Riley followed Tony and Eldon, walking away from the cabins. He had an uneasy feeling that he’d probably be getting beat up by the Cabin 4 guys before the night was over. How would they get back to Cabin 3 without being detected?
“This is beyond ridiculous,” Tony said.
“Yeah,” said Eldon, “but it
would
be pretty cool if we could pull it off.”
“Barry’s got his brains in his butt sometimes,” Tony said. “But yeah, it’d be sweet if we got away with it.”
As they reached the bathhouse, they saw Kelvin from Cabin 4 walking out. “Evening, chumps,” he said, stopping on the path.
“Nice job in the contest today,” Tony said. Cabin 4 had won the tug-of-war event that morning.
“Thanks. Wore me out.”
“Us too,” Tony said, yawning widely. “Can’t wait to hit the sack. I’m falling asleep just standing here.”
Eldon and Riley yawned, too.
“I guess lights-out is any second now,” Tony said. “Everybody else from our cabin is already in bed.”
Kelvin shrugged. “Yeah, well, whatever. See you boys tomorrow.”
They waited until Kelvin was halfway to the cabins. “Good one,” Tony said, grinning widely.
Oh yeah
, thought Riley,
they’ll
never
suspect us now
.
The “lights-out” call came and the three of them ducked into the woods.
Riley swallowed hard. Kelvin seemed like a decent guy, but he was big and strong and could definitely take anybody in Cabin 3. And there’d been enough friction between the two cabins already that they’d be the most likely suspects by about a thousand to one.
Still, this was exciting. They were supposed to be tucked in their bunks, being good Olympians. Instead they were stalking through the dark forest looking for revenge. Riley’d been “behind the scenes” a lot lately: the counselors’ cabin before the swim race, the mess hall kitchen after. Now this.
It took at least ten minutes to silently creep across the few hundred yards to the edge of the clearing. They heard
Barry making hooting noises as planned, pretending to be an owl. Tony hooted back, and soon all six of them were kneeling and trying not to laugh. Riley’s eyes were fully adjusted to the dark; he could see pretty well.
“I’ll keep the eggs in the carton for now,” Barry whispered. “Get some little pebbles. And pinecones. When I start moving, you follow me and keep your mouths shut. If you have to sneeze, just suck it up and
don’t
. We’ll be going slow. This is the last verbal communication you’ll get until it’s over, so listen up.”
Riley sat on the ground and kept his eyes on Barry. They were all dressed in their darkest clothes—Riley had black shorts and a blue sweatshirt that said
SEASIDE HEIGHTS
. His mom had bought it for him on the boardwalk back in June, when they’d rented a house near the beach for a week.
“I’ll throw the stones and things,” Barry said. “Just hand them to me one at a time. When I give the signal—I’ll put up one finger—then you’ll each be given an egg. Spread out so you have perfect aim at the door. I’ll do the first throw, then we wait for them to come out. When I whistle”—he let out a swift double tweeting to demonstrate—“we clobber them with eggs. Then retreat quickly and
quietly.”
“To where?” Vinnie asked.
“Deep into the woods. Back to our cabin, eventually. Whatever you do”—Barry pointed at Eldon, then at
Riley—“don’t get caught. Under no circumstances can this mission fail. Any wimp that screws this up will be plenty sorry.”
Riley gulped again.
Beyond ridiculous
, he thought. But maybe it would work.
They moved to a spot in the woods about thirty-five yards from Cabin 4, which was across the clearing from their own. All six cabins were dark now. Barry opened the egg carton and set it at his feet. He tossed a pebble toward the roof of the cabin and it landed with a
ping
.
There was no reaction, so Barry tossed another one, then a third. A flashlight flicked on in the cabin, then went off. Riley felt a small shudder of triumph. Barry nodded approvingly.
After about three minutes, Barry tossed another pebble, then two more quickly. Kelvin stepped through the doorway and shined his flashlight at the roof, then into the trees above the cabin. He shrugged and went inside.
Riley caught Eldon’s eye and they both started laughing silently. Barry whacked Riley across the shoulders—not very hard—then started laughing, too. “Five minutes,” he mouthed.
An unfamiliar sound—like a huff or a cough—made them all turn, looking into the deeper woods.
“No flashlights,”
Barry said, barely at a whisper but with great sternness.
They all turned back toward the cabin. Riley looked over his shoulder. He could hear footsteps in the forest. Just a few quiet steps, well spaced, as if someone or something was trying to sneak up.
Riley nudged Eldon and gestured with his head. “Something’s out there,” he whispered as softly as he could.
Eldon turned, squinting as if that would help him to hear. There was another huff, barely audible. Eldon looked at Riley and nodded.
Barry stood and tossed three more pebbles in quick succession, each one
ping
ing on the roof. He opened the carton of eggs, but all of the boys had turned toward the woods.
Something large was running straight at them; they could hear it crashing through the underbrush. Riley bumped into Hernando as they all tried to scatter, stumbling in the darkness. He felt a quick, sharp pain as his knee hit the ground, but he bounced up and sprinted.
Barry fell flat, crushing the eggs against his chest, as whatever it was galloped past.
They made it to the edge of the clearing, with Barry calling them together with his hooting. His shirt was covered with slimy, rotten egg.
Outside Cabin 4, Kelvin and the others were shining their flashlights and looking around. The Cabin 3 residents stayed huddled in the dark, out of flashlight range. Their
only movements were their chests pumping as they tried to catch their breaths.
“Must’ve been a deer,” Riley said after Kelvin and the others had gone in.
“I didn’t see no deer,” Barry said, shaking his head. “If it was a deer, we’d have seen it. Whatever it was ran within about two inches of us.”
“I think it went
through
us,” Vinnie said. “I swear, I felt something cold and misty.”
“And angry!” Hernando said. “I felt it, too.”
“We felt it, we heard it, and we didn’t even see it!” Barry said. “What does that tell you?”
“A ghost,” said Hernando.
“Maynard!” said Vinnie.
“None other,” Barry responded. “That was him.”
HALFWAY HOME!
Cabin 5 Leads at Midpoint of Camp
Balanced scoring in contests ranging from free-throw shooting to the tug-of-war have the Fighters in the lead for the Big Joe Trophy with 33 points, but it’s a close race from top to bottom. The huge points from basketball, softball, and water polo are yet to be awarded. And the decisive Lake Surprise Showdown on Friday night will test the camp’s strongest swimmers in the final event of the season.
Today’s feature is the cross-country relay race. Who are the fastest runners in camp?
UP-TO-THE-MINUTE TOTALS
Cabin Five 33; Six 31; One 28; Two 26; Three 25; Four 24
The “Larry Awards”
Cabin 3’s resident comedian Barry Monahan has provided us with his mid-camp “Larry Awards.” Here’s the list, along with his commentary, which he asked us to publish. He did not request police protection.
Worst meal of the week:
Sausage pie with creamed broccoli. (“It looked exactly the same when I puked it up two hours later.”)
Most disgusting rash:
Colin Dugan’s. (“Hint: Don’t wipe your butt with poison ivy.”)
Biggest crime:
That last-second penalty shot against us. (“I will appeal to the highest court in the land!”)
Worst urinal aim:
A multi-camper tie. (“I wish I’d brought my fishing boots.”)
Dumbest camp rule:
No seconds on anything until you’ve eaten everything on your plate. (“Please, then—no more road-killed groundhog burgers.”)
Most haunted cabins:
3 and 4. (“Something is out to get us!”)
R
iley trudged back to the cabin after the softball game, not waiting for anyone else. The whole team had been lacking spirit and energy, and it showed. They’d suffered their first softball loss of the season.
Worse for Riley, he’d made two costly errors in right field and struck out twice. Barry muttered that they’d be better off with no right fielder at all.
None of them had slept very well after the Maynard scare. Riley kept waiting for the cabin door to burst open, with the counselors threatening to kick them out of camp. What had that really been? Too big for a deer, too
invisible
. Riley knew for sure that Big Joe was real. Maynard might be, too.
But the night had passed without any more incidents, and everything had seemed normal at breakfast.
Riley opened his gym bag and took out the letter he’d received from his parents the day before. Nothing special, just a “Hope you’re having a fantastic time. We miss you!” and all that. He’d read it ten times already. He kept thinking about the great time they’d had at the beach two months before; about playing basketball with his father in their driveway in Jersey City; about sitting on the front porch with his parents on summer evenings, eating pizza. He couldn’t wait to get home, especially after a game like this morning’s.
He flopped onto the bunk and shut his eyes. Thinking about that last day of camp—the last night—somehow made it seem as if it would get there faster. When he was swimming laps—imagining himself passing other competitors as they worked their way across the lake—it was as if each stroke brought him closer to home.
He wouldn’t be swimming today, though. The cross-country relay was this afternoon, and his cabin mates had identified him as a fast runner with endurance. He’d be running the key next-to-last leg of the race. The longest one.
The one with the most at stake.
The race was to start in front of the mess hall, covering a flat, grassy area for about two hundred yards before dipping down to the water. The teams of runners—eight from each
cabin—would run varying distances, circling the lake and finishing back at the starting line.
The afternoon was hot and humid, so the runners had abandoned their T-shirts and were dressed in shorts and sweatbands.
Riley followed a counselor and one runner from each of the other five cabins to a spot on the far side of the lake. They’d be the seventh legs, covering about eight hundred meters—the last third of it up Olympia Hill—and handing off to the anchor legs. Vinnie would be waiting at the top of the hill for the final two-hundred-meter sprint.
The entire race would cover about two and a half miles.
Riley scoped out his competition. Troy Hiller from Cabin 6 looked strong and fast; he’d hit a couple of triples against Riley’s team in softball that would have been doubles by a slower runner. And this kid Medina from Cabin 1 was built like a wrestler—lean and wiry, probably very quick.
But Riley knew that by the time the first six runners had finished their legs, the competitors would probably be spread out. So he might be way behind some of these guys before he even started running—or way ahead.
Part of him didn’t want to be ahead when he got the stick from Eldon. Squandering the lead would be embarrassing.
A whistle blew far across the lake, and Riley stretched
his neck to see the runners sprinting across the field. Tony Maniglia was leading off for the Threshers. He was easy to spot—taller than the other five runners and darker. He’d moved into second place, but the pack was very tight.
Barry and Hernando were sitting this one out. They were the only paunchy guys in the cabin; everybody else was either skinny like Riley and Eldon or muscular like Vinnie and Diego.
Tony and the others had reached the boat house and were straining to finish. The Cabin 5 runner had a ten-meter lead, but Tony was right in the thick of it with the others. He stumbled as he handed the stick to Diego, but the pass was clean and Diego sprinted onto the path.
They were behind the trees now, and Riley had a hard time keeping track of the racers. It was more than a minute before he got his next clear glimpse, and by then Kirby had the stick. He was in third.
Riley turned back to the guys he’d be running against. Jorge Medina was bouncing up and down, eyes shut, sweat dripping down his chest. Nearby, Troy Hiller had his hands propped against a maple trunk, stretching out his legs. Riley could hear shouts of encouragement from across the lake, but over here things were dead quiet. And tense.
“They’re at the bridge!” said one of the runners, a tall guy in a purple headband over a brush cut. Cabin 5. He’d
worked his way down to the lakeshore to get a better look. “My team’s got the lead. Then three guys packed real tight behind him; couldn’t tell who they were.”
The kid scrambled up the bank and lined up on the path. “Any minute now,” he said.
That would be Patrick running for Cabin 3. Patrick was fast, but Riley wasn’t sure how well he’d hold up over a full quarter mile.
Just get the stick to Eldon
, he thought.
Don’t blow it, Patrick
.
Riley took a deep breath and let it out, trying to calm himself. But his heart was pumping hard and his breathing was rapid. He shook his wrists and shifted his shoulders from side to side. He could see about a hundred yards down the path, so he’d have a good idea of the situation as Eldon approached.
“That’s us!” said the brush-cut guy. A lone runner in a purple headband had rounded the turn and was sprinting toward Riley’s group. Two seconds later the Cabin 4 runner emerged, with Eldon and the Cabin 1 racer right on his heels.
This last part of their leg was slightly uphill, and the strain on the runners’ faces was evident. Eldon was pumping his arms hard and grimacing, but he was losing ground to the others.