burned down to white coals.
I sat up, both fists doubled. I’d been dreaming about Jimmy Coleman. He’d said something mean to Pia—I don’t know exactly what that something was because the dream was all hazy, but Pia was crying—and I’d punched him in the face. He dropped to the ground like a mail sack.
I shook the dream from my head and looked around. I could see the inky shapes of Pia and Kiki under one canoe, and that of Monroe under the other.
The talking had stopped and I wondered if the voice I had heard was part of my dream. I peered into the shadowy forest. The pearly moon had come and gone, and the chatter of locusts had been silenced.
Sleeping on the ground had made my joints as stiff as rusty door hinges, and I arched my back and stretched my arms.
Then I heard the voice again.
But this time I recognized the voice—it was Monroe. He was talking in his sleep. The words were slurred so I couldn’t make them out.
Only Monroe talking in his sleep.
That’s a relief!
Then, from the darkness, there was a rustling of leaves. I turned toward the sound and squinted into the shadows. The dying fire cast eerie shapes on the sycamore trees, which stood like ghostlike sentries around our campsite.
I removed my flashlight from my backpack and scrambled to my feet.
There it was again—dry leaves crackling underfoot.
The Blood brothers!
I flipped on my flashlight and aimed the beam toward the sound, the skin on the back of my neck tightening. The bright shaft of light threw weird shapes against the trees and bushes.
Or maybe a bear!
When the rustling sound came again—this time much louder—I flipped off my flashlight and stepped away from the fading campfire and into the sycamore trees. I crouched and listened, my body tense, my mind spinning a series of crazy scenes, all of which were bad. The crackling continued—footsteps in the night.
Bears do eat berries, right?
My forehead cool from a nervous sweat, I felt a twitch of fear rush through my body. But strange enough, I liked the feel of it.
I flipped on my flashlight again and aimed the beam at the sound. As I did, two things happened at once: The shaft of light illuminated a pair of shimmering eyes, and a heavy hand fell on my shoulder.
I had been crouching, and I jumped straight into the air with a startled cry.
“Easy, boy!” It was Monroe. “What the heck you doing?”
I felt like I’d just finished a cross-country race. My legs were trembling and I was breathing like a race horse.
“Monroe! Y-You scared the c-crap out of me!”
“Appears so. I say again, what the heck you doing?”
“I … I h-heard something,” I stuttered.
“Heard something?” Monroe uttered a soft laugh. “Of course you heard something. You always hear something in the woods at night. That’s when animals feed.”
Monroe snatched the flashlight out of my hand and scanned the brush. The shaft of light came to rest on a gray possum. Three baby possums clung stubbornly to their mother’s back. Alerted by the gleam of light in her eyes, the mother possum stopped, hissed and showed her teeth, then turned on her heels and retreated quickly into the heavy undergrowth.
I felt like a fool, and I expected Monroe to laugh at me, but he said, “Be dawn in another hour. Might as well stay up.”
13
Pia, Kiki, Monroe, and I hiked through the forest toward the western base of Bear Mountain, the morning sun sifting through the leafy canopy. To throw the Blood brothers off our trail, we had camouflaged our canoes beneath a fluffy layer of sycamore branches before breaking camp 15 minutes earlier.
We hadn’t gone far when Monroe stopped and raised his nose to the air. “What’s that smell?”
“Huh? I don’t smell anything,” I said, looking to my left, then my right.
“Me neither,” Kiki said.
“What does it smell like, Mr. Huff?” Pia asked.
“Nothing … uh, it’s nothing.”
Monroe in the lead, we trod on, leaving the forest and hiking single
I sat up, both fists doubled. I’d been dreaming about Jimmy Coleman. He’d said something mean to Pia—I don’t know exactly what that something was because the dream was all hazy, but Pia was crying—and I’d punched him in the face. He dropped to the ground like a mail sack.
I shook the dream from my head and looked around. I could see the inky shapes of Pia and Kiki under one canoe, and that of Monroe under the other.
The talking had stopped and I wondered if the voice I had heard was part of my dream. I peered into the shadowy forest. The pearly moon had come and gone, and the chatter of locusts had been silenced.
Sleeping on the ground had made my joints as stiff as rusty door hinges, and I arched my back and stretched my arms.
Then I heard the voice again.
But this time I recognized the voice—it was Monroe. He was talking in his sleep. The words were slurred so I couldn’t make them out.
Only Monroe talking in his sleep.
That’s a relief!
Then, from the darkness, there was a rustling of leaves. I turned toward the sound and squinted into the shadows. The dying fire cast eerie shapes on the sycamore trees, which stood like ghostlike sentries around our campsite.
I removed my flashlight from my backpack and scrambled to my feet.
There it was again—dry leaves crackling underfoot.
The Blood brothers!
I flipped on my flashlight and aimed the beam toward the sound, the skin on the back of my neck tightening. The bright shaft of light threw weird shapes against the trees and bushes.
Or maybe a bear!
When the rustling sound came again—this time much louder—I flipped off my flashlight and stepped away from the fading campfire and into the sycamore trees. I crouched and listened, my body tense, my mind spinning a series of crazy scenes, all of which were bad. The crackling continued—footsteps in the night.
Bears do eat berries, right?
My forehead cool from a nervous sweat, I felt a twitch of fear rush through my body. But strange enough, I liked the feel of it.
I flipped on my flashlight again and aimed the beam at the sound. As I did, two things happened at once: The shaft of light illuminated a pair of shimmering eyes, and a heavy hand fell on my shoulder.
I had been crouching, and I jumped straight into the air with a startled cry.
“Easy, boy!” It was Monroe. “What the heck you doing?”
I felt like I’d just finished a cross-country race. My legs were trembling and I was breathing like a race horse.
“Monroe! Y-You scared the c-crap out of me!”
“Appears so. I say again, what the heck you doing?”
“I … I h-heard something,” I stuttered.
“Heard something?” Monroe uttered a soft laugh. “Of course you heard something. You always hear something in the woods at night. That’s when animals feed.”
Monroe snatched the flashlight out of my hand and scanned the brush. The shaft of light came to rest on a gray possum. Three baby possums clung stubbornly to their mother’s back. Alerted by the gleam of light in her eyes, the mother possum stopped, hissed and showed her teeth, then turned on her heels and retreated quickly into the heavy undergrowth.
I felt like a fool, and I expected Monroe to laugh at me, but he said, “Be dawn in another hour. Might as well stay up.”
13
Pia, Kiki, Monroe, and I hiked through the forest toward the western base of Bear Mountain, the morning sun sifting through the leafy canopy. To throw the Blood brothers off our trail, we had camouflaged our canoes beneath a fluffy layer of sycamore branches before breaking camp 15 minutes earlier.
We hadn’t gone far when Monroe stopped and raised his nose to the air. “What’s that smell?”
“Huh? I don’t smell anything,” I said, looking to my left, then my right.
“Me neither,” Kiki said.
“What does it smell like, Mr. Huff?” Pia asked.
“Nothing … uh, it’s nothing.”
Monroe in the lead, we trod on, leaving the forest and hiking single
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