Camouflage (9 page)

The initials of someone's name? No, his dad had specifically said, “I thought you were with us on O. D.”

“OPERATION something!” Kyle exclaimed, clamping a hand over his mouth as the words spilled out. A chill of fear went through him. That was it! What the
D
stood for he'd have to find out.

He slowed his pace, eyes on the ground, toes kicking up small puffs of dust. A motorcycle whizzed by. He had an awful, shuddery feeling that his dad was involved in secret things that so far he'd only gotten a hint of. He really didn't know anything for sure. Maybe his dad and his militia buddies were just playing war games. He'd heard of grown men who liked guns and did that kind of thing.

But what if Dad's militia was planning something big, something bad? Like . . . His pulse thumped in his ears. He started to jog to keep pace with his thoughts. Everything he imagined seemed too bizarre, certainly nothing his dad would ever do.

If only he could talk it over with someone, an outsider, who might find an innocent purpose for men buying military equipment. No one in town, of course; they might be part of it. The only one he could think of, the only one he thought he could talk to about it, was a cop—Brian, and Kyle certainly couldn't tell
him
!

In fact, he couldn't tell anyone, he realized as he reached the carnival grounds, whether it was war games or the real thing. It would only make terrible trouble. He might destroy his own father. His dad would hate him.

At the carnival, flags whipped in the wind; paper wrappers and cups swirled around in the air—signs that a storm might be on the way. Within the grounds he saw the families of men still at the swap meet: women pushing strollers with balloons tied to their babies' wrists; preteen girls giggling at the boys stalking them.

Kyle hesitated, his thoughts so far from carnival fun that he almost turned around and went back to the swap meet. But he couldn't. There were hours to kill and if he'd read his dad correctly, he didn't want Kyle around.

“Cotton candy! Cotton candy! One dol-lar!” a voice near the entrance called.

“Step right up, folks! Win a fab-ulous prize!”

“Get your ride tickets here! Five for a buck!”

It was no fun being at a carnival without someone to share it with. For the first time since he'd left California, Kyle wished he were back in L.A. He felt alien and alone here. He missed his mom's laughing protests when he teased her, his surfing buddies who didn't know a .22 from a catch-22. He missed the dry heat and even the smog. And, he realized with a shock of surprise, he even missed solid, dependable Brian.

The merry-go-round music started up again as a new group of children were helped onto the high, brightly colored wooden horses. Kyle paused to watch, but his thoughts would not settle down.
Operation D? Operation D. What could it mean? Who'd know?

He bought a roll of tickets and wandered around the grounds, hoping to work up enthusiasm for the rides, but all the while his eyes scanned the crowds for a familiar face. Hiram was supposed to be working here, and maybe some of his friends.

Would Hiram know what O. D. means?

He found Hiram taking tickets at the bumper-car ride. Kyle tapped him on the shoulder. Hiram looked up. “Hey, buddy!” he said, clearly glad to see him. “Pop said you'd be here!” He let two more people move out to the cars. “Stick around. Got a break in fifteen minutes.” When the cars were all full, he shut the gate, switched on the power, and turned to Kyle. “Been to the swap meet yet? Great, isn't it?”

“Yeah! Almost bought a gun but the guy said I had to be twenty-one.”

“Bull! You just got to know the right guy to buy from!”

“Who's around?” Kyle asked above the noise of cars bumping into each other and squeals of excitement. “Anyone I know?”

“Tyler's sellin' ice cones. Couple guys you probably know, just hanging around. Other than that—oh yeah! Guess who's here with her retard sister?”

“Verity?” Kyle's voice sounded shrill to his own ears.

Hiram's lips curled in a knowing smile while his eyes swept the bumper cars. Three drivers jammed into each other and stalled. Hiram leaped into the enclosure and pushed them apart, then ran back. “Her pa's at the swap meet, checking out what's for sale and who's buying. That's his job, you know. He's ATF. Brings the girls along sometimes.”

A rumble of thunder made them both look up. The distant sky showed a jagged flash of lightning cutting through dark clouds, and the scent of rain came on the sudden wind. “Better go. See you later,” Kyle said, eager to find Verity before the rains came.

Hiram had begun taking tickets from the next drivers when Kyle turned and hurried back, remembering his question. “Hiram?” he asked, so that others wouldn't hear. “What's O. D. mean? Do you know?”

“Huh?” Hiram gave him a quick, uneasy look and then became very busy taking tickets and answering questions about the ride. It was a bad time to ask, Kyle realized, but still he stood by, waiting.

“O. D.?” Hiram said at last, scratching his head. “Overdose? Don't know. Why?”

“Just wondered. I heard some talk, that's all.” He was sure Hiram knew what it meant from the way his eyes darted away.

“Ask your father,” Hiram said, turning on the power to the ride. “Maybe he knows.”

Kyle spotted Verity and Charlene at a table, a paper plate of nachos between them. He got himself a corn dog and a cola and brought them to their table. He swung his leg over the stool opposite Verity and sat down. “Hi. Hope you don't mind.”

She shrugged, sipped her drink, and gazed off into the distance.

“Who are you?” Charlene asked.

“I'm the guy who gave you those chocolate chip cookies when you were fishing the other day.”

“Oh.” She looked Kyle over. “Where's your hair?”

Kyle nearly choked on his drink. “I left it at the barbershop.” He ran a hand over the short stubble. “Don't you like it?”

Charley cocked her head. “No.”

“How come?”

“It was soft before, like my kitty. And now you look mean, like those boys I don't like.”

“Maybe I'll grow it back then, okay?”

Verity's mouth curled into a small grin.

“You hate the haircut, too, Verity?”

“Why should I care?”

Kyle leaned across the table so he could look Verity in the eye. “You don't like me, do you?”

She shrugged. “I don't know you.”

He held out a hand, withdrew it to wipe on his jeans first, then offered it again. Verity barely touched it. “Howdy, ma'am!” He grinned at his awkward attempt to sound like a cowboy. “Meet Kyle Klinger, nice guy on the whole, no big brain, but no airhead, either. Good at math and science, reads mostly sci-fi books, and wants to be an astronaut.” He paused to get her reaction, but she only stared at him, still showing a kind of distrust he couldn't figure.

“One more thing.” He put a hand to his cheek and whispered, “I've only been to Disneyland twice, and I've never seen a single actor or actress in all my years in L.A.” He sat back.

“I went to Disneyland last Christmas!” Charley said.

“That's nice.” Kyle's eyes stayed on Verity.

Verity nibbled a chip. “How do you like it here?”

Kyle paused, unsure how to answer. He couldn't tell her how much he hated Hiram's nasty mouth, because Hiram was a so-called friend. And Verity might be just as prejudiced, for all he knew, though he doubted it. He turned his hand from side to side to show his uncertainty. “I really like being with my dad, and I'm looking forward to fishing and hunting, but . . .”

Verity's blue eyes watched him closely.

“But . . . I don't know. We're a whole lot more laid-back in L.A. I mean, me and my friends talk about sports and girls a lot, not guns and, and . . . revolution!” He tried a light laugh to make a joke of it and then sobered quickly. He'd just put a name to what his dad seemed involved in—
revolution.

“I gotta pee,” Charley whispered to Verity.

“The rest room's over there, honey. Come right back.”

“Your turn,” Kyle said, when Charlene left.

“There's not much to tell. I work part-time at the library and take care of my sister. My mom died two years ago, so there's just dad and us. Dad's with ATF, you know. He's got a lot of friends in town. And a lot of enemies.” She paused, as if waiting for his shocked reaction. “Don't think he's blind. He knows what's going on.”

“What's
going on?”

“I think you know.”

Kyle bit into his cold corn dog and studied her. “Do you have any idea what O. D. could mean?”

“Oh, sure,” she said quickly, glancing toward the rest room to see if Charley had come out. “Operation Desperate. They think it's a big secret, those militia guys, but it's not. Dad's known about it a long time. That's their plan to do something terrible against the government. Your father's in the middle of it, you know!”

He knew, though he didn't want to hear it confirmed, not so calmly, especially not by Verity. A cold lump of corn dog stuck in Kyle's throat so that he had to swallow hard to get it down. “If your dad knows all this, why doesn't he stop it?”

“The law doesn't work that way. You have to be caught in the act, so to speak. But, believe me, it won't happen. Not if my dad has anything to say about it!”

“W
HERE'S
C
HARLEY
?” Verity rose abruptly.

“Probably still in the toilet,” Kyle said, wishing Verity would stay put so they could talk some more.

“No! She came out. I saw her.” She craned her neck to see beyond the clusters of passing carnival visitors. A note of fear had crept into her voice. “Where could she be?” She grabbed Charlene's sweater from the bench and rushed away.

Kyle left his food and ran after her, calling, “Hey, slow down! She can't be far! I'm sure she's okay!”

“It's all my fault! I should have known!” Verity cried. “I shouldn't have let her out of my sight! She's curious and goes off alone, then she gets confused and scared! I shouldn't have stayed to talk with you!”

“Verity, slow down!” Kyle urged, running beside her. “We'll find her. She'll be all right! You go that way and I'll go over there, okay?”

“Okay.” Verity wiped her eyes. “Okay,” she whispered. “Thanks.”

Kyle strode back through the carnival grounds toward the entrance. If Charlene had left the area and gone out to the parking lot she'd really be confused. He asked people he passed if they'd seen a girl, about seven, wearing red shorts and a white shirt. He searched faces and checked the line of people waiting to get on the Ferris wheel. Charley couldn't be far; it had been only a minute or two that he and Verity had been talking.

He stopped at the bumper-car ride, leaned over a railing, and called, “Hiram? You seen Verity's sister?”

Hiram looked up from taking tickets. It took him a moment to take in the question. “Charlene? No,” he said. “But hey! I've got a break in another minute. Hang around!”

“Can't!” Kyle hurried on. All of a sudden the sky overhead had gotten dark. Thunder boomed and a flash of lightning ripped the heavens. A few drops of rain wet the dirt, making small craters in the powdery sand and sending up a dusty, musty smell. Mothers scurried to cover, pushing strollers and pulling their toddlers toward the big food tent in the middle of the carnival grounds. Rides emptied. Booth owners dropped canvas cloths in front of their stands. If he didn't find Charley soon she'd get soaked.

The rain began to come down in torrents. Kyle removed his jacket and held it over his head as he ran. He shivered, his jeans and shirt already drenched.
Where could she be?
Already the carnival grounds seemed abandoned.

He was almost to the entrance, wondering if he should return to Verity or go out to the parking lot, when a flash of red caught his eye. It came from just behind the cotton candy booth.

“Charley?” he called, stopping under an awning. He peered around the corner. “Charley?”

A garbage can rolled across the ground, driven by the fierce wind. Rain splashed hard and loud on the canvas awning. His voice was lost in the noise.

“Ah, come on, sugar. Don't be afraid. Come here!” a male voice urged as Kyle drew closer.

“Looks like a drowned cat, doesn't she?” another voice said.

“Hey, Char-le-en, where's your keeper? Don't you know enough to get out of the rain?”

Laughter. Whispers.

“Go away!” A whimper of helpless fear. “Leave me alone!”

“Leave me
alone
!” a voice mimicked.

Kyle rounded the corner and saw Charley clutching the chain-link fence that encircled the carnival, her body twisted toward the three boys taunting her. They stood under the building's eaves, protected from most of the rain. He thought they looked familiar, but his eyes flew to Charlene. She stood defiant and brave, lips trembling, eyes wide and watchful. Her shorts and shirt clung to her, and her hair stuck to her face and neck like wet spaghetti. She edged along the fence, inch by inch, looking for a way to escape, but each time she moved, one of the boys moved, too, blocking her.

Kyle realized in a quick glance that he knew the boys. They were Hiram's friends, from the night at the bonfire: Billy, Tyler, and Mac. “Come on, Char-le-en. Aren't you hungry?” Mac teased, waggling a sack of potato chips at her. The boys chuckled and threw knowing glances at each other.

“Hey!” Kyle bellowed, stepping forward. “Leave her alone!” He ran to the fence and put an arm around Charley's shivering shoulders. “It's okay,” he whispered, trying to pry her stiff fingers from the fence. “For crying out loud!” He glared at the boys. “Get outta here!”