The Wild Bunch Read online

  Poop.

  And more of it came hurtling through the air, so much that I had to drop my guitar and take cover. Poop of every shape and size rained down on the band, until it was climbing up my body in a stinking pile. I couldn’t move, weighed down by dung. Higher and higher, until it was around my chest. I saw Hector go under, buried, until just a thin hand rose above the rising tide, fingers reaching desperately. Dad was calling to me, trying to reach across the dung-pile, but he was never getting close. I sank up to my chin, and shut my mouth, holding my breath. I knew it was over the moment the dung touched my lips. My lungs begged for air. I had to breathe.

  So I opened my mouth and screamed.

  I sat up in the tent panting, and realized at once that it had only been a nightmare.

  Some nightmare, I thought. Analyze that, Freud!

  The other two were still asleep—Hector wearing the same kind of satiny eye-mask that my grandma wears at night, and Jack drooling across his face.

  My watch said it was 6:47. Wasn’t that the time that Dad dragged me out of bed the day before? My body clock was clearly screwed.

  I crept out of the tent. The sun was just beginning to rise, sending streaks of orange and red across the surface of the still lake as though someone had spilled a bucket of paint on it. I cast my eyes in the direction of Bear Falls, following the trail that disappeared into the mist-covered mountains.

  I sucked in a breath of cool morning air. Birds chirped in the nearby trees. I closed my eyes and let the rising sun warm my face. Maybe Dad was right—maybe the woods were a place where a person could discover their best self . . . be at one with nature. . . .

  Aaagh!

  A loud scream rattled the tent behind me. I opened my eyes and jolted as Jack burst through the flap, scratching every square inch of his body. He was followed by Hector, who was clutching his guidebook to his chest and smiling smugly.

  “I told you fish oil would keep the bugs away,” Hector said with a sniff.

  Jack scowled and clawed at his own arms, which were covered in mosquito bites—as were his face, legs, and the back of his neck. I’m pretty sure he even had bites on top of bites. It looked like he’d been stuck with a million pins.

  Jack flung his arms around. “It! Itches! So! Much!” he shouted.

  Hector opened his book and squinted at the pages. “It says right here that lemon juice will help. And lucky you, we have some lemons in the cooler.”

  “Ugh!” Jack said, hopping on one foot and scratching his ankle. “I’ve had it with your stupid remedies.”

  “Well, it’s because of his remedies that we don’t look like you right now,” I pointed out.

  Jack grumbled and stomped off toward the lake, using a stick to scratch his back.

  Hector flipped open his guidebook again and tapped me. “I know it’s not the safest move, but I’m starving,” he said. “Says right here there are several types of edible mushrooms and berries in these woods. Want to help me find some?”

  “If it means eating something other than Spam for breakfast, I’m in,” I said.

  Dad came out of his tent, rubbing his eyes.

  “Early start, huh? Great spirit, boys!” he said. “Sleep well?”

  “Not really,” I said. “We’re gonna go forage for food.”

  “Excellent!” He smiled wide, and I waited for the inevitable speech about the thrill and reward of digging your own wild yams or something. Instead, the corners of Dad’s mouth turned down. He pointed at Jack, who was bending over at the edge of the lake, rolling up the legs of his jeans.

  “Hey, Jack!” Dad yelled.

  Jack didn’t turn around. He stuck one toe in the water and pulled it back.

  “Ooh,” Dad said. “You boys better go warn him to watch his step. As I recall, the bottom drops off real quick out there.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I said. Hector and I hurried toward the lake.

  “Jack!” I shouted. He ignored me and scratched his neck.

  “Hey, Jack,” Hector said.

  “Go away, Pooper Scooper,” Jack said. “I’m not talking to you.”

  “But . . . ,” Hector said.

  “Lalalala,” Jack said, hands over his ears. “Can’t hear you.”

  “Fine, be that way,” Hector said, adding under his breath, “but you should know . . .”

  Jack took a big step into the lake—and just like that, disappeared under the water. A poof of reddish-blond hair floated to the surface. Jack sprang out seconds later, spitting and scowling, and dragged himself to the shore. Water dripped from every inch of his body and clothes. He shook himself like a giant wet puppy.

  “Ugh,” he said. “I can’t believe this. These are the only pants I brought with me.” He glared at Hector again and poked him as he stomped past. “This is all your fault, Pooper Scooper.”

  “What?” Hector said to his retreating back. “My fault? How is this my fault? I’m the one who tried to keep you from getting bug bites. I’m the one who came down here to warn you. . . .”

  I took Hector by the arm. “Just forget about him,” I said. “It’s not worth the hassle.”

  Hector sighed. “I just don’t get why he always has to be such a jerk,” he said.

  “Yeah, me neither,” I said as I watched Jack sit on a log back at the campsite. Alone. Still dripping and scratching himself. I shrugged. “Maybe it’s kinda hard for him, you know, not having his dad here.”

  “Could be,” Hector said. “Still doesn’t make it okay to act like a bonehead.”

  “Eh, you’re right,” I said. “Now, why don’t we go forage? Maybe we can find some extra sour berries for Jack.”

  “Ha, okay,” Hector said.

  Luckily we had Hector’s book to tell us what was poisonous and what wasn’t. We filled our pockets with wild mushrooms, an assortment of nuts—hickory nuts, acorns, and hazelnuts—some juicy berries, and a handful of herbs. I had no idea so many edible things could be found in the forest. It was like we were camping next to a giant, leafy grocery store—but without the annoying carts and screaming kids.

  We brought our haul back to camp about an hour later, and spread it across a foldout table. Dad walked over, stretching. Mr. Lopez followed, eyes bleary, clutching his lower back.

  “I feel like I spent the night tied to a plank,” he groaned.

  “Nothing a few Spam-cakes won’t fix, Luiz,” Dad said with a clap on his back. Mr. Lopez groaned even louder.

  I glanced around the campsite for Jack. His jeans were hanging from a tree branch, drying. A squeezed lemon half sat on the ground below. So maybe he did take Hector’s advice after all!

  Dad spotted our bounty, grinned, and began chopping up mushrooms and herbs. Thankfully the Spam can had ring-pulls, so I didn’t have to work up a sweat opening them. Mr. Lopez dumped the “meat” in the pan with the other ingredients and stirred it together. Dad breathed in deep.

  “Mmm, mmm,” he said. “Now that’s what I call breakfast!”

  I looked at the gloppy mess. I’m not sure that’s what I’d call it, but at least we weren’t eating twigs. And it did smell better than it looked, but that wasn’t hard, because it looked like someone had barfed in the pan.

  “Hey, Jack!” Dad called out as he slid the Spam glop onto five paper plates. “Breakfast is served!”

  Something rustled inside our tent. “I’m not hungry,” Jack grumbled back.

  “Nonsense,” Dad said. “You need your energy.”

  More rustling.

  “I said I’m not hungry.”

  Hector and I looked at each other. I didn’t mind him being rude to me, but I didn’t appreciate him speaking to my dad like that. We were just trying to have a good time.

  Anyway, since when was Jack not hungry?

  “Don’t make me come and get you!” Dad said in a singsong voice.

  “Can’t I eat in here?” Jack said.

  “No room service in the wilderness,” Dad said. “This isn’t the Holiday Inn!”

>   There was a huge sigh, more rustling, and Jack finally emerged with a sleeping back clutched around his waist.

  “Fine.” He lumbered over to an empty log and sat down. As he did, the sleeping bag fell to the ground—revealing a bright white pair of boxer shorts covered in hot pink cartoon hearts. Hector snorted. I had to slap my hand over my mouth to stifle my laughter.

  Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Shut up,” he said, face bright red. “My mom got them for me. For Valentine’s Day. Okay? So just keep it to yourself.”

  Dad glanced in Jack’s direction. “Oh, there’s nothing wrong with those,” he said. “Should’ve seen the Batman Underoos I had when I was a kid! Man, those things were awesome.” Dad began to hum-sing the Batman theme song.

  Jack tapped on his cell phone screen. “Anyone got a charger? I’m running out of battery.”

  “Sure,” said Hector. “I brought one to plug into the nonexistent electricity supply.”

  Jack turned his back on us as the dads shoveled forkfuls of Spam into their mouths. I approached mine more tentatively, but it actually wasn’t that bad for something that could survive a nuclear Armageddon.

  “So anyway,” Mr. Lopez said. “Supposed to be lots of rainbow trout in the lake this time of year. Maybe we should spend the day fishing, Bill.”

  I yawned and took a bite of food. I couldn’t imagine anything more boring than sitting around the edge of the lake for eight hours. Sounded even worse than being stuck in a car jammed between Thing 1 and Thing 2 for a day.

  “Sounds like a good plan,” Dad said. “Too bad the trail to the falls is closed, though.”

  My ears perked up.

  “I know, right,” Mr. Lopez said. “We sure used to have fun out there. You remember that time Jack Senior jumped from the top?”

  “And we thought he’d disappeared—or drowned,” Dad said.

  “But he was really hiding underwater using a straw to breathe,” Mr. Lopez said with a laugh.

  “Yeah, that was an epic prank,” Dad said. “Totally had us going. What a wild card he was back then!”

  “Wait,” Jack said, looking up from his phone. “Are you talking about my dad? When did he do that?”

  “Long time ago,” Mr. Lopez said. “Must be twenty years now. Before your time.”

  “Oh,” Jack said, and muttered to himself, “Everything fun was before my time.”

  Dad leaned back, threading his hands behind his head. “Those sure were the days, though, weren’t they, Luiz?”

  “Sure were.” Mr. Lopez nodded in agreement. “Shame the boys can’t experience the falls too. The place where legends were made . . .”

  “Foes were defeated . . . ,” Dad continued.

  “And boys became men!” they said together, and bumped fists.

  I cast a conspiratorial glance at Hector and Jack. Jack returned a sly grin. Hector smiled nervously. I took a last bite of Spam fritter and got to my feet.

  “Hey,” I said to Dad, “while you guys are fishing, Hector, Jack, and I are going to do some exploring, okay?”

  Mr. Lopez looked at Dad.

  “After we’ve cleared up, sure,” he said. “As long as you don’t go too far, and you’re back before dark.”

  “You have cell phones, right?” said Mr. Lopez. “Signal might not be great with all the trees, but get to high ground and you’ll be fine.”

  “You got it,” I said. Actually, I didn’t have a cell phone. Like they did with Jeanie, my folks were making me wait until I was thirteen before they got me one.

  “And of course,” Dad continued, “like the ranger said, stick to the trails.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said, winking at Hector and Jack. “We’ll only go as far as we need to. . . .”

  All the way to Bear Falls.

  WILDERNESS SURVIVAL TIP #11

  THE ABILITY TO ACCURATELY DISTINGUISH BETWEEN WILD PLANTS CAN SAVE YOU A LOT OF PAIN AND SUFFERING.

  WHILE DAD AND MR. LOPEZ DUMPED sand on the campfire, Jack, Hector, and I went to the tent and grabbed our backpacks. Hector read from his trusty guide as we stuffed supplies into our bags.

  “First aid kit, rope, compass, water,” he rattled off.

  “Check.” I gathered up gear while Jack watched. I paused and looked at him. “You going to just stand there or are you going to help?”

  “Actually,” he answered, squirming, “I need to use the latrine.”

  “Then what are you waiting for? A hall pass?” I said with a wave. “Go.”

  Jack glanced back and forth, digging his toe into the dirt. “Well, I have to go, you know . . .”

  “No, I don’t,” I answered.

  Jack let out a huge sigh. “Ugh. Just tell me, where’s the toilet paper?” he said.

  My dad piped up from across the campsite. “Sorry, that was on your dad’s list too.”

  “What am I supposed to use, then?” Jack said.

  “Your hand?” Hector said.

  “A leaf will do,” Dad said. “Plenty of those around!”

  “A leaf,” Jack grumbled as he headed toward the latrine. “What do I look like, a caveman?”

  “Now that you mention it . . . ,” Hector whispered.

  “Ha!” I finished packing my bag and pulled the map from my pocket, tracing the path with my finger. It threaded up through the forest.

  “Okay, if we go straight out this way,” I said, “that should be the quickest route. . . .”

  “Quickest route to what?” Dad materialized out of nowhere and leaned over my shoulder. Seriously, was that guy always eavesdropping? I snapped my hand back.

  “Just some rock formations that a park ranger told us were cool,” I said.

  “Yeah, rock formations,” Hector said. “You know, big formations of rocks. Places where rocks are formed in a group and make big rocky formations.” I elbowed him and made a quick zipping motion across my lips. He clamped his mouth shut.

  “A rock formation, eh? Sounds like fun,” Dad said. “Maybe we should join you! Hey, Luiz!” he shouted. “Boys are going to visit a rock formation. Want to go along?” Mr. Lopez looked up from where he was stomping out the last embers of our breakfast fire.

  “A . . . what did you say?” Mr. Lopez asked.

  I jumped in. I had to put a stop to this . . . fast. “No!” I said. “You can’t come!”

  Dad’s face dropped.

  “I mean, that would be fun,” I said. “And it would be totally awesome to have you along. But then, uh, then . . .”

  “Who would catch us dinner?” Hector said, rubbing his belly. “Rainbow trout sounds delicious! I’ve never had real trout right from a lake!”

  “Yeah, we don’t want to eat Spam for all of our meals,” I said. “And you’d better stick around in case Jack Senior makes it.”

  “Guess you’re right,” Dad said, the big grin returning to his face. “And real campers don’t eat from a can! They catch their own food!” He walked off to join Mr. Lopez.

  “You sure about this?” said Hector, when the dads were out of earshot. “Feels kinda like we’re being deceitful.”

  I folded the map. The same thought was gnawing away at the back of my mind. But if we told them the full truth, they’d never let us go. “Look, we’ll stay safe,” I said. “First sign of any trouble, we’ll come right back.”

  That seemed to satisfy Hector, who shouldered his rucksack with a nod.

  “Where’s Jack?” he asked.

  As if on cue, our companion came hopping out of the woods, face beet red, clutching his butt. He hopped up and down, breathing heavily.

  “It burns!” he said.

  I really didn’t want to know, but silly me, I asked anyway. “What burns?”

  Tears squeezed from the corners of Jack’s eyes as he rubbed his butt. “I used a leaf, just like you said, and now it burns!”

  “Eww.” I stepped back.

  “What sort of leaf?” Hector asked matter-of-factly. “Can you identify it? Did it have five points or three? Was it jagged o
r rounded?”

  “I don’t know,” Jack grunted. “I didn’t sit around counting points! It was green and leafy looking . . . like that.” He gestured toward a low bush at the edge of the campsite. Hector’s eyes widened behind his glasses.

  “That’s a stinging nettle,” he said. “I can’t believe you didn’t know that. Don’t you have a garden at home?”

  Jack scowled. “Sure we do, but I don’t sit around identifying plants for fun.”

  Hector dug through his backpack and pulled a tube of ointment from the first aid kit. “Here. This will help. But don’t even think about asking me to put it on for you.”

  “As if!” Jack grabbed the tube and waddled wide-legged into the tent. He returned a few minutes later, a relieved look on his face.

  “Thanks,” he said, and attempted to hand the ointment back to Hector.

  “That’s okay,” Hector said, inspecting the tube covered in Jack’s greasy fingerprints. “You can keep it.”

  I slung my backpack over my shoulders. “All right, let’s get out of here!” I leaned in and whispered to Jack and Hector, “You guys ready to find the Beast?”

  They both nodded, though Hector didn’t look entirely comfortable. We turned and waved to Dad and Mr. Lopez, who were gathering up their fishing poles and cooler full of bait.

  “See you guys later!” I said.

  “Have fun!” Mr. Lopez said.

  “Oh, hold up!” Dad said, jogging over, smiling in his enthusi-man way. He caught his breath and held up three soggy Spam sandwiches wrapped in plastic. They looked about as appetizing as an old shoe.

  “That’s okay, Dad,” I said. “Think we’ll pass. Hector and I have gotten pretty good at foraging.”

  “No, take them,” he answered. “Never know. You might need sustenance out there.” He unzipped my backpack, dropped the sandwiches inside, and clapped my shoulder. He beamed stupidly at me in that way parents do when you’ve done something really monumental . . . like not fall off your bike or eat your sister’s scented markers.