Rounding a sharp corner of the quarry, Ben, in the lead, stopped abruptly.
“What?” hissed Jack.
Ben pointed and Jack could barely make out a dim red glow ahead. They stood stock-still for minutes, taking shallow breaths and collecting all the sensory input they could. Ben began to move again. When Jack and Stephen began to follow, Ben turned and held up his hand, signaling them to stop. Ben continued alone. He returned several minutes later.
“Campfire,” Ben said. “It’s almost out.”
The three approached cautiously and found what Ben had described. The few pieces of wood left were scattered. Someone had attempted to put the fire out some time before. Silent, they continued cautiously until they found the parking area empty.
“So where’s the walkie?” asked Ben.
“Hard to say,” replied Jack. “Try yours.”
Ben triggered the call button on the walkie-talkie and they were rewarded with a faint ringing off in the bushes. The boys had to search carefully—rationing their battery power on both the walkie-talkies and the flashlight—before finding the lost radio.
“Awesome,” said Jack. “Now let’s get back before my mom catches us.”
With renewed purpose, the boys headed back on the long trip to the tent.
**********
When they left the power lines and were back on the path through the woods, they had spread out. Ben led the way, and Jack followed a good twenty feet behind. Even further back, Stephen brought up the rear.
Stephen startled Jack and Ben: “Hey, guys, get over here,” he said.
“Did you find a giant baby-eating snake?” asked Jack.
“Funny,” said Ben.
“You have to see this,” said Stephen.
Jack and Ben back-tracked to find Stephen crouched in the middle of the path and studying the bark of a large tree. Almost at ground-level, a red dot of light glowed on the bark.
“Check that out!” said Ben. “Where’s it coming from?”
Stephen put his hand over the dot and the dot responded by lighting up the back of his hand. Jack bent to get a better look and then began to turn his head.
“Don’t look into it!” ordered Stephen. “It might not be safe for eyes.”
“Good point,” said Jack.
Jack put his hand in front of Stephen’s and then began to move in the direction of the source.
“Oh shit!” said Ben. “Wait, guys! That might be one of those laser-sights for a gun. Get your hand out of the beam.”
The three stood back. Jack spoke first: “Nah, that doesn’t make sense. Why would it be pointed at a tree and be that still. I don’t think someone could hold gun that still.”
Stephen picked up a stick. “Let’s follow it.” He adjusted the stick carefully to center the beam on the end and then began to walk into the woods away from the path. He lost the beam often at first—it rose slowly as he moved away from the tree—but once he guessed its approximate path, he was able to follow it faithfully.
Jack’s eyes were trained on the stick as he backed up, ahead of Stephen.
“Hey,” said Ben, “I’m going to stay here so you don’t get lost.”
“Oh come on,” replied Stephen. “Check your compass, and come with us.”
“You guys have the flashlights,” replied Ben. Jack and Stephen were now about thirty paces from the path, and they kept moving away.
“Shit,” said Ben as he headed into the woods to catch up.
Ben reached his two friends; they were tracking the laser at about knee level.
Crouching ahead, Jack made an observation: “The trees are really thin in this direction. Looks like it opens up to a clearing up ahead.”
“Where are we, anyway?” asked Ben.
“I think this is the spot where the path gets close to Route 203,” answered Jack. “But it’s hard to tell. We’re definitely going to have to check this out again in daylight.”
“Wait—what happened?” asked Stephen. He was looking at his stick, which no longer carried a dot of light.
“Did you move?” asked Ben.
“No, it was right here.”
They strained to look into the night.
“Hold still,” said Jack as he moved in front of the stick. “Do you see anything?” he asked Ben as he looked down at his own body.
Ben studied Jack for signs of the dot. “Nope.”
“Let’s start again,” said Stephen as he dropped his stick and headed back in the direction they started.
Jack dug around in his front pocket and produced a knife. He moved to the nearest sapling and took a small strip of bark from its side. Jack followed Stephen and Ben—he marked their track back to the path. Jack arrived at the path to find Ben and Stephen on their knees.
“This was the one,” said Stephen. “I’m sure of it.”
“How can you tell?” asked Ben. “It’s too dark to see anything.”
“This tree is way bigger than the rest though, and it’s right next to the path,” said Stephen.
“I’ll mark it,” said Jack. He moved around to the side they would first see when approaching the next day. At about shoulder height he scraped a section of the tree. He couldn’t make his way down to the tree’s flesh, but flicked on his flashlight to verify that his mark was visible.
“Let’s get going,” said Jack.
“Let’s wait,” countered Stephen. “Maybe it will come back on, or maybe a little tree or something just blew in the way.”
“I’m tired,” said Jack.
Ben agreed—“Yeah, let’s go back and we’ll come back in the morning.”
“Shit,” said Stephen. “This is really cool though.”
“We’ll figure it out tomorrow,” said Jack.
They hiked back to their tent and barely spoke the whole way. The night’s exploits had taken their toll, and the boys were dog-tired by the time they got in their sleeping bags.
**********
Every few days, Jack’s mom would break the privacy of their back-yard campsite and check in on the boys. This morning she found they were still fast asleep in the tent, so she quietly gathered their laundry and the few pieces of trash scattered around the site. She was trying to top off a load of light clothing, but she found mostly darks around the sleeping trio. The pants were wet around the cuff, but she explained to herself that they must have been playing in a creek.
**********
They awoke late, and very hungry. Ben looked at his watched and announced that it was Sunday, July 8th—9:30 am.
“Nine days,” said Stephen.
“What’s nine days?” asked Jack.
“I go back on Tuesday the seventeenth,” replied Stephen.
“That sucks,” said Jack. He surprised himself, realizing that he meant it. Just a few days before he would have relished the realization that half of Stephen’s time had passed.
“Ah, don’t think about it,” said Ben. “Time only passes quickly if you think about it.”
“Isn’t that like the opposite of true?” posed Stephen. “You know, like, a watched pot never boils.”
“Whatever. Let’s get something to eat,” said Jack.
They were greeted with a gray day outside the tent. And, rummaging through their supplies, realized they had neglected to keep their larder well stocked. Desperate for a warm meal, they headed into the house. In the the kitchen, they began noisily producing a breakfast. Jack’s mom appeared from upstairs.
“Jack—your dad wants to see you. His office,” she said.
Jack handed his spatula to Ben, who took over on the pancake duty. He followed his mom through the living room to the addition where his dad had an office. His dad was sitting at the computer.
“Jack—what are these?” his dad pointed at four shell casings sitting atop a file folder on the desk.
“Bullets? Or casings, I mean. We found them at the pits,” said Jack.
“Which pits?” his dad asked.
Jack looked back over his shoulder. His mom was standing in the doorway with her eyebrows raised. “The quarry, past the power lines,” he paused. “We hiked over there the other day.”
“Are you allowed to go that far?” his father asked.
“Yeah, you guys said yes—remember?” asked Jack.
“We talked about you guys going as far as the power lines,” his mom corrected. “That’s what I remember.”
“But the pit and power lines are the same thing. I mean, they’re connected,” said Jack. He was confused. He knew his parents must have realized their all-day hikes were taking them at least that far. He decided to push back—“Mom, we check with you before every hike. You know when we’re going and when we’re coming back.”
“Yes, that’s true,” she replied. “But it’s more than that, Jack. There’s a difference between walking on trails in the woods and getting into some old quarry where people are shooting.”
“That’s right, Jack,” his father continued. “We talked about the things you would do this summer if we let you and your friends set the agenda, and I don’t remember guns being on the list.”
“We weren’t shooting or anything,” countered Jack. “We just found those. We never did anything.”
“Jack,” began his mom, “you’re going to face a lot of decisions in life, and more often than not, what happens to you will be the result of those decisions.”
Jack looked down.
“If you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time,” she continued, “it doesn’t much matter if you were doing the right thing. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he answered too quickly. He knew instantly that he should have waited.
“I don’t think you do,” she reprimanded. “If you’re out walking and you see something that you know is dangerous, you turn around and come home. Then, you immediately tell me or your father.”
Jack nodded.
“Go get your friends, we want to talk to all of you,” said his mom.
Jack opened his mouth to protest and then closed it. He looked to his dad and back to his mom, they were not going to bend. He dragged himself back to the kitchen where Stephen and Ben were making breakfast.
“We started to make you eggs, but then we had to throw them away,” laughed Ben.
“Hey, come on, my parents want to talk to all of us,” said Jack.
“About what?” asked Stephen through a bite of toast.
“My mom found the shell casings, and they’re pissed,” said Jack.
“Oh shit—where were they?” hissed Ben.
“My pocket,” said Stephen. “God, what is she a psychic?”
“Just come on,” said Jack.
The three boys trudged back to the office. Jack’s mom and dad were standing together at the far end of the room. His dad waved them closer.
“Boys, listen up,” Jack’s dad began. “You’ve been pretty responsible this summer, but we’re afraid that you’re not displaying the best judgement. Most kids your age are having a very structured summer—camps, sports, volunteer work. We were skeptical that you could keep yourselves occupied all summer, but we were willing to let you try.”
Jack’s mom broke in—“We won’t—we can’t — have you wandering into trouble without even knowing it. We just heard yesterday that some older boys were shooting animals over in that quarry and today we found out that you boys were over there too. I know you weren’t a part of that, but you still could have been hurt.”
She paused to composer herself. “So, no more wandering around. You can play in our yard, and sleep in the house at night.”
Jack couldn’t contain himself anymore—“Mom, you can’t be serious. We didn’t even do anything.”
“Jack,” she said, “you’re not hearing. You don’t have to do anything wrong to be hurt. All you have to do is not do something right. I have a whole book of summer activities upstairs if you’d rather I sign you up for something.”
“No,” Jack pleaded. “But why do we have to stay in yard? Can’t we just not go to the pits anymore?”