A Boy Called Duct Tape (10 page)

James Creek carried us to Harper’s Hole late that afternoon.

“This is the place!” I shouted from the trailing canoe. “Harper’s Hole! We found the twenty-dollar gold piece here!” I raised my paddle and passed it over the deep body of water like I was christening it. “An underground spring feeds this hole! It comes straight out of the mountain!”

“I know all about it, Pablo,” Monroe said in a bored voice. “I was catching fish in this hole before you were born.”

“It’s beautiful,” Kiki said, gazing at the rainbow of colors on the bottom. The powerful underground spring bubbled out of Bear Mountain and into the underbelly of James Creek, churning up small rocks and gravel.

“Mr. Huff, can we stop and swim?” Pia asked.

“No, sweet pea,” Monroe said. “I want to get around this mountain before dark.”

We paddled on.

The last light of day had slipped out of the forest, and by the time we beached our canoes on the west side of Bear Mountain the darkness had pressed in on us. The moon hung in the sky like a large polished pearl and the faint silhouette of Bear Mountain carved an uneven line across the night sky. The river air had begun to chill as we unloaded our canoes.

We were gathering firewood when Monroe exclaimed, “Look here!” He trained his flashlight on the ground.

Pia, Kiki, and I came over to where he knelt at the edge of the forest.

“What is it?” I asked, training my flashlight beam onto the ground.

“Mr. Bear,” Monroe said, head bent, eyes focused on the deep impressions in the soft earth.

“You’re kidding,” Kiki said, staring down at the paw prints. “You
are
kidding, right?”

“Take a look for yourself,” Monroe said. “They lead off in that direction.” He motioned toward the mountain with his flashlight beam.

“I hate to be the one that breaks the news to you, Monroe,” Kiki said, “but city girls don’t know much about the great outdoors. It could be a Big Foot track for all I know.” She leaned down and examined the imprints.

“Oh, it’s Mr. Bear all right,” Monroe confirmed.

I touched the indentation with the toe of one duct-taped sneaker. The wide track was whiskered with the unmistakable imprint of claws.

Pia’s eyes were fixed on the ground, and Kiki wrapped an arm around my sister and drew her close. “It’s okay, Pia. Bears eat berries and things, not people.”

Pia put on a brave face.

“Isn’t that right, Monroe?” Kiki asked. “Bears eat berries, not people?”

“Whatever you say, sugar plum. Whatever you say.”

We sat around the campfire eating a meal of raisins and peanut butter sandwiches, a symphony of insects and frogs serenading us. Like alien eyes staring down on, a billion stars sparkled overhead.

“It’s not going to rain,” Monroe said, “but we might want to sleep under the canoes. Dew is heavy this time of year.” He packed his food items away in one of two backpacks he had brought—his second backpack was stuffed with gear—and then looked at me. “Okay, my little friend, let’s see the map.”

I wanted to crawl into a hole. “Map?” The moment I’d feared all day had arrived, and a dull panic squeezed my throat. I tried to swallow. I couldn’t.

“Yeah, map,” Monroe said in a gruff voice. “We agreed when we reached Bear Mountain we’d take a look at that phantom map of yours. Remember?”

“Oh, sure. I forgot,” I said, digging around in my backpack for the one-dollar treasure map. When I found it, I spread it out on the ground before the fire, then looked at Monroe and grinned like someone who’d been caught cheating on a science test.

Monroe gazed at the map for the longest time. “What kind of crazy map is this?” he growled, his eyes glowing with anger. “It’s a piece of tourist trash!”

I drew in a great breath of air. “That’s the thing, Monroe”—I tried to swallow but the panic had tightened its grip around my throat—“I think, we think, there’s some truth in—”

Thunder rumbled out of Monroe’s mouth. “You think this is some sort of joke, Pablo Perez?”

Monroe’s right. It
is
tourist trash.

I wanted to run into the woods and hide.

“We think the map could be real,” Kiki said, coming to my rescue. “Years ago an old woman donated it to the Jamesville Museum. We think people have overlooked it all these years and that it’s the real—”

“Sugar plum,” Monroe said bitterly, shaking one thick finger at her, “you kids must take me for some kind of nincompoop.”

“No, Monroe! That’s not true!” Kiki exclaimed, shaking her head so hard that her hair went flying from side to side.

Monroe’s gaze shifted to the map. He studied it for a few brief moments. “A museum map,” he scoffed. “Never heard of anything sillier.”

“At least take a look at it,” Kiki said.

“I think the map is real, Mr. Huff,” Pia said, her brow furrowed.

“This whole thing is starting to smell bad,” Monroe grumbled, kicking the dirt. “Guiding for a bunch of kids with Smart phones. Should have known better.”

“What do you have to lose?” I asked, my stomach twisted into a pretzel. “A little of your time. Nothing more.” I liked my argument. It made sense. Monroe had nothing to lose and everything to gain
.

“There are
no
caves on Bear Mountain,” Monroe said. “None. Been there, done that, got pictures to prove it. No caves on, in, or through Bear Mountain. It is one of the few mountains in this part of the world
without
any caves. Period. End of story. I thought maybe your map would prove me wrong.” Monroe chuckled, but it had a sad ring to it. “I was wrong.”

The dull buzz of locusts smothered the silence.

“Please look at the map, Mr. Huff,” Pia appealed.

Monroe stomped around the campsite mumbling to himself and kicking the ground. Finally, he walked over and surveyed the map again. He dropped to his knees and traced a callused finger down James Creek as it headed west on the map. “I can tell you one thing about this tourist map of yours,” he said. “It was darn sure drawn before 1895.”

“See!” Kiki cheered. “It could be genuine!”

Adrenalin surged through my veins. “What do you mean?”

“Here,” Monroe said, laying his finger on James Creek as it moved past the western edge of Bear Mountain. “This map shows the
old
line of the river. Before 1895. There was a big flood that year—changed the course of the river. Today the main channel is a quarter mile west of the one shown on this map.”

I crowded in beside Monroe. “So you’re saying we’re a quarter of a mile west of where the river once flowed? And this map was drawn
before
1895?” I was trying to control the excitement in my voice.

Monroe nodded. “Yep. Map’s right on that point.”

“I wonder how many people have looked at this map over the years and known that?” Kiki asked, a joyful shine in her eyes. “I’m guessing not many.”

“So the map could be real?” Pia asked.

“Can’t say that,” Monroe said, some of the vinegar gone from his voice. “It’s this JJ Rock business that’s puzzling.” His finger tapped the map. “I’m guessing the JJ stands for Jesse James, but that can’t be right.”

“Why not?” Kiki asked.

“This indicates the JJ Rock is near the entrance to the cave,” he said. “I know that section of mountain. I know every pebble, rock, and boulder. Not a one of them has the initials JJ carved into it.”

“Maybe it wasn’t carved,” Pia said. “Maybe it was painted.”

I looked at my sister and arched my eyebrows.
Good point, Pia.

“That’s an astute observation, sweet pea,” Monroe said. “But there’s no painted rocks on Bear Mountain, either.”

“Maybe the paint wore off over the years,” I suggested.

“If that’s the case, then we’ll never find the cave opening,” Monroe said. He moved his thick finger along the map, past the JJ Rock and into the Hotel Lobby, and then on to the Boulevard of Chandeliers. “This is no easy cave,” Monroe said. “It’s like a rat maze. A person could get lost real easy.”

I was overcome by a warm sense of adventure. The map could be
real
. The cave could
exist
. The treasure might be
found
. My heart accelerated.

“A genuine web, this cave of yours,” Monroe said, his finger continuing to trace the many tunnels on the map. Deeper and deeper into the cave he ventured, his meaty forefinger passing over each of the many destinations on the map: Death Cake, Lake With Dam, Church Organ, Room of Ghosts—“Hmmm … Room of Ghosts,” Monroe muttered—Graveyard, Magic Rock, and on to its conclusion in the Cathedral. An X marked the spot in the Cathedral where the treasure could be found.

“But all this could have changed,” Monroe said. “It’s been 130 years. Nature has a way of rearranging herself—like James Creek. Floods that change the landscape up top also change the landscape down below.” He paused and looked at each of us. “And you can bet that little tremor we had last week did a number on some of Mother Cave’s passageways.”

“We’re willing to take that chance,” I said excitedly.

“She’s deep, this treasure of ours,” Monroe said, his eyes sweeping over the map. “Deep in the mountain. Several miles, I’d guess.”

“That far?” Pia said.

“That’s right, sweet pea,” Monroe said. “Some caves are horizontal, others vertical. Others go up and down and sideways like a 3-D maze. No two are alike.” He tapped the map again. “This Jesse James cave is long and elaborate. If there
is
a cave.”

“It’s there,” Kiki insisted. “Call it woman’s intuition, but I know it’s there.”

I could hear the confidence bubbling over in Kiki’s voice.

“If we find the cave I hope we don’t find people living there,” Pia reflected.

“I doubt people will be living there, sweet pea.”

Pia nodded. “Good.”

Monroe looked at the map again. “This Death Cake is a strange description for a formation, or whatever it is.” He seemed puzzled by it. “I can’t imagine what that might represent.”

“We thought the same thing,” I said.

“Caves—the little lovelies have their own personalities,” Monroe said, craning his broad neck and peering at the stars. “As different as one woman from another, taking on a life of her own, breathing, the air moving in and out like a living woman.” He shifted his gaze to the fire and perhaps into the dancing flames of his own imagination. “You can have your city skyscrapers. For me, Mother Cave has the most enduring, the most perfect architecture in the world.”

Somewhere in the darkness a coyote barked out a long, lonesome howl, and Pia scooted in beside me, slivers of fire glowing in her dark eyes.

“Stalagmites rising from the floor like giant daggers,” Monroe continued. “Stalactites hanging from the ceiling like priceless chandeliers. Towering domes, some as high as a 20-story building. Immense chambers that would dwarf the Louisiana Superdome. Spacious hallways the likes of which have not been seen since King Tut.” He stirred the fire with a stick. “Underground passageways barricaded by the weight of their own ceiling, and narrow tunnels so cramped that a man inflicted with the disease of claustrophobia finds himself screaming forgiveness for some long-ago sin.”

“You’re scaring me, Mr. Huff,” Pia said softly, her hand over her chest. “I can feel my heart beating.”

“Sorry, sweet pea. My sermon’s over.”

“What’s the biggest cave you’ve ever seen?” I asked.

Monroe tilted his head and squeezed one eye shut. “I’d say the Great Room in New Mexico’s Carlsbad Cavern. It measures over 33,000 square feet. She’s gone commercial, though. Tourists only.”

“Gosh, I hope we see a cave that big,” Pia said.

“The deepest cave in the world is called Krubera Cave. It’s located in the Republic of Georgia near the town of Gagra not far from the Black Sea,” Monroe said in a dreamy voice. “She goes more than a mile down. That’s one cave I must explore before I die.”

“Maybe you will,” Pia said. “But where’s the Black Sea?”

“Have you ever heard of the country called Turkey?”

“Oh, sure.”

“The Black Sea forms Turkey’s northern border.”

“Oh.”

The embers from the fire rose into the cool night sky like fireflies. Somewhere in the darkness a hoot owl sang.

“It’s the lure of the abyss, my young friends,” Monroe said, tossing a couple more sticks into the flames, his eyes sweeping over us. “And with that morsel of wisdom I believe it’s time we called it a night.” Monroe climbed to his feet.

“What about that stupid bear?” Kiki asked.

“What about it?” Monroe said.

“Shouldn’t someone stand guard or something?” Kiki peered uneasily into the darkness that crowded our campsite from all sides.

“Can if you want,” Monroe said. “Me, I’m going to bed. We’ve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow. We’ll learn soon enough if this map is real.” He shot me a malevolent glance.

I wanted to make my case for the authenticity of the map—I was about to rip open with excitement—but decided to quit while I was ahead.

“One other piece of business, Pablo,” the Caveman said. “Tell old Monroe how you came by this map. No fairy tales—the truth.”

“Well,” I began with a crooked little smile, “we bought it at the Outlaw Days Festival for a dollar.”

Monroe stood silently for a full ten seconds before bursting into clamorous laughter. “A one-dollar treasure map! I must be the biggest fool on the planet!”

Laughing to himself, Monroe then took his space blanket—a lightweight metallic cover he had instructed everyone to bring—and stepped over to one of the canoes lying on its side. He spread the blanket under the canoe, crawled in, and then pulled the metallic spread over his body.

No one spoke for the longest time. Finally, I said, “I’ll stand guard for a while. I’m not real sleepy.”

Kiki was tired and she didn’t argue—neither did Pia. They laid their space blankets under the other canoe and crawled in. Two minutes later they were both asleep.

By midnight my eyelids were so heavy that I fell asleep. I was awakened several hours later by the sound of a human voice. I had fallen asleep stretched out beside the fire, my backpack under my head, my space blanket wrapped around my body. The fire had burned down to white coals.