The Troop (31 page)

TeN miNuTes
later, they were in the cabin, standing over the dead stranger.

They tried to not pay much attention to the state of his body. It seemed wrong, somehow—desecrating him with their eyes. They tried to focus on him abstractly: as a puzzle or a riddle. They had to solve him in the easiest and safest way.

Still, they couldn’t help but stare.
His elbows and knees had been eaten away by something. That was the most obvious thing. Animals, insects? How could that have happened so quickly, though? or perhaps the skin had been so thin that the bones had worn through all on their own, the way your knees will wear through a cheap pair of jeans.
His face had fallen into itself. It was distracting—they couldn’t drag their eyes away. newton draped a dish towel over it.
“Do you think the worms are all dead?”
max nodded. “They have to be—right? That’s what the Scoutmaster said. once the host is dead, the worms die, too.”
newton still seemed doubtful. “What about eggs? They might still be there, right? eggs don’t need food, do they?”
max set his fingertips lightly on the man’s wrist. “He’s cold. He’s been gone a long time.”
“okay, but put something on your hands first.”
They found a pair of dishwashing gloves. newton scrounged up two empty plastic bread bags.
“The gloves go on first. Then the bread bags overtop. Then I’m gonna tape your shirtsleeves to the bags so nothing can get in.”
“Good idea.”
The sun shone brightly through the cleaved roof, glossing insects that hummed over the body. Already the island was taking over the cabin. mold edged up the walls, fungus grew in the cracks. Soon the foundations would rot and disintegrate. maybe that was for the best, max thought.
“Try not to breathe too deeply,” newton said.
“okay, fine. You’re creeping me out.”
newton gave him a bewildered look. “max, jeez—you’re about to reach inside a dead guy. You
better
be creeped out.”
max pushed his fingers into the pasty lips of the wound, through a thin membrane of gelatinized blood and into the dead man’s abdomen.
Cold oatmeal,
he told himself.
You’re just rooting around in a bowl of cold oatmeal.

The man’s insides had liquefied and turned granular; they didn’t seem to have any definition anymore, no organs or intestines—his hand moved through layers of cold, chunky tissue that felt a little like mashed bananas.

Mashed bananas, then. You’re looking for spark plugs in a big pile of mashed bananas.
max’s hand slipped into a squelchy pocket. A rude farting noise. The air filled with a rotted, sulfury, swamp-gas stink. max’s gut roiled but nothing came out—just a dry heave that filled his mouth with the taste of bitter bile. His hand closed upon something hard. He pulled it out.
“Holy crow,” newton said.
The spark plug lay in max’s cupped palm. It was smeared in pinkish-gray curds, but they could clearly make out the word
Champion
down its side.
It took max a minute to find the second one. He had to sink his hand in fairly far—almost to the elbow—ripping through some rubbery kinked hoses in the man’s abdomen to get it: tubelike things that tore up like the witchgrass growing in the shallows of north Point bay.
When it was done, the spark plugs lay side by side on the floor. The boys grinned at each other. It had to be the best news they’d ever gotten. They had to grope through a dead man’s insides to get it, but still.
They were both suffused with a feeling they hadn’t truly experienced in days:
Hope.

42

THeY caRRied
the spark plugs down to the shore. max was so excited that he didn’t even bother to strip the wash gloves off. The sea came into view over the rocky scree. For the first time since they could recall, that vista didn’t seem so vast or the distance to north Point so very daunting.

newton popped the motor canopy. He frowned.

“Should we just screw them in like that? All covered in  .  .  . you know.”
“You think it matters?”
“It could. We should clean them first.”
max said: “Won’t that ruin them?”
newton pointed at the words running down the side of the plugs in small green type:
Marine Standard
. “That means they’re waterproof.”
They washed off the gray-pink curds in the frigid sea. They did so carefully, the way you’d wash oil off a baby mallard.
When they were clean, newton put them on the big flat rock to dry. newton chose it specifically because it was large, and flat, and flecked with pink granite. A very peculiar rock. He chose it because he wanted to be absolutely
sure
they could find the spark plugs again.
max knocked on the motor’s gas tank. His knuckles brought forth a hollow
whonk.
“Sounds almost empty.”
“What about the generator?” newton said. “It should have gas.”
They returned to the campsite. The cap had been wrenched off the generator’s gas tank. The surrounding earth held the gleam of spilled gasoline. max rocked the generator. nothing sloshed inside.
A pall of hopelessness fell over them. The universe was aligned against them. Why? It struck max that the universe ought to find better targets. Had to be plenty of psychopaths and deadbeats out there, right? Why pick on a couple of kids? The universe could be a stone-cold asshole sometimes.
“What about the emergency jerry can?” newton said. “The Scoutmaster kept it in the cellar.”
The steps groaned as they traced their way down the stairs. Bars of sunlight fell through cracks in the cabin floor. The cellar was eerily clean: not a single spiderweb, none of the sickly gray mushrooms max had spied growing in the corners when he was down here the other day.
God, Kent must have eaten them,
he thought queasily.
max picked the jerry can up. It was joyously heavy.
“There’s at least a gallon in here,” he said.
maybe the universe wasn’t such an asshole after all. But it sure as hell made you suffer something fierce.
Case in point: when they returned to the boat, the spark plugs were gone.

THe PiNK-flecKed
rock was bare except for two wet spots where they had lain. newton actually laughed—a strangled squawk of disbelief.

“They’re here,” he said, shaking his head, a strained smile on his face. “no, no, they’re here somewhere, I’m sure of it. Where the hell else could they be?”

306 Nick cuTTER

The boys waded into the frigid surf and poked doggedly around the rocks. maybe a big wave had crashed up on shore and pulled them into the sea. But that
couldn’t
be—the rocks were dry as saltines. Their ankles turned pink, then blue. max stomped out of the water.

“Are you kidding? Where the fuck are they, newt?”
“How should I know? I left them here.”
“You should’ve put them in your pocket.”
“So it’s my fault? Are you serious? What do you think happened—a

fish jumped up and swallowed them? A bird flew off with them?” “okay, what if a bird
did
pick them up? A pelican, like the ones
perched on the buoys out at Barker Bay? my dad says they swallow
soda cans.”
“
God.
Don’t be so stupid.” newton adopted a superior tone—as if
he were talking to a preschooler who’d just claimed the Tooth Fairy was
real. “Pelicans are
shore birds.
”
“So what’s all this then, newt?” max spread his arms out. “Is this a
shore,
or are you just a big fat moron?”
“Pelicans are mainland shore birds. This is an
iiiisland.
mainland
shore birds don’t fly to
iiiiislands.
Do you understand that, or do I need
to draw you a map—”
max took two steps forward, planted his palms in newton’s chest,
and shoved. newton went down with a jolt. max expected him to stay
down just as he always did—but instead newton propelled himself
off the rocks and drove his shoulder into max’s stomach, knocking the
wind out of him.
They tumbled across the shore, striking at each other. Their blows
didn’t have much pop, but they were thrown with cruel intentions.
newton’s fist collided with max’s nose, and the impact set max’s skull
bone ringing like a cathedral bell. max rolled over, snarling, and his
elbow caught newton under the chin. Blood leapt into the air, startlingly bright in the morning sun.
They shoved away from each other, breathing hard. max’s nose was
a squashed berry. Blood lay stunned across his cheeks. The wound in
his abdomen had opened up again. Blood was dripping from newton’s
chin. They eyed each other warily, trying to gauge whether the fight was over or this was just an interlude before hostilities commenced
anew.
“Are we done?” max mumbled.
“Yeah, we’re done,” newton said with downcast eyes.
They sat in silence as the adrenaline burnt out of their systems.
In its wake came dull relief. It was like tripping the release on a steam
gauge: they could breathe easier and think straighter.
max offered newton his hand. newton took it. max pulled him
up.
“That was a waste of time and energy,” newton said.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know why guys do it. I feel sick. I taste blood between my
teeth.”
“Sorry.”
newton shrugged. “I did it, too.” He smiled out the side of his
mouth. “Bet you didn’t see that coming, did you? WWAmD!” “What?”
“nothing. Your nose okay?”
max gripped the tip of his nose, wiggled it. “Hurts, but I don’t think
it’s broken.”
They looked out over the sea.
“It was Shelley,” max said.
“Yeah,” newton said. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“You figure he chucked the spark plugs into the sea?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You think he took them with him?”
“uh-huh.”
“You figure he wants us to come find him?”
“uh-huh. Hide and go seek. Fetch boy, fetch.”
max sighed. He felt about a hundred years old.
“red rover, red rover, please send crazy asshole Shelley over.” “olly olly oxen free.”
“Come on,” said max. “We got to find him.”

43

THeY seT
off in pursuit of Shelley just after noon.
“I got my animal-tracking badge last year,” newton said to lighten
the mood. “But, y’know, they don’t give out a man-tracking badge.” They decided to search the areas off the main trail. Shelley couldn’t
have gone too far. Before leaving, they ate the last of the berries they’d
collected—the ones for eef. They tasted bitter, but they’d need the energy.
newton packed his field book into his knapsack along with a map
of the island, some rope, and a flashlight. max snapped a branch off an
elm tree. It was as thick and as long as a mop handle. He sharpened one
end to a wicked point.
“I don’t want him coming near us, newt.”
“How else are we going to get the plugs?”
“maybe we can convince him to toss them to us.”
“You think?” newt looked dubious. “You don’t figure
he’d
swallow
them, do you?”
They set off on that unhopeful note. The sun was obscured behind
ashy clouds. The temperature had dipped. The daylight was already
starting to fade. They were bone-tired before they even took their first
steps on the steep switchbacking trail.
“I saw him last night, you know,” newton said. “Shel. He came
round while you were sleeping.”
“Wait,
what?
What for?” max shivered involuntarily. “What did he
do?”
“Just crouched there. Watching, you know. The way Shelley does.” “So did you do anything?”
newton shook his head. “I just watched him right back. Honestly,
I figured it wouldn’t be so bad if he died out here. I know that’s awful,
but . . .”
newton held max’s gaze when he said it. max glimpsed—not for
the first time in the past few days—that seam of stoniness running
through newton. It was unexpected coming from someone who usually
rolled over and showed his soft belly. If anyone had asked max who’d
still be standing after all this, he would have said Kent, maybe eef. But
newton had that survivalist’s outlook. It wasn’t about the badges he’d
earned or the fact he was best at starting a fire. newton had inner resources that the rest of the boys simply didn’t possess—even max himself. Getting teased your whole life must force you to grow some pretty
hard bark.
“I don’t mean that we should hurt him,” newton said. “When we
get back to the mainland, we should tell the police he’s still here, and
sick, and maybe they’ll be able to do something.”
“I know.”
“I’m just saying if they don’t get here in time—”
“let’s not talk about it, okay, newt?”
“What should we talk about?”
“I don’t know. maybe food?”
newt grinned.
“Yes.”
They covered all their favorites. The peach cobbler at Frieda’s
Diner that came with a scoop of just-starting to-melt vanilla ice cream.
The porterhouse steaks max’s father cooked up at the annual summer barbecue, two inches thick and marbled with rich melty fat. The pies from Sammy’s Pizza down in Tignish—you had to pay five bucks extra for delivery to north Point, but it was so worth it to scarf down one of those slightly chewy slices covered in little spicy pepperonis and moz
zarella cheese.
“oh oh oh!” newton said excitedly. “The cannolis at Stella’s Bakery. The
best.
“ He threw his hands up with an air of finality, as if he’d
settled some hard-fought argument with a fact that was beyond dispute.
“Crunchy on the outside, filled with sweet cheese and chocolate chips
on the inside. They crack apart in your mouth and that filling just . . .”
His tongue inched out of his mouth. “.  .  .
splooshes
. It
splooshes
onto
your taste buds. I could eat about a million of them right now.” max bent over, clutching his belly. newton’s rhapsody had left him
a bit light-headed. “Crap. maybe we ought to talk about something
else.”
They found a skunk den—it was clear by the smell—and what may
have been a fox run, but no sign of Shelley. They debated where he
might be hiding, or whether he was hiding at all.
“maybe he’s following
us,
” max said, a possibility that spooked the
hell out of them.
“We should follow our noses,” newton said. “like Toucan Sam,
y’know? The stranger and Scoutmaster Tim and even Kent—they all
started to smell sweet, right? like,
gross
sweet.”
max nodded. “Yeah, like rottenny kinda? like someone’s puke after
he ate two cones of cotton candy at the fair and got on the Zipper.” “I guess like that, yeah. So if we smell that—”
“We’ll know Shelley’s close. okay.”
The sun slipped lower in its western altar. Twilight piled up along
the horizon in ever-darkening layers. The boys hunched their shoulders
into the brisk wind.
newton laughed and said: “You know, my mom’s going to
kill me
when this is all over.”
max loved that newton still thought that way—that he still saw a
time when this would all be over. When they would be home, safe. “Why would she, newt? For what?”
“For all this. Getting myself into it.”
“none of this is our fault, newt. It’s just some awful thing that hap
pened.”
“I know, I know. my mom’s just like that sometimes. She cares too
much, y’know? makes her crazy. remember that flour baby project we
did for home ec?”
of course max did. Their teacher had given them each a bag of
flour to take care of as if it were a baby. Some students hadn’t taken
it seriously. eef tossed his flour baby off the school’s supply shed and
hooted as it detonated across the hopscotch court. Kent duct-taped the
entire bag to avoid ruptures. Their teacher frowned on this.
You wouldn’t
duct-tape an actual baby, would you?
she’d asked Kent.
Are you suuuure?
Kent replied with a sly smile, earning sniggers from the rest of the class. “I really tried to take good care of that flour,” newton said. “I drew a
face on the sack and everything. But the thing is, I’ve got sweaty hands.
It’s a condition. Sweaty armpits and feet, too. Can’t help it. every time
I touched it, the sack got wet. It started to come apart. I told myself
to stop fussing with it, but I couldn’t help it. I kept touching it just to
know it was there and safe. It ripped a little and then a little more until
it finally ripped right open. my flour baby . . . well,
died.
I guess I killed
it.”
“It was just a stupid sack of flour, newt.”
newton made a face that said:
You don’t get it, man.
“I’m just saying that sometimes the more you care for something,
the more damage you do. not on purpose, right? You end up hurting
the things you love just because you’re trying so hard. That’s what
mom does with me sometimes. She wants me to be so safe that it ends
up hurting me in a weird way. But I get it, y’know? It must be the hardest thing in the world, caring for someone. Trying to make sure that
person doesn’t come to harm.”