The Wild Bunch Page 10

  Jack paused with the bottle tipped to his lips. Water spilled out over his mouth, but he didn’t even seem to notice. His eyes were so wide I could see the whites around every side.

  “Hey, you okay?” I asked. Water was soaking the front of his shirt.

  “Yeah, you’re wasting it, Junior!” said Hector.

  The bottle dropped from Jack’s hands. “There’s something behind you,” he said.

  “Oh, please.” I sighed.

  Hector turned and looked at me, and his eyes did exactly the same buggy thing. He inched backward a few steps. “No, he’s serious this time,” he whispered.

  I grinned. No way was I falling for it again.

  “Paul,” said Hector, his lips wobbling. “Just. Don’t. Move.”

  Okay, so he was a pretty good actor. Both of them were. Jack’s knees were actually shaking, and Hector had managed to make all the blood rush from his face. But I was not going to turn.

  Then I heard a growl.

  I spun so fast I almost fell over.

  I tried to curse, but it was really just a squeak.

  Less than twenty feet away stood a massive black bear, smacking the ground with a paw so big it made the ground tremble. Or maybe that was just me. It shook its oversize head and snarled.

  Now, I’d never seen a bear in the flesh before, and on top of the shock, a little part of me was annoyed. All the TV shows had sold me a lie, with their cute depictions of bears. There was nothing cute about this creature. It looked dirty and smelly, and about the size of a small car. Twigs and berries clung to its matted fur, and it seriously needed to see an orthodontist.

  The annoyance passed quickly enough as the bear’s tiny, bloodshot eyes fixed on me and it raked the earth with six-inch claws. A surge of utter terror made my guts liquefy.

  It looked like it had just awakened from a five-month nap.

  In a very bad mood.

  WILDERNESS SURVIVAL TIP #18

  NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF SPAM.

  THE BEAR LOWERED ITS MASSIVE head, fixed its watery gaze on us, and let out a deep, rumbling growl. It looked kind of hungry; at least that’s what I read into the drool spilling from its yellow jaws.

  I told my legs to walk, and slowly felt the signals trickle down from my brain to my feet. When they moved, they felt heavy and clumsy, and I was worried I might collapse in a heap. By the time I reached Hector’s side, the bear still hadn’t budged, but it hadn’t taken its eyes off me either. I felt like shouting “Why me? What’s wrong with those two?”

  It shook its head and grunted.

  “What do we do?” I asked, throat so dry I could barely get the words out.

  “Hold your ground,” whispered Jack.

  That was easy for him to say. Hector and I were holding our ground between him and the bear.

  “The book said to find a tree or something,” Hector replied.

  I looked around in desperation, but there were no good climbing trees nearby. Just brush and overgrowth. Not to mention, that beast was so close I could practically feel its hot breath on my face.

  “Maybe we run,” I said.

  “No!” Hector grabbed my arm with a clawlike hand. “An adult bear can hit thirty miles per hour. You can’t run that fast.”

  “We don’t have to,” said Jack. “We just have to run faster than you.”

  The bear pawed the ground, churning up deep grooves in the dirt, and looked at me like I was a juicy hot dog.

  “We’ve got to do something!” I glanced sideways at Hector, who was now frozen to the spot.

  “Forty-two,” he sputtered.

  “What?” I whispered.

  “Teeth,” he said, shaking. “The bear. Has. Forty-two. Teeth.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I said. “That helps.”

  “Jack?” I whispered.

  No answer. I risked a look. Jack had vanished. Of all the cowardly . . .

  Hector shook his head and sniffled.

  “Hector?” I said under my breath. His face turned a funny pink color. “Hector?”

  Tears began to squeeze from the corner of his eyes, he blinked several times, and, wait a minute, no, not now, not—

  “AHHHHHHHHH-CHOO!”

  The bear roared, raised itself on its hind legs, dropped on the dusty path, and charged. Dirt and rocks flew up around its massive paws. Hector yelped. I fell to the ground, curled sideways, and covered my head. Hector thumped down next to me. This was it. I was going to die.

  Another snort, then silence. Heart pounding, I peeked from beneath my hands.

  The bear was a few feet away, shaking its spittle-covered snout.

  Hector peered up. “Feint attack!” he whispered.

  “Faint what?” I hissed. “I didn’t faint!”

  “No, feint attack! Fake,” Hector said. “Trying to scare us.”

  The bear righted itself and started pawing the ground again. “Well, it’s working!” I said.

  Something shifted on the path behind us, followed by a snap . . . and a whoosh.

  From the corner of my eye I caught something flying overhead. It struck the bear right on its snout and plopped to the ground. It took me a second to realize it was a balled-up Spam sandwich.

  The bear dipped its nose and sniffed.

  And—guess what?—someone liked Spam!

  With a single munch, it swallowed the sandwich.

  I looked back. Jack stood a few yards behind us, holding the slingshot in outstretched arms, one eye closed and mouth twisted in concentration. He pulled the band again. Another sandwich hurtled through the air, landing just past the bear. The hairy beast turned and pounded after it. Jack got a third ready as Hector and I scrambled up and ran toward him.

  “Let’s go!” said Hector. Jack fired the final sandwich and we ran.

  And ran. And ran. Probably faster than I’ve ever run in my life, and that’s counting the time I accidentally spilled hot chicken noodle soup on Rocky MacAlister’s lap in the cafeteria (the same Rocky MacAlister who could bench-press first-graders and had been banned from Anger Management after he put the therapist in a triangle choke for suggesting he find his “calm place”).

  Once we’d run as far as we could, we stopped and doubled over with hands on knees, panting. We stared at each other again, having a conversation that didn’t really need words. I’m not sure who started to laugh first, but soon we were all doing it. It was either that or start crying in sheer relief. Hector even tried to give Jack a hug.

  “You saved us back there,” I said.

  “Yeah, no kidding.” Hector nodded. “Thank you.”

  Jack blushed. “No problem,” he said with a grin. “Sorry about the sandwiches, though.”

  “I think we can forgive you,” I said.

  Hector pulled his cell from his pocket, held it high above his head, and waved it around like a flag. “Still no signal,” he said.

  “We’d better get a move on, then,” Jack said.

  We started walking again, Hector keeping the phone in the air like a beacon. We were hot, sweaty, and tired, but at least the worst was behind us. On one side of the path, the slope dropped away into a valley, on the other it loomed above us. We were slowly climbing higher.

  We hadn’t gone far when Hector stooped to the side of the path and held a shriveled pellet triumphantly in the air. Jack groaned.

  “Squirrel,” Hector said, bringing the dung close to his face and wrinkling his nose. He dropped it into his empty M&M bag. You’d really think after filling every single one of his plastic bags he’d give it a rest. But no. Not Hector. Maybe he was actually writing a dissertation on the stuff. Doctor of Dung, Mr. Hector Lopez, for Outstanding Research in the Field of Tiny Animal Excrement.

  The air was thick with moisture. It was like walking into the bathroom after one of Jeanie’s three-hour-long showers. I could hardly tell anymore if the dampness on my skin was sweat or steam.

  “Wow. It sure feels like it’s going to—,” I started to say, just as a huge
crack of thunder crashed across the sky.

  In that instant, the heavens split open and rain pelted us from every direction. I’d been in rainstorms plenty of times before, but nothing like this. Anyway, under normal circumstances we’d put up our umbrellas or get inside. Now we were in the open and I could barely see ten feet in front of my eyes. All I heard was the roar of water smashing off the foliage and pounding my skin like falling rocks. Water pooled around our feet, too fast for the hard ground to soak up. As it drenched our shoes, we slipped this way and that, just struggling to stay upright.

  “This . . . is . . . ridiculous!” Jack said, losing his balance and grabbing a tree branch for support. “What does your little book say to do now?” he hollered in Hector’s direction.

  “I think we should take, take . . . ah-choo . . . take shelter!”

  But there was nowhere to take cover. The wind seemed to blow every which way, churning the trees, lashing branches against our arms. The path was practically a river now, and my feet were as wet as if I were standing in the tub. Small rocks beneath our feet broke loose and washed away with the flowing water. Every square inch of me was sopping wet. It’s weird to say, but I actually felt afraid. Of rain. “Maybe we should turn around,” I yelled over the downpour.

  I’m not sure if they heard me. A low rumbling echoed from somewhere high up on the path. It grew louder. And louder.

  And closer.

  “What’s going on?” Jack said. His hair was flattened against his head.

  “I don’t know,” Hector said.

  But I did.

  The hillside just above us seemed to move, and suddenly the mushy earth beneath our feet shifted.

  “Mudslide!” I yelled as the ground gave way completely. I lost my balance and plummeted downward.

  WILDERNESS SURVIVAL TIP #19

  WHEN STUCK IN THE DARK, YOU MUST RELY ON YOUR OTHER SENSES—TOUCH, SOUND, SMELL. . . .

  WE SKIDDED UNCONTROLLABLY down the hillside on our butts, thumping over grassy patches and—ouch—rocks, screaming the entire way. Hector did some sort of weird swinging motion with his arms, like he was trying to swim back uphill. Jack alternated between laughing and yelping as small twigs and clumps of earth shot past our heads. For a moment, I managed to stand, but then tripped over something and started rolling over and over like a loose barrel. It was like the whole mountain was collapsing on itself. I half expected to see Dad and Mr. Lopez sail by on top of the blue cooler, clutching fishing poles and waving how-dee-do.

  It could have lasted five seconds, or five minutes, but I slammed to a halt, the wind knocked from my lungs. If that wasn’t bad enough, Jack landed on top of me.

  I groaned, and looked around. We were in the trees again, lying in what looked like a dried-up riverbed, which was rapidly filling with water from the downpour. Mud dripped from every inch of our bodies. I caught my breath.

  “Is anyone hurt?” I asked.

  The other two shook their heads, and wiped the smeared dirt from their faces. We all stared at one another in shock for a moment.

  “That was even better than the roller coaster at the Great Adventure Amusement Park!” I said, glancing over my shoulder at the hillside. Bits of debris were still slipping down behind us, and rain continued to fall.

  “Insane,” Jack said. “Totally insane!”

  Hector nodded and sneezed. Mud shot from his nose.

  I looked back up the hill—or what was left of it.

  “There’s no way we’re climbing back up there,” said Hector. He looked like a drowned cat, clothes clinging to his scrawny frame.

  “Hey! Look!” said Jack, pointing. “A cave!”

  I followed the line of his finger up the riverbed and saw it too—a dark opening in the ground.

  “Looks more like a sinkhole to me,” said Hector.

  “A stinkhole?” Jack said. “Sounds like the perfect place for you to hang out, Pooper Scooper.”

  “I said ‘sinkhole,’ dummy,” Hector said. “It’s a place where the river flows underground. And it could be a good place to take shelter.”

  We began to squish toward it under the dripping trees. I didn’t think it was possible to be so wet. My clothes were heavy, and my limbs ached.

  When we reached the hole, we carefully peered over the edge. It wasn’t deep—maybe six or seven feet down—and although there was a pool at the bottom, there was dry ground around it.

  “What do you think?” I asked Hector. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and reached for his guidebook.

  “Hmmm,” he said, turning the damp pages. “It would appear . . .”

  Jack ran up behind us. “Cowabunga!” he yelled—and jumped in.

  “It would appear that we’re going in,” I said.

  “Hey, wimps!” Jack shouted up, voice echoing. “What are you two waiting for? Get down here! This place is so cool!”

  Hector and I climbed down the side of the hole. We found Jack at the bottom, standing at the entrance to what looked like a series of underground caves that disappeared into the darkness.

  “Whoa,” I said, astonished.

  “Whoa is right,” Hector said. “These must have formed thousands of years ago.” He ran his fingers across the smooth rock wall. “You can tell by the level of erosion.”

  “Looks exactly like the sort of place the Beast would live,” I said, a little tingle going up my spine.

  “Exactly!” Jack whipped out his flashlight and waved us forward. “Let’s do this thing.”

  He marched straight ahead, singing Dad’s campfire song, but with a twist.

  “We’re going on a Beast hunt, Beast hunt. . . .

  I’m not scared!

  Look, a cave!

  Can’t go under it, can’t go over it . . .

  Have to go in it!”

  Jack picked up handfuls of rocks and hurtled them into the darkness. They echoed against the cave walls as we plunged deeper and deeper inside. I could no longer make out anything behind us—except blackness and the faint sound of dripping water. I shivered. It had to be twenty degrees colder in here than it was outside.

  We trekked on through the cave. The darkness seemed to close around us, and the hairs on my neck began to stiffen. Then the flashlight faltered for a moment. Jack hit it, and it came back to life.

  “Hey, Jack?” I said into the growing darkness. “Tell me you have extra batteries with you. . . .”

  “They’re new,” he said. “I think there must be water in the circuits.”

  It went out again, and Hector wailed. Jack shook the flashlight and it gave off a few brief flashes of light, then went out completely. I’m not sure I’ve ever known blackness quite like that.

  “Uh-oh,” Jack said. “Anyone else have a flashlight?”

  “I took mine out,” said Hector. “Didn’t think we’d be out in the dark. We were supposed to be here and back by midday—isn’t that what you said, Paul?”

  “Yeah, well, today hasn’t turned out quite how any of us expected, has it?”

  Jack responded by sniffing the air loudly. “Jeez, Hector! Again?” he said.

  “I did not fart,” Hector said flatly. “It doesn’t even smell like a fart anyway.”

  He was right. “Smells more like a dog that needs a bath,” I said.

  “Or my socks after baseball practice,” Jack said with a snort. “Yep, that’s the smell of victory!”

  “Well, I for one don’t feel like hanging out here analyzing cave smells, all right?” I said. “Maybe we can feel our way out.”

  I took a step back, immediately tripping on something. I grabbed hold of the nearest arm and steadied myself.

  “Sorry, Jack,” I said.

  “Sorry for what?” Jack answered from somewhere across the cave.

  “Oh, I mean sorry, Hector,” I said, and gave his arm a squeeze. “Thought you were Jack. You’re a lot stronger than you look. Your biceps are like rocks.”

  “I appreciate the compliment, but I have no idea what you’
re talking about,” Hector answered.

  Fear began to prickle my skin. “Wait a minute,” I said. “I’m not holding your arm, Hector?”

  “I think we’ve already established that fact,” he answered.

  I gulped. “And I’m not holding your arm, Jack?”

  “No, weirdo!” he said.

  The back of my neck began to sweat, my hand now frozen in a white-knuckled grip on . . . somebody. Or something.

  “Then exactly whose arm am I holding?” I said shakily.

  A gruff voice spat out one word in response. “MINE.”

  I dropped my hand in terror as Hector, Jack, and I screamed at the top of our lungs.

  WILDERNESS SURVIVAL TIP #20

  THE WILDERNESS IS AN AMAZING PLACE WHEN YOU’RE PREPARED. SO BE PREPARED . . . TO BE AWED.

  A FLASHLIGHT FLICKED ON, ILLUMINATING a ghostly face framed by a tangled gray beard and equally messy hair. The man was dressed in a ragged pair of cargo shorts and a T-shirt that had probably been green once upon a time—like, maybe twenty years ago. He glared at us from beneath a set of bushy gray eyebrows.

  Jack managed to level the slingshot—hands trembling.

  “What are you gonna do, kid?” the man said gruffly. “Shoot me with air?”

  Jack kept the slingshot aimed. Hector assumed his karate ninja pose. I just stood there, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst through my rib cage.

  “Oh, keep your hair on!” the man said. “I’m not gonna hurt you. What in the name of all things good are you doing down here?”

  “It’s a long story,” I said.

  “Well, what are you doing in here?” Jack asked.

  “Yeah, who are you, anyway?” Hector said.

  “Name’s Moses,” he answered, and he began walking, waving us forward. “And I know these caves better than anyone.”

  “Moses?” I said. “You mean Mo?” Hector, Jack, and I shot one another glances as we followed the grizzled old man. “As in Mo Harper?”

  “The one and only,” said the man.

  “We read about you on the way here,” I answered. “In an old National Geographic.”

  “Yeah,” Hector said. “It said that the Beast got you!”