Lost Cipher (9 page)

CHAPTER 18

In the morning, the three boys climbed up to the ridge above the cave. A pocket of mud between the rocks held a single panther track, confirming that the big cat had been just above them for at least part of the night. There was no sign of it now, but with evidence so fresh, even Lucas couldn't shake the feeling that the panther was close, eager to reclaim its den from the three intruders.

They agreed it made no sense to stay in the cave, and with the fresh track right where they stood, Alex and George were anxious to move on.

“We could go back over and try to find the trail again,” Alex suggested. “If they're looking for us, that's where they'll end up.”

“So where are they then?” countered George. “And we looked for the trail for hours over there yesterday. We keep looking, and we could end up even more lost on that side.” Even from this distant vantage point, it was impossible to tell where the trail crossed the boulders.

“What do you think, Lucas?” asked Alex.

“I'm for gettin' out of here, one way or another,” Lucas said. “I ain't scared of no painter, but it could be a while before anybody comes lookin'.

“What do you mean?” asked George.

“Well, Aaron and Rooster weren't supposed to get back to the camp until today some time. Even if one of 'em started hurryin' back, it could be pretty late before word gets out. If there ain't enough day left, they might not start lookin' for us till tomorrow morning.”

“Great,” said George, sounding like he might start crying all over again.

Lucas scanned the other nearby ridges, but there wasn't a single sign of civilization. The valleys to either side of their ridge were blanketed in thick folds of forest for nearly as far as he could see. But far below in the morning haze, he spied a few openings of pasture and a handful of buildings.

He turned back to the others. “There's that little stream we crossed in the bottom of the ravine. It's got to flow into something bigger. If we just keep followin' water, we're bound to end up on
someone's
farm. Can't be more'n five or six miles out of these mountains. We'd probably be at a house with a phone by the time Aaron and them even got back to camp.”

“Five or six miles,” groaned George. “Are you kidding me?”

“It's all downhill, George,” Alex said. “I say let's get moving. Besides, we're never going to find a real meal standing around up here.”

George shot him a look. “Really? Food? You really think that's all I think about?”

Lucas and Alex looked at each other, smiling for the first time in a day.

“Whatever,” George conceded, “let's just go.” He began walking back toward the ravine.

“Don't worry, George,” said Alex. “I bet Lucas here can rustle you up some roots and berries along the way. Maybe even a tasty bug or two.”

“Fantastic,” muttered George.

They clambered back down the rocks and into the damp forest. In a few minutes, they'd found the stream, but before they started to follow it, Lucas stopped them.

“Wait a second,” he said. “I think we ought to go back up to where we thought the trail was and leave some kind of message. You know, if they come lookin' up there.”

The others agreed, so they climbed the opposite side of the ravine once more. Up among the boulders again, Lucas picked up a sharp stone and handed it to Alex.

“Here,” he said. “My writin' probably ain't as good as yours. Especially with a rock.”

“What should I write?” Alex asked.

Lucas thought for a second. “How 'bout ‘downstream' and then scratch an arrow pointin' that way.” He pointed down the valley where the little creek flowed.

Alex scrawled the word into the flat side of a big boulder in foot-high letters. Under it, he scratched a long arrow. He had to go over the whole thing three times to make it stand out enough that a searcher might see it. Still, it was hardly visible from more than a few yards away. So they gathered several large stones and piled them into a crude pyramid on top of the message rock.

“Maybe that will get their attention too,” said Lucas.

The three boys stood up and looked at their handiwork. To Lucas, the signal still looked lost in the wide boulder field. Alex must have been thinking the same thing. “Well, I guess it's something,” he said.

They worked back to the creek and began picking their way downstream. At first, the walking was easy. The little creek had only cut a small rut through the woods, and the forest floor along its side was level and clear. But when the mountainside steepened, the tumbling watercourse exposed boulders, and the boys had to probe their way more slowly.

In less than a mile, the creek joined a slightly larger stream, and the forest around it grew thicker with tangles of dark evergreens. Soon they were alternating between both sides of the stream and the water itself, whichever offered the easiest path.

Lucas's boots were quickly waterlogged, but he didn't care. He just wanted off the mountain.

After a couple miles, the stream became deep enough that they began to spot small trout in some of the little pools. They stopped at one pool long enough to watch the fish. They were only five or six inches long but colorful, their moss-colored sides shimmering with golden spots.

“At least if we really got stuck here, we'd have somethin' to eat,” observed Lucas.

“Yummy,” grumbled George, “raw fish.”

Even though Lucas hadn't eaten in nearly a day, he had to agree with George. But watching the trout hover in their crystal pool sparked the thirst in his throat. Alex must have been feeling the same way because he started to scoop some of the creek water to his lips. Lucas stopped him.

“I wouldn't do that if I was you.”

“Why? It's springwater, isn't it?” Alex protested. “People pay three bucks a bottle for this stuff at home.”

“It might be safe, but even mountain water's got some bugs that'll get in your gut and make you wish you was never born. You'd make it out of here, but you'd probably spend the next week on the toilet. I wouldn't chance it. Least not yet.”

“How do you know all this stuff?” George asked.

Lucas shrugged. “Heck, what else am I supposed to know about?” He spread his arms out wide. “I mean, I got a mountain just like this here in my backyard.”

Just saying it reminded him of what he stood to lose. Losing the mountain, like losing his pa, was like losing a part of him. He knew every game trail and every spring. Knew where the old stone foundations of his ancestors' cabins sat with hundred-year-old trees growing smack in the middle of them. He knew the darkest parts of the forest, where the best mushrooms sprouted and where the thickest patches of huckleberries grew at the edges of meadows near the top. He knew the best climbing trees and the outcrops of ancient granite where a boy could lie for hours on the warm rock and watch hawks drifting overhead or listen to the chatter of ravens. Now there'd be no use for knowing any of it.

“Yeah, but there's kids in my school from the country,” said George. “They're not all that smart about the woods and stuff. Not like you are.”

Lucas gazed around at the forest. “I don't know. I guess my pa taught most of it to me. They said nobody knew them mountains like him. And he was a scout in the Marines, so he was used to bein' out on his own, findin' his way around. That was how he said he liked it. But he said a lot of it was stuff my grandpa taught him, and
his
pa taught him. And a lot of it, well, he said it was in our blood, knowin' our way around the wilderness. My grandpa says it's the Indian blood in us, from way back when one of my kin married one of the last Indians livin' in our mountains.” He looked around at the deep hollow they were in. “'Course, right now, I ain't so sure it's doin' us much good.”

They left the pool and dropped deeper into the hollow. Even though the sun was now high in the sky, their surroundings seemed to get gloomier with every step. The farther down the mountain they went, the higher and thicker the trees grew, darkening the forest floor. Once, when a branch snapped nearby and something large crashed through the brush, even Lucas nearly jumped out of his skin. But it was only a whitetail buck, scared up out of the stream by the boys' noisy progress. The deer bounded off, and in seconds, only his snowy tail was visible, dancing away in the dim forest like a tiny ghost.

Half an hour from the trout pool, they heard falling water below them, and soon they were standing at the top of a noisy waterfall that dropped twenty feet into a jumble of moss-covered boulders. Lucas suggested they skirt the drop by using a sloping ledge along one side of the ravine. Alex and George agreed. It was the only way down without heading back uphill to find another route past the fall.

Inching their way sideways along the ledge, they used their fingers to feel for holds in the rock. Lucas led the way, concentrating on where to put his hands and feet but mostly just hoping the steep ravine would let up soon so they could make quicker progress. He reached up to grab the lip of a small ledge, testing it for a handhold, and checked behind him to see if Alex and George were making the same downward progress.

Just then, Alex yelled, “Lucas! Stop!” His eyes were wide and fixed on the ledge Lucas was gripping.

Lucas followed his friend's terrified gaze and slowly leaned back enough to see the top of the ledge. An inch from his own shifting hand, camouflaged perfectly against the wet leaves and rusty pine needles, a copperhead was coiled on the rock.

CHAPTER 19

Lucas started to withdraw his hand, as slow as possible, but the snake was already poised to strike. It tried to slither backward but had no room to escape. It kept its head pointed straight at the fingers that had invaded its mossy bed.

Lucas gasped. He pressed his face against the rock, thinking that hiding part of himself from the snake would calm it down. With his head turned downstream, he began to slowly ease his hand of the ledge, imaging the snake's fangs sinking into his fingers at any moment. From behind him, Lucas heard George whisper frantically, “Alex! No!”

Lucas turned just in time to see Alex swinging a flat rock down on the snake.

Alex aimed for the snake's wide head, but his blow hit mostly rock and sent a tiny splinter of stone bouncing off Lucas's forehead.

The stunned snake flattened itself against the ledge, a drop of blood on its neck. It pulsed with anger and frantically wriggled the tip of its tail like a rattler, a sure sign it would strike. But Alex was already raising the rock for another blow.

“No! Leave it!” Lucas yelled, but it was too late.

Alex brought the rock down again, and the snake struck his hand.

Jerking away, Alex lost his balance. He tilted back from the boulder, grabbing for it, but kept falling. With one foot, he pushed away from the rock, trying to make a clean jump, but there was no safe place to land in the jumble of jagged boulders and shallow water below. Lucas heard a sickening snap when Alex landed.

“
Aaaagh
!
” Alex toppled over onto a rock and grabbed at his ankle. He looked frantically up at the others on the ledge. “Where'd the snake go?” he yelled, his face twisted into a mask of pain.

“It's up here still, right next to my foot!” hissed George. Lucas looked down. The snake had dropped to the ledge between them and coiled up again. Its eyes were angry yellow slits, and its black tongue flicked in and out rapidly, probing the air for the predator it had just bitten. Its head was bloodied.

George started to scurry backward, muttering a string of curse words.

“Just freeze!” hollered Lucas. “Don't move! It's a copperhead. Let it calm down and it'll leave.”

George stopped moving, but Lucas could hear his breath coming in gasps.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the snake slowly uncoiled. It wriggled off the ledge and disappeared beneath the boulders, leaving spots of blood on the rock. Lucas figured it would be dead before long.

He started working his way down the rock to his injured friend. “It's gone,” he told Alex. “How bad are you hurt?”

Alex was sitting on a rock, sucking hard on the side of his hand and spitting. He stopped and used his good hand to cradle the one with the bite. When he looked up at the other boys, his face had gone pale, and his eyes had a lost look that made him seem very small.

“I think it got me,” he said. “My thumb is burning!” He started to get up but screamed again and collapsed on the rock. “And my ankle is messed up.”

Lucas crouched down and examined Alex's hand. The thumb was red and swelling a little, but Lucas could see only one puncture mark. “I think it only got you with one fang. That's good.”

“Maybe, but it hurts like you know what.” Alex tried to croak out a laugh. “But at least it'll keep my mind off my ankle.” He moved the foot a little and grimaced again. Then he folded his arms across his knee and buried his face.

George was still frozen up on the ledge. “What are we going to do?”

Lucas knew it was all his fault they were stuck in the middle of nowhere, and now Alex was hurt, but he was still getting sick of the younger boy's whining.

“I guess
I
gotta go for help,” he snapped at George. But he changed his tone for Alex, trying to sound optimistic. “Look, I'll get down the creek as fast as I can and find a house.” He tried to sound confident, but he sure didn't like the idea of continuing down the mountain alone, not with the luck they were having. “George can stay here with you.”

“What!?” exclaimed George.

“George, listen!” snapped Lucas again. “He's hurt. Someone's got to stay with him, and someone's got to go get help. Alone.”

Lucas hated the sound of the word, but it got the message across to George.

“No problem. You go. I'll stay with Alex.”

“You can't go fast,” said Alex through his tears. “It won't do anybody any good if you get hurt too.”

“But what about the snakebite?” asked George. He wasn't going to say it, but they knew what he was asking.
Would the bite kill Alex?

Lucas saw that more of Alex's hand already looked a little puffier. “It ain't gonna kill him, but his hand's gonna hurt bad.”

“Already does,” said Alex, closing his eyes tight.

“I know. I'll go fast. I promise,”

Alex struggled to smile. “Watch for snakes.”

Not funny
, thought Lucas, a sharp panic already setting in. He turned to scramble down the mountain on his own.

Below the falls, Lucas made better progress. The image of his friend lying in pain upstream pushed him faster than he knew he should go.
Follow the stream and find a house
, he told himself.
Don't think of nothin' else
. Negotiating the tangle of shrubs and slick boulders demanded enough concentration that he was almost able to keep his mind off still being lost, but now alone.

For nearly an hour, the going was slow. But then the hollow that carried the stream began to flatten a bit, and every once in a while, he even caught a glimpse of green farmland down through the trees. For the first time since they'd left the mountaintop, Lucas began to think he was leaving the worst of it and getting closer to civilization.

As he picked his way along the bank of the small stream, Lucas remembered something his father had told him that last day before he went away. About how a man's life was like their little creek back home—not much more than a trickle at first, but fresh and full of energy. And that the rough spots, like him having to go off and fight, were like the dangerous rapids and waterfalls downstream when the creek turned into a real river. But the rapids go by quick, he'd said, and after a while, everything smooths out like the way it's meant to be, like a river's long and quiet run across the flatlands to the ocean.

Five minutes later though, the growing roar of more falling water ahead reminded Lucas he was still smack in the middle of a rough spot.

Soon he was standing at the top of a rock wall nearly three stories high. The stream spread out in a watery sheet that draped down the nearly vertical face, covering it in a treacherous layer of slippery green algae. Below the waterfall lay a dark pool, too deep to see the bottom.

Lucas looked along the edges of the fall for a safe way down, but the dank shade of the hollow and the constant mist from the falling water had created a snarl of brush-covered boulders that looked impossible to navigate.

There was no time to find a way around. Somehow he had to descend the falls.

Easing himself backward over the edge, he found a dry foothold and wedged his hand into a crack. The crack continued a good ten feet down, clear of the water. He made use of it to get nearly halfway down the face of rock. There, he was able to get both feet onto a tiny ledge and rest. He hugged the rock and peeked down over his shoulder. The rest of the descent wouldn't be so easy.

Lucas inched his way sideways along the ledge, searching by feel for a new handhold. He blindly explored a new crack with his hand, trying to convince himself that no snake would make a home in such a steep and waterlogged cliff, but his trembling legs weren't so convinced. Only the need to help Alex kept him moving.

With his face pressed against the cold, moss-covered rock, he got his fingers into the crack and then found a place for his right foot farther down. He took one hand out of the crack to shake some feeling back into it. When he did, a few more pounds of his weight shifted to the new foothold.

The rock collapsed beneath his foot.

Lucas yelled and clawed at the cliff with his free hand, but the lunge only dislodged his other foot. He swung out over the pool, momentarily suspended by one hand. In the half second it took to realize he was going to fall, he pushed away from the rock with his leg, aiming for the deepest part of the pool below. He screamed as he fell, pitching over sideways. He smacked the pool with the side of his face, and all the sounds of the world disappeared from his ears.

For an instant, everything was black, and Lucas was certain he was dead. Then he felt the freezing shock of the water.

Disoriented, he probed for the bottom of the pool with his legs but found no resistance. He reached out blindly and his hand met a thick branch covered in slime. Not knowing which way was up, he hoisted himself away from the branch, and his head broke the surface of the pool.

He pulled himself half out of the water and flopped over onto his back. He examined the side of his face for blood or a lump but found neither. Still, the roar of rushing water in his ears sent an electric jolt of pain through his jaw and forehead, and for a moment, he thought the fall had deafened him.

Lying next to the pool, the blurry wash of green above him slowly became a canopy of trees. He felt the wet, rounded rocks beneath him and the cold water seeping through his boots. He was just about to sit up when something pointy and hard prodded his shoulder. When he reached up to brush it away, he heard a gravelly voice, one that he remembered instantly.

“This ain't no public swimmin' hole, boy.”

Lucas turned and squinted through the pain behind his eyes.

It was the old man. The one from the store. The one from Aaron's story who planted copperheads in his hollow.

The snake man.

He was poking Lucas with the barrel of a shotgun.