out of sight, his mind racing. Why was she not coming up for air? She really should have come up for air by now. How long had the brown-haired girl been underwater? Looking down at his watch he hoped to do some quick calculations but realized that he did not know exactly when she had fallen in. The watch would be of no help. He started to think that he should do something – but what? Could he just do nothing and let her drown? Where was Donald Rondage? Was he in the water too? Who was Nicky? Why was she yelling for Nicky? Owen found it impossible to focus on just one question and even more impossible to formulate a plan of action. Peeking out from behind the tree yet again, he noticed that the waters were completely still, still and silent, and dark, and foreboding, and other words meant to express an incredible level of fear.

  Despite the panic trouncing though his insides like a giant dinosaur through a major metropolitan city, Owen knew that at the very least he needed to look. He needed to go down to the water’s edge and at least look. Diving in and rescuing the brown-haired girl was well beyond his level of courage - more like something his father would do - but he at least needed to look. Looking was something he could handle. He was good at looking.

  Besides, if he did not, could he live with himself?

  After taking three deep breaths to muster up the courage, Owen bolted out from behind the tree. He ran in the direction of the water as fast as he could with his eyes shut tight. He did not know why he was running, and running with his eyes closed made even less sense. Yet, despite the pointlessness of his actions, this was exactly what he was doing.

  Moving at full speed, like someone with an IQ much lower than his, he screamed at the top of his lungs, “ARE YOU OKAY!? I’M COMING TO HELP YOU!”

  His foot tripped over a rather large rock, which caused him to tumble forward, smash onto the ground near the bank of the stream and awkwardly roll into its murky waters. As the darkness grabbed him and pulled him down, Owen quietly cursed himself for having been born, not only with his brain, but with his two left feet as well.


  The entire situation really would have been quite sad and pathetic, if it were not at the same time so comical.

  *

  *

  CHAPTER 11

  FIVE TO SAVE US ALL

  *

  The boys followed the strange white creature in complete silence for at least ten minutes. The only sounds in the dank tunnel were the flicker of the fire on the creature’s torch and the sound of their feet digging into the damp dirt as they walked. The bizarre creature led them deeper and deeper underground through the sloppily hand carved tunnels, while using the torch to guide the way. It walked slightly hunched over, its stride long and graceful, while at the same time looking herky-jerky and awkward. Its movements reminded Tommy of an ostrich, or at the very least some type of oversized bird. From behind him, Tommy felt Donald poke his shoulder with one finger. He turned to look in his direction. Donald silently made a gesture with his hands indicating that he thought Tommy should ask the weird white-skinned thing where it was taking them. As much as it made complete sense to ask the creature exactly where they were going instead of blindly following, Tommy had trouble mustering up the courage. Every time that he had opened his mouth nothing seemed to come out. Donald pushed him harder in the back, whispering into Tommy’s ear with some urgency, “Ask him where he’s taking us, loser…come on…do it.”

  Annoyed, Tommy turned to Donald, moving in close to him, “I’m not going to ask him, you ask him. Maybe you should stop calling me ‘loser’, as well. In case you forgot already, you wouldn’t even be alive right now if it wasn’t for me.”

  “Whatever, dork, just ask the thing where we’re going. What if he’s leading us to a giant pot of human stew or something?”

  “He’s not going to make us into stew.”

  “How do you know? Maybe he only saved us because he’s hungry…look how skinny he is. You don’t know. Dude looks like he eats human stew to me.”

  “Look, if you really want to know where we’re going, then ask. I mean, unless you’re scared?”

  “Shut the hell up, I’m aint’ scared of nothin’.”

  “Then ask.”

  “Don’t think that just because you helped me out we’re suddenly buddies or that you’re a tough guy or something…cause we’re not…and you aren’t. I would have gotten away from that thing whether you helped or not. The minute we get out of here I swear I’m gonna kick your as…”

  Before Donald could finish his sentence he bumped into Tommy, who had just backed into the creature. Both Donald and Tommy quickly moved away, nearly tripping over each other in the process.

  Images of the two of them floating around in a pot of human stew next to strange alien vegetables flashed through Donald’s brain while Tommy found himself immediately overcome with a strong desire to apologize, “We were ju…we were, I’m sorry, we jus…”

  “I’m taking you both to Tipoloo,” the creature interrupted in a squeaky voice. The light of the torch cast long shadows across his face.

  Not knowing what to say in response, both Donald and Tommy stared, waiting for the creature to continue “It’s the last safe place in all of Fillagrou. It’s there that you’ll meet the Elder. He’ll know if the two of you are…who I think you are.”

  Both boys were confused, but at the same time too terrified to answer back, unsure if the pale, white-faced creature had finished talking. Obviously forced, incredibly awkward smiles crept slowly across their faces.

  From over Tommy’s shoulder Donald chirped , “Umm, okay…sure. Sounds great…can’t wait. Off to Tripagoo it is, then, buddy.”

  The creature stared at them for a moment, looking confused and a bit disappointed. Rolling its eyes, it sighed deeply before it started walking.

  After another minute of silence, a question dancing around in Tommy’s brain became too irresistible not to ask, “Excuse me, mister, guy…sir…”

  “My name is Pleebo.”

  “Well, umm…Pleebo, can I umm, ask you something?”

  “Sure, just keep up, it’s not much further.” Pleebo responded. When they came to a spot where the tunnel veered off in two directions, Pleebo picked the one on the left.

  Tommy and Donald followed him into the tunnel, which descended down at such an angle that the boys had to put their hands against the walls in order to stay upright, “Listen, I appreciate everything you’ve done for us, I do…really…but I can’t go with you to, Tipaglue or whatever. I have to get home. I have to go back. My brother is waiting for me…I can’t just leave him alone…I have to go back.”

  Pleebo turned toward Tommy, “You can’t go back. Not now, anyway. The Dark Guards will be patrolling that area all night looking for me. If you go back there, you’ll just get caught. Besides, if you are who I think you might be…I can’t afford to let you get caught.”

  Tommy thought of his brother. The last thing that Nicky had seen were the two of them going underwater and never coming back up. Did he think they were dead? No matter what this weird, white tunnel ostrich had done for them, he had to get back to his brother. There was simply no way he could stay here. He had to go back and he had to do it now - before it was too late.

  Coming to a sudden stop, Tommy turned around, pushing Donald aside. “I’m sorry, but I have to go back.”

  From behind, Pleebo’s slender fingers reached out and grabbed him by the arm. The grip was surprisingly strong for something with such spindly arms. “You can’t go back, not that way. I promise I will get you exactly where you want to be, but you have to trust me, you most definitely cannot go back that way. You won’t make it. You’re too important.”

  Confused, annoyed, and with a bit of anger growing in his stomach, Tommy growled back, “Who exactly is it that you think we are?”

  “Well, I’m not completely sure…but I think you might just be two of The Five.”

  Pleebo’s response was cryptic at best, and did not satisfy Tommy’s need for answers, “Two of the five what?”

  “Two of The Five to save us all. Who knows though…you might not be. Maybe you’re just a couple of kids who ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. You might turn out to be nothing more than just a pair of lost, useless outlanders…” Pleebo’s face tightened as he leaned in close to both boys, staring them down with his enormous red pupils, “…in which case I will in fact have to eat you.”

  All the air in the boys’ lungs disappeared, their mouths fell agape, their hearts no longer pumped precious life-giving blood.

  They stared back at Pleebo, whose face looked stone serious, while they tried to stop shaking uncontrollably. After what seemed like an hour, but was more than likely five seconds, a thin smile stretched across Pleebo’s long face, and his squeaky voice chuckled softly, “Relax, I’m just kidding.”

  Still laughing to himself Pleebo turned around and continued walking.

  The boys looked at each other confused, affording themselves a moment to start breathing again.

  Glancing past Donald, Tommy gazed at the dark tunnel behind him, the tunnel that led back to the forest and to his brother. He turned again, watching as Pleebo moved ahead, giggling to himself in response to his little joke. For some reason he had decided to trust the creature – for the time being, anyway. What other choice did he have? Moving past the motionless Donald, he caught up to Pleebo. Before Donald followed, he put his arm behind his back, poking questioningly at the seat of his jeans. After confirming that he had not pooped his pants, he quickly caught up with the two.

  Less than two minutes later the trio came to what seemed to be a dead end and stopped. Pleebo set his torch in the dirt near his feet and brushed away a spot of dry brown clay on the wall in front of him with his bony white hand, exposing a very ancient looking stone panel underneath. Carved into the panel were four triangles all pointing toward an ornately-decorated circle. Pleebo pulled a cone shaped stone from a necklace which dangled on his slender neck and inserted it point first into the circle. The tunnel around them started to vibrate back
and forth softly. A deep rumbling sound emanating from far inside the dirt walls echoed through the darkness. Digging his hands into the clay on either side of him, Donald steadied himself as small clumps of stone began to shake loose from above, falling on his head. The dirt covering the remainder of the door fell to the ground as the door began to roll sideways into the wall.

  When the rumbling had stopped and the doorway opened, Pleebo turned to the boys, who were still brushing

  *

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  CHAPTER 12

  CAPTURED

  *

  The instant Staci’s body emerged from the cold dark water, she breathed in some much needed oxygen, spitting small amounts of the dirty liquid from her mouth at the same time. She slowly opened her eyes and started to take in the out-of-focus world around her. For a moment she had trouble remembering where she was and what she was doing. Her lungs were on fire, her head pounded, and her thoughts seemed as fuzzy as everything around her looked. Rolling onto her stomach, her vision started to clear and she was able to make out Nicky Jarvis standing not more than five feet away. The boy was staring into the sky with a wide-eyed look on his face. Like a sudden, unexpected tidal wave, the memories of what had happened suddenly came rushing back. Tommy, Donald, Nicky, the stream, falling in and drowning, recollections of everything that had occurred up to that moment smacked into her all at once. She found herself choking back not only the filthy water lodged in her gullet, but her tears as well.

  Despite her every joint feeling almost too sore to move, Staci managed to awkwardly prop herself onto one knee.