Marsh Island

Sonya Spreen Bates
Illustrated by
Kasia Charko

Text copyright © 2009 Sonya Spreen Bates
Illustrations copyright © 2009 Kasia Charko

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Bates, Sonya Spreen, 1963–
Marsh Island / written by Sonya Spreen Bates; illustrated by Kasia Charko.

(Orca echoes)
ISBN 978-1-55469-117-3

1. Wilderness survival--Juvenile fiction.
I. Charko, Kasia, 1949- II. Title. III. Series: Orca echoes

PS8603.A846M37 2009               jC813'.6          C2008-908029-7

First published in the United States, 2009
Library of Congress Control Number
: 2008943124

Summary
: A suspenseful story of two brothers who go camping with their dad and get lost in the woods.

Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

Typesetting by Bruce Collins
Cover artwork and interior illustrations by Kasia Charko

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12  11  10  09  •  4  3  2  1

For my mom, who loved the woods.

Jake crouched under the giant tree. It felt rough and scratchy on his hand. The smell of the bark made his nose sting. He'd never been in the woods before. There were hundreds and thousands of trees, and no one around but him. He could be anything he wanted to be in these woods.

I'm a panther, thought Jake. Sleek, black and dangerous. I slink through the grass. My paws are silent on the jungle floor. My eyes dart through the trees. I hear the crack of a twig, see movement in the shadows. I spot my prey.

“Jake? Jake?” It was Jake's brother Tommy, making as much noise as a T. rex. The racket would scare off
prey for miles. Jake spun around.
A hunter!
he thought.
I won't let him capture me.
He crouched lower and crept behind a tree trunk.

“Jake, come out!” called Tommy. “This isn't funny.” His voice wobbled.

Jake tilted his head up and sniffed.
I smell fear
, he thought.

Tommy's stumbling footsteps moved closer. “Dad won't like this,” he said to the forest around him. “We're supposed to stay near the tent.”

Jake scowled. Tommy was such a spoilsport. Jake had wanted to leave him at home. This was Jake's first camping trip, and he'd wanted it to be special. He was nine now, and he had wanted to spend some time alone with Dad. But Tommy had whined and complained, and Dad had let him come.

Marsh Island was no place for Tommy. Tommy was only seven. He didn't like bugs, he didn't like tents and he didn't like noises in the night. There were
plenty of noises on Marsh Island. Even Jake had lain awake the first couple of nights, listening to the strange sounds of the forest.

I wait,
thought Jake. He comes closer. A few more steps...wait for it...

“Jake?”

With a mighty roar, Jake jumped out from behind the tree.

Tommy screamed.

Jake fell to the ground, laughing.

“You—you—,” Tommy choked out.

“You should have seen your face!” said Jake.

“Yeah? Well, it's not funny,” shouted Tommy, his face like a thundercloud. Tommy's curly brown hair sprang up wildly around his head. And in his new green T-shirt and shorts, he looked like an angry little elf.

Jake wiped the tears off his face with his shirt. “That's what you think,” he said, getting to his feet.

It was probably the funniest thing he'd ever seen. Except for the time Tommy got his head stuck between the bars of the lion cage at the zoo. Tommy had freaked.

Jake wiped his dirty hands on his shorts and pushed his hair off his face. He had brown hair like Tommy's, but it was dead straight. It always seemed to get in his eyes.

They were deep in the woods. The trail wound through the forest and curved out of sight. Behind them was the tent, nestled in the trees like a bright blue flower in a vegetable patch. If he looked closely, Jake could see Dad's red-checkered shirt through the tent's open flap.

“I'm going back,” said Tommy.

Jake shrugged. “Do what you like. But you know what Dad will say if you wake him up, and I'm not coming with you. I'm not spending all week sitting around a campfire eating burned marshmallows.”

“I like marshmallows,” said Tommy, stubbornly.

Jake shook his head and started down the trail. He knew Tommy would follow. He'd never be brave enough to go back to the campsite alone.

The trail wasn't very wide. Jake had to push branches out of the way as he walked.
It's probably an animal trail
, he thought.
Maybe a deer track.
Before long he lost sight of the tent.
Maybe I should have brought the compass Grandpa gave me
, he thought. But he didn't want to go back. Dad hadn't taken them any farther than the beach, and he was dying to explore. Besides, going back would be giving in. And there's no way he'd give in to Tommy.

“Wait! Wait for me!” cried Tommy, rushing to catch up.

Jake smirked. “Wuss,” he muttered under his breath.

Jake led the way down the trail. He kept the tent at his back and moved toward the sun. It was cool under the trees, and the smell of the forest tickled his nose.
It was a strange smell, kind of like the dirt in the garden after his mom had dug in the compost. A couple of little gray warblers swooped from branch to branch overhead.

Jake wasn't into birds. There were plenty of them at home. Dad built birdfeeders and filled them with seeds and honey to attract all sorts of birds. The garden was full of them. No, Jake was hoping to see something new, something wild. A rabbit maybe, or even a fox. But Tommy was puffing like a buffalo. Not much chance of sneaking up on something with him around.

Jake scowled over his shoulder at Tommy to shush him. Here he was, spoiling his fun again. It was just like last year, when Dad took them go-carting. Tommy had putted around the course so slowly. After only one circuit, all the other go-carts were lined up behind him. No one could get past because Tommy was such a hopeless driver.

It wasn't Jake's fault Tommy had crashed. It's not like Jake hadn't warned him. He'd yelled at Tommy to get out of the way. But when Jake had tried to sneak past, Tommy panicked and drove straight into the wall. How stupid was that? Then he'd made such a fuss that Dad dragged Jake off the course and they all went home. A pain, that's what Tommy was.

Jake stopped for a moment and looked around. The trail was starting to climb.
If it goes right up to the top of the mountain
, he thought,
we could see all the way out to sea.
He listened. He could hear water running off to his left. Was it a creek or a waterfall? He stepped off the trail and pushed through the bushes. He followed the sound until he found a wide stream, bubbling over the rocks.

“Cool,” he said.
I bet we'll find some frogs
, he thought,
or maybe some fish.

Tommy tugged at his shirt. “Let's go back now,” he said.

“Not yet,” said Jake, shaking him off. “I want to have a look around.” He stepped onto a boulder at the stream's edge.

I'm an explorer
, thought Jake. My feet are the first to cross this water and step onto new land.

He held his head high and leaped across to another rock. But the stone was wet and slippery. Before he could say Christopher Columbus, his foot plunged into the stream. The water was like ice. He sucked in his breath and hopped across the stream to a rock on the other side.

“Where are you going, Jake?” called Tommy. “Aren't we going back?”

Jake ignored him.

New land, he thought. Untouched by humans. The only footprints here will be animal tracks. Frogs, birds, foxes, deer, maybe even bears!
His heart beat a little faster at the thought, and he had a quick look around. Then he laughed at himself. There weren't any bears around here.