Signal (8 page)

When I don’t answer, he shrugs and says, “None of my business, of course.”

He’s right, but I don’t think that’s going to stop him, and it doesn’t. He goes right on to say, “I got a lot of time on my hands between customers, you know, so I sit here all day listening to the scanner. A while back the
sheriff got a report that somebody was in the house on the old Davie place, might be living in there.”

He’s not asking a question, so I don’t answer, but he just keeps looking at me, and as the silence grows between us, I start to feel desperate to break it. “The old Davie place?” I repeat. To my annoyance, my voice comes out sounding squeaky. “Where’s that?”

He grins, and I feel like I’m the mouse in a game of cat and mouse. “Right off that trail you head for every day,” he says. “Walt Christensen’s farming the place since old man Davie died and his wife went into the home.”

I don’t know any of the people he’s talking about, and I say so.

“But you know the place?” he persists. “Old farmhouse, up that way.” He pauses, then adds, “I expect you can’t see it from down there on the trail.”

I shake my head, playing dumb.

“Well, see, here’s what got me thinking,” Mr. Powers goes on. “I watch you going up that way all the time. And that big-neck fella keeps coming in, asking about a missing girl. He came back again today—”

“What?”
I’m too freaked by this news to pretend to act cool.
“He came back?”

Mr. Powers nods, looking pleased at my reaction. “Yessir. About a half hour ago. In that car of his, the one looks like it got shot but didn’t die.”

My heart plummets.

“Scanner was on, naturally, and that fella seemed
mighty interested in the news. Asked me where was this Davie place.”

He stares at me from under his eyebrows.

“Did you tell him?” I ask.

“You kidding?” says Mr. Powers with a snort. “Guy like that? I wouldn’t give him change for a nickel if he gave me a dollar.”

I take a deep breath and tell myself to settle down.

Mr. Powers continues to eyeball me and says, “Now here’s you, acting jumpier than a sack of fleas. I put it all together, and I gotta wonder what’s the connection, you know what I mean?”

I try to act unconcerned. “Beats me. I sure don’t know that guy. Anyhow, I better get going.”

He studies me. “You didn’t come in to buy something?”

I stop.
Darn him
.

“Just stopped in to chat with an old man, did you?” he goes on.

I think about the poncho for Cam and decide it is too big of a risk. “That’s right, Mr. Powers,” I say. “Just stopped in to say hi and get out of the rain for a minute. I’ll be seeing you.”

“And I’ll be seeing
you
,” he says with a grin and a lift of his white caterpillar eyebrows.

I hardly even notice the rain as I pedal furiously down the trail. Ray heard the police report of someone living in a deserted farmhouse nearby. He asked where the house was.

Could he have already found it somehow?
Found Cam?

I pedal faster, unable to shake a feeling of impending disaster. I feel as if Cam and I are being closed in on from all sides.

When I finally get to the hill and start climbing, the loose shale is super slippery from the rain, and I nearly kill myself trying to get up with all the stuff I’ve brought. I drag myself to the top and peer over the edge, half expecting to see Ray leering back at me. Instead, there’s a sheriff’s patrol car parked in the driveway of the farmhouse.

I slide back down the bank and let the bag in my hands tumble down on its own. I sit at the bottom of the hill for a minute, feeling tired and discouraged. Josie licks my face anxiously. I get up and make a run for the old sawmill, dragging the bag with me. The mill is right on the trail, and never seemed sinister when I passed it in the daylight. But now, in the duskiness of the rainy evening, it feels spooky. At least it’s a roof over our heads while we wait for the sheriff to leave.

The mill is just a shell now; the windows are gone and so are the doors. The brick walls are damp and mossy, with dumb graffiti painted on them. The cement floor is strewn with leaves and sticks and dirt, along with beer cans and food wrappers left by kids, and the ashy remains of a fire.

It’s dank and gloomy in here, and I feel my spirits sink even further as I sit leaning against a giant, rusty
iron gear that was part of the millwork. Josie sniffs around for a while, then comes and lies in front of me, her head on my legs. I reach down and stroke her velvety ears, glad for her warmth and easy company.

When I figure the sheriff has satisfied himself that whoever was in the house is gone, I make my way up the hill again. No cars, that’s good. I see that the door is boarded shut and there is now a sign posted on it:
NO TRESPASSING BY ORDER OF YATES COUNTY SHERIFF
. Somehow that, along with the rain and general gloom of the early evening, makes the place look sadder and more deserted than before.

I scan the area for a good place to set up the tent. Unfortunately, the nylon is a bright orange color, so we’re going to have to be really careful. After I’ve stood there for a couple seconds, Cam comes out of the cornfield and walks toward me, her plastic bag of stuff in her arms. When she gets close, she gives me a brave smile, but I see that her arms and legs are covered in goose bumps and her lips are blue and shaking.

“Listen,” I say. “Ray came back to the store. They were talking on the scanner about someone possibly living in a deserted house nearby, and Ray was real interested. He asked Mr. Powers where the house is. Mr. Powers didn’t tell him, but—”

“But he could find out from somebody else,” Cam finishes, her green eyes wide with apprehension.

“So if you won’t come home with me—”

She shakes her head quickly, sending drops of water flying from her soaking hair.

“Then we’ve got to hide the tent really well,” I say. I point to a huge sycamore on the edge of the woods, where the trees meet the corn. It’s about as far away as the length of a soccer field. “It’ll be drier under that tree. I’m thinking that with rain this hard, Ray would have to be crazy to come way out here.”

Cam looks worried, and I try to reassure her. “We’ll move to a more hidden spot tomorrow. It’s going to be dark before we know it, and you’ve got to get under cover and get warm.”

She nods. I head for the tree and she follows. I was right: it is drier under the canopy. From there we can see only the very top of the farmhouse chimney, so there’s no way someone at the house could see us. This is as safe as we’re going to get tonight. I spread out the ground cloth, then take the tent out of the trash bag and unfold it, trying to remember how to set it up.

There are a lot of short metal pieces we have to fit together to make poles. Then we have to figure out how the poles fit through the nylon loops and tunnels. We fumble around, getting it wrong. Finally, when everything falls into place, the tent pops up like magic.

“Piece of cake,” I mutter with relief. To Cam I say, “Okay, get in there and change into some dry clothes. And wrap yourself in the sleeping bags. I’m going to make a fire.”

“Are you sure?” Cam asks. “It seems risky.”

Her teeth are chattering and Josie is drenched to the skin again. “There’s more risk of you and Josie getting hypothermia than of a small fire being seen,” I tell her. I try to get Josie to go into the tent with Cam, but she seems determined to stay with me.

My friend Kevin and his dad were in scouting together since Kevin was a little kid, and I went camping with them once. Even though it was raining, Kevin’s dad insisted that we needed a campfire. He knew all about building fires, even without matches, and even in the rain. He taught us that the branches of spruce trees shed water like an umbrella, leaving the ground almost completely dry underneath.

So I head for the spruce on the hillside and find some dry cones and twigs underneath. Then I break off a couple slightly larger dead branches, and some a bit larger than those. A few feet away from the tent, I carefully crumple the sheets of newspaper I’ve brought, and place the small, dry twigs and spruce cones on top. Then I light the paper. After several tries, the small twigs catch, and I slowly add bigger and bigger sticks.

To my relief, the rain has begun to let up, turning from a downpour into a slow, steady drizzle. I think I might actually be able to keep this fire going. The wind has died down, too, so I don’t have to worry too much about setting the tent ablaze.

Cam has changed and wrapped herself in one of the sleeping bags, and is peering out the tent flap at the fire
with a look of amazement. “How did you do that?” she asks.

I shrug modestly. “Shove over. Josie’s cold.”

“Come on in here, Josie,” Cam urges, patting the sleeping bag beside her.

Josie whines and looks from me to Cam and back at me. I laugh.

“Looks like she’s not coming without me,” I say.

“There’s plenty of room,” says Cam, wiggling sideways.

I take off my slicker, crawl in, and wrap myself in the other sleeping bag. Josie jumps in right behind me and shakes herself all over. Cam and I both groan, then start to laugh as Josie circles a few times and plops down between us and happily starts licking herself dry.

From my bundle, I take out the cheese, beef jerky, and crackers. Cam holds up the bag of Tootsie Rolls she brought from the farmhouse and smiles.

“I know, I know,” I say. “Tootsie Rolls first, dinner later. That’s the way you aliens do it.”

“Careful who you call an alien,” Cam says, ripping the bag open. “Where I’m from,
you’re
the alien.”

“Speaking of that,” I say, “you invited me to go back ‘home’ with you, but you still haven’t told me much about what it’s like there.”

“True,” says Cam. “Before I tell you, let’s get comfortable. I want to watch the fire.” She wriggles around so her head is at the tent’s doorway and rolls over on her stomach. “That’s better.”

I do the same thing, and we lie on our bellies with Josie between us, gazing into the flames, which are holding their own against the drizzle.

Cam sighs. “This is nice,” she says.

It is. Now that we’re dry and warm, it’s fun listening to the rain on the tent and looking into the misty gloom outside the glow from the fire. It’s like we’re in our own cozy world. The odor of wet dog mixes with smoke and chocolate and all the damp, piney, wormy smells of the outdoors.

Even with all the crazy things that are going on, I feel happier than I have for a long time.

W
E LIE FOR A WHILE IN COMPANIONABLE SILENCE
, Then Cam says contentedly, “Earth definitely has its strong points. In some ways, I’m going to hate to leave. Especially since I’ve met you. That’s why I really hope you’ll come.”

I feel my cheeks growing red. I hope Cam can’t see, or else that she’ll think it’s because of the fire.

“We’ve been so busy hiding and getting supplies and worrying about Ray, you haven’t told me too much about where I’m going,” I say. Then I add quickly, “If I’m going anywhere.”

“Believe me, the more you hear, the more you’ll want to come with us. So what do you want to know?”

“Everything,” I say, and settle in to listen.

“Okay, but first,” Cam begins, “I just want to say I’m not dumping on Earth, or anything like that, okay?”

“Okay,” I say.

“Because I thought you got a little mad when I said my people aren’t too crazy about coming here …” She looks at me with a question in her eyes.

“Yeah, that was dumb,” I say. “I mean, Earth isn’t perfect, that’s for sure.”

“Okay, good. Because the thing is, my planet started out the same way Earth did, but it ended up evolving differently. And, like I was telling you before, my people have almost stopped trying to make contact with Earth. Coming here is just too dangerous.”

“Yeah,” I say. “That’s why you’re worried about your parents coming back to get you.”

She grimaces. “Yes. But of course they’ll be willing to take the chance. I have a feeling … ” Her voice trails off for a second. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Promise.”

“Well, I feel like you bring me good luck.”

I laugh. “That’s me. A real charm.”

“Seriously,” she goes on. “I could never have gotten this far on my own.”

“I don’t know about that,” I say.

“I do,” she says firmly. “I knew that first morning when you came to the farmhouse. I thought,
This is my chance.”

We sit in silence for a minute. “Hang on to Josie,” I say, and I get out of the tent to add more wood to the fire. The early darkness of a rainy night is falling fast, and I check my watch. It’s past eight o’clock. Dad could be home by now, and if he is, he’s going to be wondering
where I am. I check to see if my cell phone works, but there’s still no signal.

I don’t feel like leaving yet. It’s so wet and cold out, and so nice and warm in the tent by the fire, and I want to hear more about Cam’s planet. I crawl back inside and break off a piece of cheese for me and one for Josie.

“So,” I say, chewing, “tell me more.” I wriggle into a more comfortable position, gaze at the fire, and wait.

Cam begins talking in a very soft, slow voice. “Well, people there—”

I can’t help interrupting to ask, “Are they all like you? I mean, you seem to be, you know, a normal”—I hesitate—“
Earthling.”

She laughs. “Thanks. I think.” Then she continues. “Yeah, people there look like people here, pretty much. There are small differences, like in skin and hair and eye colors but you have to really look to notice them.”

“Like your eyes,” I blurt out, without thinking. “So green and glittery.”

She seems surprised, then smiles. “Yeah. I’ve noticed that people here always remark about my eyes. Anyway, we evolved along with Earth for a long time, so we have a lot in common. Our two planets were really similar until we had a big war, kind of like your First World War.”

I nod. It’s not hard to imagine that.

“It was awful. But what came out of it, finally, was what we call the New World. That’s the world I grew up in.”