The Creek (22 page)

“Penny,” Oren whispered shakily.

Penny looked at Zachary, who looked strangely peaceful now, and thought of all the anger that had built up behind that innocent face, all the anger and frustration and hate that had turned him into a monster. She couldn’t go there, couldn’t allow this hungry fury to sweep her there, too, to that dark place. She would be just like him.

A monster.

And then she saw Benji, lying still on the floor, blood pooling on his chest, and rushed over.

“No,” Penny whispered, starting to shake all over at the sight of Benji’s waxy face, so still, the way Becky’s had been, his chest bright as a valentine.

The adults burst in.

“What is going on?” Penny’s mother demanded. “We heard screaming halfway down the block!”

“Benji!” Mrs. Albright screamed, rushing over to her son.

“He’s dead,” Penny whispered, a stunned expression on her face.

“Dead?” her father demanded, pushing the kids out of the way to get to the boy.

Mr. Albright, red-faced and wild-eyed, pushed through the doorway, toting a shotgun. Mr. Schuyler
crowded in behind him anxiously, carrying his rifle.

“Where is he?” Mr. Albright cried. “Where’s Caleb?”

Even now they were blaming Caleb, Penny thought. A dead boy riddled with maggots.

“It wasn’t Caleb!” she shouted, overwhelmed by the ridiculousness of it all.

“Not Caleb?” Mr. Albright spat contemptuously.

Penny whirled on them in righteous fury, an avenging angel. “It was Zachary! It was Zachary all along!”

“Zachary?” Mr. Albright asked, startled.

“Yes!” she hissed, pointing at Zachary, who was starting to come around now and was groaning audibly.

“But Caleb—” Mrs. McHale said, her hands twisting.

“I tried to tell you!” Penny shouted.

The parents blanched.

“We’re the kids! You
told
us it was Caleb!” Penny cried, anguished.

Her mother said, “Penny—”

“I listened to you!” Penny choked out, tears running down her cheeks, watching as her father worked furiously on Benji’s lifeless body. “I listened! But you were all wrong, and now Benji’s dead, too,”
she said, her voice breaking.

“No, not my boy,” Mr. Albright said, stricken, dropping his shotgun to the floor.

And then Penny couldn’t take it anymore. She fell to her knees, her face in her hands. She didn’t even want to live, not anymore, not knowing that Benji was dead. It was too much. Her slender body shook with the force of her sobs.

“It’s okay, Janine,” her father said to Mrs. Albright, holding his hands, wet with blood, firmly over Benji’s chest.

Penny went still. She looked up.

Her father smiled weakly. “He’s got a pulse.”

The sounds of approaching sirens filled the air.

W
hen the rain finally came, it fell hard, viciously.

Buckets and buckets poured down, clogging gutters, flooding basements. The kids sat inside, playing endless games of cards, counting every inch that fell, watching the weatherman talk about how much more they could expect. It was the biggest rainfall in years; if it kept up, they were going to have to call in the National Guard, because creeks and rivers were rising. All people could talk about was the rain and, of course, Zachary Evreth, who had been packed off to a mental hospital in western Pennsylvania.

It finally stopped raining in the early hours of the morning, the sun breaking out brightly, almost guiltily, it seemed. Penny flew out of the house and down into the woods. She ran through the mud and muck, completely ruining her new white sneakers. She didn’t
care, she had to see. She fell three times, and when she reached the creek, she was covered in mud.

She stopped at the cliff’s edge, took a deep breath, and looked down at the place where Caleb’s body had been.

But all she saw was muddy rushing water, thick as chocolate.

Later that day, Penny and the boys were biking down Lark Hill Road when they saw the flashing lights of a police car, and an ambulance, too. A small crowd had gathered by the fieldstone bridge.

“What’s going on?” Oren asked.

“You kids don’t want to see this,” Officer Cox said, trying to wave them away.

“See what?” Teddy asked automatically. His cast was off, and he wore a brace on his foot, with a long sock over it. Looking at him sitting on his bike, you’d never even know anything had ever happened. Even Benji was on the mend, and was going to be fine.

“Yeah, what?” Mac demanded, shoving forward to peer over the bridge.

They crowded the bridge, anxious to see. It was barely visible from above unless you were looking for it, wedged as it was between a rock and the bridge
wall, the water rushing around it in swirls. But it was there all the same, and there was no mistaking it.

The bloated dead body of Caleb Devlin.

“Been here for a while, I think,” Officer Cox murmured to the young cherub-cheeked officer, who looked like he was going to lose his lunch.

“Man,” Teddy whispered under his breath.

Officer Cox shook his head sadly, looked at Penny, and said, “Must’ve been that Evreth boy who did this, too.”

But Penny Carson just nodded.

And then she got on her bike and rode away.

T
here were a number of gracious, supportive people who helped me scare myself to death.

First, I’d like to thank my brother Jon, whose photos remind me what the creek really looked like. Many thanks to Jill Grinberg for her dogged patience, Elise Howard and Clarissa Hutton for their thoughtful criticism, Todd Kessler and Rebecca Goldstein for their enthusiasm, my parents, and my dear friend Wendy Wilson, who keeps me from having panic attacks! As always, many thanks to my brother Matt, who helps me keep everything straight.

I had a lot of doctors helping me out with the details. Many thanks to Jeffrey D. Siegel, M.D.; Alvin Calderon, M.D., Ph.D.; and my favorite pediatrician ever—William Wendell Holm, M.D. A special thanks to a great girl who knows exactly what a dead body
looks like—New York City Medical Examiner Judy Melinek, M.D.

Most of all, I must thank my husband, Jonathan, for his unwavering belief in this story. He has been my muse and inspiration. This book would never have been written if he hadn’t sat me down at dinner that night and told me
Write, Jenni!

This book is for all the kids from my childhood who played Chase—wherever you are.

JENNIFER L. HOLM

is the author of the Newbery Honor Book OUR ONLY MAY AMELIA and of the historical novels BOSTON JANE:
An Adventure,
BOSTON JANE:
Wilderness Days,
and BOSTON JANE:
The Claim.
She is also the co-author with her husband, Jonathan Hamel, of THE STINK FILES, DOSSIER 001:
The Postman Always Brings Mice.
She lives in New York City with her husband and their cat.

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Our Only May Amelia

Boston Jane:
An Adventure

Boston Jane:
Wilderness Days

Boston Jane:
The Claim

With Jonathan Hamel

The Stink Files Dossier 001:
The Postman Always Brings Mice