F. Wilson - Secret Histories

the spong clearing, then arcing toward their copse.

“Down!” Jack said.

They flattened themselves on the ground just before the beam swept over them. The beam swung back again, then remained fixed on their spot.

“Don’t even breathe!” Weezy whispered.

As Jack lay frozen he felt something moving on his left forearm. His first impulse was to snatch it away, but that might give away their location. Slowly he

angled his head until he could see. The reflected glow from the spotlight revealed a good-sized snake, big around as a plump hot dog, slithering over his

arm. Fighting the instinctive urge to throw it off, he held his breath and stayed stil . He couldn’t see the head, but its body was mostly black with a white

center stripe and yel ow-orange stripes along the flanks.

It’s okay, he told himself. Just a garter snake … a harmless garter snake.

He’d caught and played with dozens when he was younger. This was a big one, but just as harmless as the little ones.

That didn’t keep him from breaking out in a cold sweat.

It kept moving and soon was gone, wriggling toward the spong.

The search beam moved away just then, giving Jack two reasons for a relieved release of the breath he’d been holding. But he stayed put until he

heard voices.

Raising his head he saw the trooper and the suit standing by the cruiser’s open driver door as they beamed the searchlight back and forth across the

clearing. He wished he could make out what they were saying.

Leaving the light trained on the spong, they stepped into the stand of trees where the bikes were hidden. They pul ed out Weezy’s and Eddie’s and

wheeled them around to the rear of the cruiser.

“My bike!” Eddie whispered.

The trunk popped open, and then it became clear: They were taking the bikes.

“What are we gonna do?” Eddie said. “We can’t let them—”

Weezy nudged him. “We’re going to stay here until they’re gone, then we’re going to have to walk home.”

“That’l take forever. And that’s my racer!”

“Better than what might happen if they catch us,” she said.

Jack didn’t know about that, but he felt a surge of anger as he watched them throw Weezy’s bike into the trunk. Then Eddie’s. His would be next. How

was he going to explain the loss of his BMX?

He glanced into the clearing. He could just make out the rim of the spong in the wash of light from the search beam.

And that gave him an idea.

“Rocks!” he whispered as he raked his fingers through the sand around him. “I need a couple of rocks!”

“Come on, Jack,” Weezy said. “You don’t real y think throwing rocks at them wil —”

“Not at them! Find me a couple of good-size rocks.”

Jack’s fingers found the edge of a piece of sandstone. He pul ed it out.

“Here’s one,” Eddie said and handed him another fist-size piece.

The crumbly, rust-colored rock was al over the Barrens.

Jack looked again and saw the suit wheeling his bike toward the trunk.

Dirty, rotten, sneering—

He crawled to the edge of the copse, rose to his knees, and hurled one of the rocks toward the spong. It missed, landing near the edge instead. But it

made a loud enough clink! to stop the trooper and the suit in their tracks.

“You hear that?” he heard the suit say.

He let Jack’s bike fal and leaped to the spotlight, sweeping its beam back and forth across the clearing. Jack waited for it to pass the spong, then

tossed his second rock.

This one sailed over the rim and landed with a loud splash.

“There!” the trooper cried, pointing. “Must be some sort of a pond. That’s where they’re hiding.”

Leaving the light trained on the spong, the two of them ran toward it. “It worked!” Weezy cried, grabbing the back of Eddie’s shirt. “Let’s go!” “Wait,” Jack said.

“Wait? Are you—?”

“Remember what Mrs. Clevenger said this afternoon about that trapper coming back?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Wel , if she was right …”

“Ohmygod!” Weezy clapped a hand over her mouth. “You don’t think—?”

A cry from the trooper cut her off. He staggered, yel ed again, then fel , grabbing at his ankle.

Jack pumped a fist. “Yes!”

“What happened?” the suit said, starting toward him.

Then he too cried out and dropped to the ground—where he shouted again. He rose to his knees, struggling to remove the steel trap that had closed

around his elbow.

He looked so comical, Jack had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing out loud. He wanted to stand up and shout, Howaboutanothersneerforthe

dumbpineykids? but thought better of it.

He turned to Weezy. “Now we can go.”

A steady stream of curses floated from the clearing as Jack led the others to the rear of the cruiser where he helped Eddie and Weezy pul their bikes

from the trunk. Then he ran around to the side and retrieved his own.

“Ready to go?”

Eddie looked ready to jump out of his skin. “Oh, man, are they ever gonna be mad!”

“What for?” Jack said. “We didn’t set those traps. It was their idea to go wandering in there in the dark.”

“Stil ,” Weezy said, “we’re going to have to cut through the trees, otherwise they’l just catch up to us again.”

Jack shook his head. “No, they won’t.”

“Yeah, Jack, they wil .”

He leaned inside the cruiser and plucked the keys from the ignition, then held them up and jangled them.

“Not without these, they won’t. Let’s rol .”

Weezy didn’t move, just stood there staring at him with her wide dark eyes.

“What?” he said.

“You’re scary, you know that? Real y scary.” She jerked her thumb toward the spong. “What kind of mind thinks up something like that?”

Jack had no idea where the idea had come from. Suddenly it had just popped into his head.

“Weez, sometimes I scare myself.”

The sound of the lawn mower awoke him.

Jack opened one eye and looked at his clock. The blurred numbers slowly came into focus … 9:02. He groaned and rol ed over.

That same clock had read 3:22 when he’d crawled back in the window last night. No, not last night—earlier this morning. And then he’d lain here, wide

awake, too wired for sleep, too worried there’d come a knock on the door and the trooper and the suit would be standing there with their bloody, bangedup ankles and elbows and messed-up clothes, looking to haul him away.

He didn’t know when he’d final y drifted off. He did know he needed more sleep, but that wasn’t going to happen with the lawn mower roaring back and

forth outside his window.

Official y it was his job to mow their lawn. Dad paid him to do it once a week, and usual y he did it on Wednesdays. But with everything going on, he’d

missed this week. He guessed Dad had decided to cut it. He did that every so often when he felt the need for a little exercise. But why today of al days?

Wait!

He bolted upright in bed. Had last night real y happened? Or had it al been a dream? Could have been. More like a nightmare. Sure was bizarre

enough.

He should have kept the cop’s car keys. Then he’d have proof. Instead he’d left them hanging from a branch over the fire trail. Or at least he thought he

had.

He looked out the window on a sunny summer morning with his father pushing the lawn mower around the backyard. So normal, so everyday. Like

something out of that old Monkees song “Pleasant Val ey Sunday.” And yet just a few hours ago, and just a couple of miles away in the Pine Barrens,