Island of Fog (Book 1) (2 page)

He set off, following the drag marks so he wouldn’t lose his way. The woods seemed even more silent and lonely without Robbie close by, and he wondered how Abigail could stand shadowing them from a distance—assuming it was her. Or maybe it wasn’t her but Fenton. Fenton was big, kind of pudgy and heavy, but strong too, and Hal couldn’t imagine him being scared alone in the woods.

On the other hand, maybe they were right the first time, and Wrangler, Emily’s faithful border collie, was running loose.

As Hal collected the fourth branch and headed back to the clearing, a nagging doubt crawled into the back of his mind. Wrangler was an old, sturdy dog, but he wasn’t big enough to leave footprints the size of those by the fog-hole. And if it was Wrangler out there, why didn’t he come running to greet them?

Hal quickened his pace. It was impossible for any other kind of large animal to be lurking in the woods . . . wasn’t it? They’d all been on the island twelve years—surely they’d have come across a large animal by now.

When he got back to the clearing he found Robbie sitting on a boulder, knees up to his chin, rocking back and forth. He had laid all three branches across the fog-hole. The fog hardly faltered, and a fourth branch across the hole might not help much either, but it would give the boys a good, solid framework to build on. Cramming the gaps with smaller limbs, twigs, leaves and ferns should do the job.

Hal dragged his branch closer. “You gonna help me or not?” he gasped. Robbie said nothing, so Hal finished the job on his own with a final heave. He stepped back and brushed his hands, nodding with satisfaction. “Now the fun part—”

He broke off and stared at Robbie, noticing something strange for the first time. His friend sat there on the boulder looking forlorn and embarrassed, and his shirt was in tatters over his pale, bony frame.

Hal stared in silence.

Robbie shrugged. “I don’t know what happened. One minute I was struggling with that last branch, and the next—I don’t know, I just—”

Hal waited, bewildered. “Just what?”

“The branch got caught up and I tripped, and I got annoyed and . . . and then . . . I don’t know, I suddenly felt stronger and I just picked up that branch like it was a twig and threw it across the hole.” Robbie shook his head. “I couldn’t believe my own strength, you know? I fell back into the ferns and just sat there staring. Then I realized my shirt was all torn up. I even popped the button on my jeans.”

“Robbie,” Hal said, feeling awkward, “what’s up with you? Did you lose your temper or something?”

“No, I . . . well, I don’t think so.” Robbie frowned. “Maybe I did. I was pretty steamed for a second there, and scratched to bits on thorns, and then the stupid branch wouldn’t budge, and . . .”

Hal stared at his friend, disturbed by the uncertainty he saw plastered across his face. Was Robbie cracking up? Who got so angry they ripped their shirt apart? It hung on him in tatters. All the buttons were gone, and the arms were ripped open lengthways. That had been some temper tantrum!

“Remind me never to annoy you,” Hal said, trying a grin. Robbie seemed to perk up, and the awkward moment was over. “And Robbie, your mom’s gonna kill you when you get home.”

They turned to finish the job they’d started. The hard work was done; now came the fun part, filling in all the gaps and stopping the fog forever.

Something scampered through the woods toward them. Twigs cracked and leaves rustled, and there was the splash of a puddle. Then sudden silence, and in that silence Hal thought he could hear harsh breathing. Something was right there in the shadows, watching them from behind some bushes.

A high, fluty voice floated out of the gloom. “Where am I? What is this place?”

The voice was so strange and unfamiliar that Hal almost jumped out of his skin. He found Robbie clutching at him.

“You!” came the strange voice. “How did I get here?”

About twenty feet in front of the startled boys, a face came into view around a bush. It seemed to hover out of the darkness, bringing with it a bulky body that Hal couldn’t make out. But the face was clear to see, and it wasn’t human: an animal of some kind, with bright blue eyes set in a dark red face, and with what seemed like hundreds of razor sharp fangs lining its gaping mouth.

Robbie turned and bolted. Hal pounded after him, praying that his friend didn’t get them both lost. Hal didn’t look back, but imagined the hideous creature preparing to leap on his back at any moment. Was that its hot breath on his neck? A snarl inches from his ear?

Black Woods was a blur of scratchy bushes, low-hanging branches and squelchy mud all the way to the outskirts, where the boys burst into an open field and stumbled through knee-high grass. Snatching glances over their shoulders and seeing no sign of a monster, they finally collapsed behind a lonesome bush, gasping, streaming with sweat, and almost crying with relief.

“What was
that?
” Hal panted.

“No clue,” Robbie said, white-faced. “Scared me to death though. That voice—and that red face—it was like a cat, but with human eyes and hundreds of teeth.”

“Yeah, those eyes,” Hal agreed with a shudder. “So bright and blue . . .”

“Evil,” Robbie said. “Whatever that thing is, it’s not something I’m going to stick around and chat with. But how did it get here?”

“That’s what it was asking us,” Hal remembered. “It was asking where it was and how it got here. Do you think we should tell our parents?”

They discussed the matter at length, and finally decided not to say a word—for now. For one thing, they were not supposed to be in Black Woods. Since Thomas Patten’s death, the woods were off-limits, at least to Hal and some of the others. Robbie’s parents didn’t seem to care so much, but if the boys admitted to being there they’d also have to explain
why
they were there, and then the subject of the fog-hole would come up.

“It’s
our
fog-hole,” Robbie said, clenching his fists. “We found it, and we’re going to block it up. And when the fog stops pouring out and a blue sky appears, it’ll be
us
that everyone thanks.”

That’s if we ever get a chance to return
, Hal thought, glancing for the umpteenth time toward the woods. It seemed unlikely they’d be able to finish the job if a strange and frightening creature had taken up residence in the woods.

Tired and disappointed, the boys snuck out from behind the bush and warily skirted the perimeter of Black Woods until they found the sprawling oak where they’d left their bikes and backpacks. They set off across the meadow as fast as they could pedal, Robbie’s ragged shirt flapping off his bony shoulders like a flag in the wind.

It was drizzling on Thursday morning when Hal’s mom rapped on his bedroom door. He woke bleary-eyed and looked out the window at the thick gray fog. It was a shame he and Robbie hadn’t been able to finish blocking the fog-hole. They’d have to return sometime and pack it with smaller branches and twigs, then leaves and ferns, maybe some mud on top to seal it off for good.

With a jolt he remembered the red-faced monster in the woods! He pressed his nose to the glass and scanned the front lawn, half expecting to see a pair of creepy blue eyes staring back at him from behind a tree or hedge. But, thankfully, there was no sign of the creature. Perhaps it was a forest-dweller and preferred to hide itself deep in the woods. That would explain why he and Robbie had never come across the thing before.

Mulling it over, he pulled on his clothes and ambled to the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, he dipped his hand in the bucket of fresh water and slicked down his short, sandy-colored hair. Then he brushed his teeth with the last of his mom’s homemade mint-flavored tooth powder. It wasn’t as good as the toothpaste from Out There, but that supply had run out years ago.

Along the hall came the sounds of his mom puttering around in the kitchen. Hal returned to his room, made sure he had the right school books in his backpack, and then popped his head into the living room to check the time.

His dad was there, a huge man, quite unlike Hal and his mom—black hair, brown eyes, olive skin, broad shoulders, and very tall. He had a thick bushy beard that tended to collect food when he ate. He was standing by the fireplace with the precious clock in his hands, winding it up as he did every morning and evening.

“What’s the time, Dad?”

“Morning, Hal,” his dad said. “It’s just after seven.” He hung the clock back on the wall over the fireplace with the sort of loving care Robbie gave to his precious bugs when he bottled them to take home.

In the kitchen, Hal’s mom was busy frying eggs, sliced potatoes and onions over the fire. The kitchen fireplace was even larger than the adjoining one in the living room, and over the crackling flames stood a heavy iron framework with hooks for pots and pans, a rotisserie spit that spanned the hearth, and a small iron surface for frying. Above the frame hung an enormous soot-encrusted metal hood that collected the smoke and guided it up the chimney.

“Hey, Mom,” Hal said.

She smiled at him, her face red and her forehead moist. Her long sandy-colored hair was streaked with gray, and she stood not much taller than Hal, a slim woman with a weary look in her green eyes. “About ready to eat?”

The family ate together as usual, idle words passing between them as they cleaned their plates. Hal’s dad devoured the last of the bread and then kissed his wife goodbye. He threw on a long coat, climbed into well-worn boots, and set off for the farm, leaving Hal to help his mom clear away the plates.

“Be a dear,” his mom said, handing him a bucket. “Go and fetch us some water, would you? My shoulder’s acting up again.”

Hal stepped out into the drizzle and grimaced as the cold damp started to soak though his clothes. He hurried across the lawn to the road, the bucket clanging against his leg. According to his dad, the main road had once been busy with cars, trucks, and motorbikes, the hub of a thriving island community, especially down toward the docks where the old shop fronts were rotting away. Hal found it hard to imagine.

Robbie’s house loomed out of the fog on the opposite side of the road. Despite a choice of bigger, better houses tucked away in idyllic spots on the island, in recent years all eight families had ended up huddled together on this small stretch of road. Living near one another made life much easier, and there was a handy freshwater stream they could all share.

Hal arrived at a narrow, humped bridge, under which the clean, sparkling stream flowed. A wooden frame and pulley system had been rigged up, and Hal hung the bucket on the hook and lowered it into the water. The pulleys made it easy to wind the bucket back up, but carrying it back to the house was another matter. Water slopped over the rim as he hobbled along, and the handle dug into the palm of his hand. How did his mom manage this two or three times a day? He was just glad he lived so close.

“Hal, where’s your coat?” his mom asked with a frown as he returned to the house and dumped the bucket in the kitchen. “You’ll catch a cold.”

“Won’t,” Hal said. He’d never had a cold in his life, and neither had any of his friends.

He pulled on a jacket, grabbed his packed lunch, slipped it into his backpack, and left for school. Packed lunches weren’t essential since class ended before lunchtime anyway, but some of the classmates—Hal and Robbie in particular—preferred to eat out in a field somewhere, or perhaps up a tree, rather than go straight home and sit at a kitchen table. Food always tasted better outdoors!

A heavily trodden dirt path led away from the main road and ran alongside a cornfield bordered with a rickety wooden fence. Since all the kids used the same path, Hal often met his classmates along the way. Sometimes they rode their bikes, but on wet, muddy days like this it was better to walk. He brushed past Emily and Darcy as they walked together, and caught up to Robbie.

“Get home all right yesterday?” Hal asked.

Robbie nodded and grinned. “I snuck in the bedroom window, changed my shirt, then climbed out and walked in the front door as if I’d just got home. Mom never suspected a thing.”

“Cool.”

They reached the top of the hill and started down the path that led into the meadow. An old community hall, now used as a school, stood there with the tip of its narrow bell tower lost in a mist of drizzle, its aged wood siding dark with moisture.

“I wish we could have blocked that fog-hole,” Robbie said with a faraway look. “Imagine waking up this morning with no fog, just a blue sky and bright yellow sun.”

“It’s raining,” Hal said. “There wouldn’t have been a blue sky anyway.”

A voice shouted from behind. “Hal! Shortie! C’mere!”

Hal groaned.

Heavy feet came stamping up and a large hand clamped onto Hal’s shoulder. “I’m talking to you, squirt. And you, beanpole.”

The hulking form of Fenton Bridges butted in between Hal and Robbie, shoving them apart. He wasn’t quite as tall as Robbie, but was built like a bull, with short spiky hair and small, staring eyes. As always he carried with him a faint smell of underarm body odor.

“Teacher’s giving us a test today,” he said, glaring at Hal. “That means you’re going to pass me the answers when I need them. Right?”

“Work ’em out yourself.”

Powerful fingers gripped the back of Hal’s neck. “Sorry? Didn’t quite hear you.”

Hal squirmed but couldn’t get free. “Get off!”

“Pick on someone your own size,” Robbie mumbled.

Fenton turned on him at once, but retained his tight grip on Hal’s neck. “Oh yeah? Like who, skeleton boy? Show me a single person our age who’s as big as me, and I’ll go pick on him.”

“Try Out There,” Hal said through gritted teeth. “There are probably hundreds of kids your size you can go play with.”

“Or try the pig sty,” Robbie said.

Fenton released his grip on Hal, and a huge fist lashed out. It caught Robbie on the chin and, in a flash, he was lying in the mud holding his face.

Fenton stood over him, his face red. “Watch yourself, stick insect. Say anything like that again and you’ll be fishing around in that puddle for teeth.”

“Leave him alone!” Hal yelled. “I’m not gonna help you cheat, so get lost!”

He was almost yanked off his feet as Fenton grabbed a handful of coat and pulled him closer. “And you watch out too, stumpy, or you’ll be joining your bony friend in the mud.” Fenton shoved hard, and Hal stumbled backward. “Now remember, when I signal for answers, you better pass ’em across. Or else the beanpole gets it.”

He stalked off toward the school.

Hal helped Robbie to his feet. “You all right?”

“Great,” Robbie said with tears in his eyes. He brushed them away and scowled. “Why’s he always pick on us?”

“Because I sit near him in class,” Hal grumbled. “And if I don’t do as he says, he’ll beat you up.”

He looked back along the path and found Darcy and Emily standing perfectly still, clutching each other, watching from a safe distance.

“He’s horrible,” Emily called out. “Is Robbie okay?”

“I’m fine!” Robbie yelled. “It’s nothing. You can stop gawping now.” He brushed himself down, wiped some mud off the back of his trousers and elbows, and hurried on toward school, shooting a glance to Hal. “Come on.”

The school building was small, with a large room at one end and several tiny rooms at the other. Mrs. Hunter, who was Lauren’s mother and the class teacher, used the small rooms for storing school supplies and books. The large room, fitted with windows down the two longest sides, housed nine small desks arranged three by three that faced a larger desk at the front. On the wall over the teacher’s desk hung a whiteboard. A nearby clock announced it was nearly eight as Hal and Robbie entered.

Chairs scraped, school bags and backpacks were slung on the floor and unzipped, and books were piled on the desktops and flipped open. Hal’s desk was the exact center of the class. To his left, Robbie sat by the window, and to his right sat Fenton, who gave him a warning glare.

Mrs. Hunter waited with a tiny smile on her lips while the class settled. “Now,” she said at last, “a history test. You did your homework, yes?”

“Yes!” came a chorus of voices, but Hal heard a small, nervous “No” from Dewey at the back. At least Dewey admits it, Hal thought, throwing Fenton a mutinous glare. Fenton caught him looking and glared back, then slid his finger across his throat and nodded meaningfully toward Robbie.

“Hey, Hal,” whispered a girl’s voice from over Hal’s other shoulder. It was Abigail Porter, who sat behind Robbie by the window. “Psst!”

Unable to ignore her, Hal shot her a look.

She gave a sweet smile, a freckle-faced girl with brown hair tied back in a ponytail. Until recently her hair had been long enough to reach her waist, but in the last couple of weeks she’d cut it short, much to everyone’s surprise. Now she twirled it around her fingers in a most irritating way, pulling it around in front of her face and pretending to powder her nose with it.

“Hey,” she whispered. “Got something to tell you later. Can we meet after school?”

Mrs. Hunter came by just then, handing out test papers. Hal waited until she’d moved up the aisle, then turned to Abigail. “Can’t. Busy,” he lied.

“It won’t take long,” Abigail whispered. “Just ten minutes. Got to tell you something.”

“Then tell me now.”

“Stop whispering, you two,” Mrs. Hunter said.

Hal jumped. He mumbled an apology and glanced over his paper. In her usual neat handwriting, Mrs. Hunter had written a series of history questions.

“Now then, children,” she said in her high, clear voice. “You have half an hour, starting now. No talking, eyes down.”

A complete silence engulfed the room, at least for the next twenty minutes. Hal worked through the test with a grudge, wondering what was the point in learning the history of a world they’d never get to see anyway. Who cared if some guy called
Columbo
, or whatever his name was, discovered America? What good did it do Hal and his friends? Still, he worked hard to get the answers right anyway, struggling to remember what he’d skimmed through last night during homework.

He heard Fenton clear his throat and decided not to look up.
Pretend not to notice
, he thought grimly.

Fenton cleared his throat again, louder this time, and Hal feigned an expression of total concentration and bent lower to his paper, chewing the end of his pencil.

Then a balled up piece of paper hit him on the cheek, and he blinked in surprise. Fenton was glaring at him, and nodding toward the paper.

With a sigh, Hal unfolded it and read:
your crusing for a brusing buddy. whats number 4, 7, 12, 15 and 24

Hal studied his own answers. He was up to number nineteen of thirty questions. Fenton had probably skimmed through them all and was now going back to fill in a few blanks. It would be easy for Hal to write the answers on the paper and throw it back—but why should he?

He thought long and hard over his dilemma. Fenton was always picking on him, partly because he sat nearby, but also because Robbie was easy to beat up if Hal didn’t do as he was told. Hal felt bad about seeing his friend getting pushed around, so he tried to comply whenever possible.

“Tell the teacher,” Emily had once said.

“I’ll tell her,” Lauren had suggested, “later, at home.”

“Don’t say a word!” Hal had said, horrified. He didn’t know what was worse: running to the teacher for help, or annoying Fenton even more.

So it went on, and once again Hal was faced with the same old dilemma: give Fenton what he wanted, or refuse and see his friend beaten up after school.

He stared at the paper, then at Fenton’s stocky profile and those big, clumsy fists. Then he glanced across at Robbie, who was fingering a small bruise on his chin.

With a sigh, Hal copied his answers onto Fenton’s creased scrap of paper. He had to jump ahead on his own test to figure out question twenty-four, but it was an easy one. He balled up Fenton’s note and, after checking to make sure Mrs. Hunter wasn’t watching, threw it back.

Fenton didn’t even make an attempt to say thanks, just unfolded the paper and copied the answers onto his test paper.

Twenty minutes into the test, Emily gave a loud sigh, sat back in her chair, and folded her arms. Next to her, right in front of Hal, Lauren was busy trying to scratch her back at a place she couldn’t reach. And Darcy, who sat at the third desk in the front row, seemed to be falling asleep.

Robbie was gazing across at Lauren, tapping his pencil against his chin. When he noticed Hal watching him, he reddened and looked away. Behind him, Abigail looked thoroughly bored. She slouched across her desk with her head resting on her hands. And beside her, right behind Hal and as quiet as a mouse, Dewey Morgan was still scrawling away.