Nightmare Mountain (2 page)

As she put the food in her mouth, she realized Glendon was watching her. She glanced at him but he quickly looked away. Molly wondered if he had guessed how much she disliked vegetables. Something in his expression made her suspect that he knew.

“I love turkey sandwiches,” she said.

“Sometimes we have veggie dinners,” Glendon said. “Three vegetables and that’s all.”

Molly looked closely at him. He was definitely smirking. For the first time, she had doubts about being away from home for an entire month.

The next morning, she was relieved to see that breakfast consisted of scrambled eggs and toast. After last night’s conversation, she was afraid she might be expected to eat broccoli for breakfast. At home, she and Mom usually had cereal or else they ate leftovers from the night before. Molly’s favorite breakfast was cold pizza.

Molly took her bottle of cod-liver-oil pills to the table with her. She opened it, removed one capsule, put the
pill in her mouth and took a big gulp of orange juice to help her swallow it. It wasn’t until she set the juice glass back down that she realized Glendon was staring at her again.

“What was that pill you took?” he asked. “Are you sick?”

Molly thought she detected a note of hope in the question. Maybe Glendon was wishing she would get sick and have to go back home.

“It was a cod-liver-oil pill,” she explained. “I take one every morning and I promised Mom I wouldn’t forget.”

“Cod-liver oil! Yuck!” Glendon wrinkled up his nose.

“They aren’t so bad,” Molly said. “There’s vitamin A in them and some other vitamin.”

“We don’t take vitamin pills,” Glendon said.

“Mom thinks the cod-liver-oil pills help keep me healthy,” Molly said. “I hardly ever catch cold.”

“Then maybe Glendon should take them,” Uncle Phil said. “He was sick all last winter.”

Glendon glared at Molly again. Clearly, he thought cod-liver-oil pills were a horrible idea. No doubt he would blame her if his parents decided that he should take them.

“I don’t know if they really help or not,” Molly said.

“How many days of school did you miss this year because you were sick?” Uncle Phil asked.

“I didn’t miss any,” Molly said.

“There, you see?” Uncle Phil said. “Glendon was sick half a dozen times.”

“I had chicken pox,” Glendon said. “Cod-liver oil doesn’t prevent chicken pox.”

“Once, you had chicken pox. The rest of the time you had head colds.”

Molly decided it might be wise to change the subject.

“Buckie slept in my room last night,” she said.

“Dogs can always tell when someone likes them,” Aunt Karen said. “He’ll probably want to sleep in your room the whole time you’re here.”

“No, he won’t,” Glendon said. “He wants to sleep in my room but I forgot and shut my door last night.” He glared at Molly, and his lower jaw jutted out as if daring her to argue.

Molly saw Aunt Karen and Uncle Phil look at each other in a knowing way. She didn’t say that
her
door had also been shut and Buckie scratched at it until she opened it. Buckie, with Fifi in his mouth, had trotted in, curled up on the rug beside her bed, and stayed there all night.

Glendon acted like he thought she was trying to take Buckie away from him or something. What a dope.

“You’d better hurry, Glendon, or you’ll miss the school bus,” Aunt Karen said.

Molly spent the day watching the llamas and playing
hide-the-doll with Buckie. Buckie’s strong sense of smell amazed her. He even found Fifi when Molly climbed partway up the mountain and buried the doll in a snowbank.

When Glendon got home from school, he went straight to his room and shut the door. Molly tried not to show how disappointed she was. Was he going to ignore her for a whole month? She had hoped they would go for a hike or play cards or something. She wanted to show him how Buckie could find Fifi.

Instead, she read part of the book about llamas that Uncle Phil loaned her. When she grew tired of reading, she knocked on the door of Glendon’s room.

“Would you like to play a game?” she asked, when he opened the door.

“I don’t care much for games.”

“What do you like to do after school?”

“Usually I experiment with my chemistry set or work on my models.”

“Could I see your models?” Molly asked.

Just then Aunt Karen came up the stairs, carrying a stack of clean towels. “Good idea,” she said, as she went past. “Show Molly the ship you’re building.”

Reluctantly, Glendon let her into his bedroom. One whole wall was covered with shelves on which sat a variety of model cars, trains, and ships. There were even some models of dinosaurs.

“Did you make all of these?” Molly said. Glendon nodded. “How long does it take to make one?” she asked.

“It depends on the kit,” Glendon said.

A nearly completed model ship sat on a card table. The ship looked like it contained hundreds of tiny plastic parts.

“How do you know which piece goes where?” Molly asked.

Glendon pointed to a printed sheet of directions. “I follow the instructions,” he said. “Haven’t you ever made anything?”

“I make collages out of cloth,” Molly said. “I’ve never made a model, like these. It looks like fun.”

While she was looking at the model ship on the card table, Buckie trotted into the room, carrying Fifi in his mouth. Wagging his tail, he dropped the doll at Molly’s feet.

“What does Buckie have?” Glendon asked as he peered at Fifi.

“It’s a rag doll that I made.”

“Buckie shouldn’t play with that,” Glendon said.

“Why not?”

“He might bite the buttons off. He might choke.”

“He doesn’t chew on the doll. I hide it and he finds it.”

Glendon glared at her. “Buckie’s my dog,” he said, “and I don’t want him playing with the doll.”

“He won’t choke. Honest! Watch, I’ll show you what we do.”

Molly bent over, reaching for Fifi. She suspected that Glendon wasn’t worried about the buttons at all. He was just being quarrelsome. But if it would make him feel better, she’d cut the buttons off.

As Molly’s hand touched Fifi, Glendon suddenly reached down and tried to snatch the doll away from her.

Quickly, Molly grabbed Fifi and held the doll behind her back.

“Give me that,” Glendon said.

“No. Fifi’s mine. I made her.”

“Well, Buckie’s my dog and I say he can’t play with your stupid doll.”

Buckie, apparently thinking this was a new version of the game, rushed behind Molly and lunged at Fifi. His front paws hit Molly in the back and Molly lurched forward, lost her balance, and collided with the card table.

The model ship crashed to the floor. Molly looked in dismay at the tiny, smashed pieces.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to break your ship.”

Glendon knelt beside the broken model.

“Can you fix it?” Molly asked.

He shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” Molly said again.

“You and your dumb doll.”

“It was an accident. I didn’t know Buckie would jump on me.”

“Get out,” he said. “Get out of my room.”

Molly walked to the door. Buckie trotted beside her, still looking eagerly at Fifi.

What a mess, Molly thought. She hadn’t meant to break his ship but it was his own fault. If he hadn’t tried to take Fifi away from her, the accident wouldn’t have happened.

“Buckie!” Glendon said. “Sit!”

Buckie sat. As soon as Molly was out in the hall, Glendon slammed the door. Molly was quite sure she’d never be invited to his room again.

Buckie howled in the night. It was a loud, mournful howl, unlike any noise Molly had heard before. She shivered and pulled the blanket up tight under her chin.

Buckie howled again. The primitive sound seemed weighted with sadness and, from somewhere across the fields, she heard the answering howls of a pack of coyotes.

Molly opened her eyes and saw that lights were on. Buckie must be sick. Maybe he ate something he shouldn’t have eaten; it sounded like he had a terrible stomachache. She wondered how far it was to the nearest veterinarian and whether he could be reached at night.

“Ooowuuahhh,” wailed Buckie. The sound came from the other end of the hall, from Aunt Karen and Uncle Phil’s bedroom.

Molly got out of bed, put on her bathrobe, and went down the hall to see what was happening.

Buckie sat on the floor beside Aunt Karen’s bed, with his head resting on the quilt. As Molly approached, he turned and gazed mournfully at her. His tail did not wag.

Uncle Phil was talking on the telephone. “The road isn’t on the highway map,” he said. “It’s only on the National Forest map.”

She realized he was giving someone directions, telling them how to find the ranch.

“Hurry,” he said, just before he hung up. “She needs help, fast.”

Molly stopped at the bedroom door. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“It’s your Aunt Karen,” Uncle Phil said. “I can’t wake her. She—she seems to be in a coma.”

Buckie put his muzzle in the air and howled again. The sound sent chills down Molly’s back.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked.

“Yes. Get dressed and take the big flashlight that’s by the front door. Go down to the end of the lane and open the gate. An ambulance from town is coming out and you can watch for it so they find us faster.”

Molly turned and hurried toward her room.

“Take Buckie with you,” Uncle Phil called.

Molly dressed quickly in jeans and sweat shirt. A coma! People in comas didn’t move, didn’t speak.

“Come on, Buckie,” she called. “Let’s go, boy.”

Buckie didn’t come. Molly ran back to the bedroom. “Here, Buckie. Come on, boy.”

Buckie leaned closer to the bed.

“Go, Buckie,” Uncle Phil said, and he pointed toward the stairs. “Go with Molly.” Uncle Phil’s voice sounded scratchy, as if he had eaten too many crackers and needed a drink of water.

Buckie stood up, looked once more at Aunt Karen, and trotted toward Molly. She found the flashlight on a table by the front door and clicked it on.

Beaming the flashlight ahead of her, she ran down the lane. Her heart thumped in her chest. A coma! How could Aunt Karen be in a coma? When Molly went to bed, Aunt Karen was sitting in the blue chair, knitting a sweater. That was only a few hours ago. How could she possibly be in a coma?

Molly got a crick in her side from running but she didn’t slow down. She wanted to be sure she got to the gate before the ambulance came. Buckie raced ahead and then stopped and looked back, waiting for her to catch up to him.

When they reached the end of the lane, the gate was already open. The metal rod which kept it propped open was in place.

How odd, Molly thought. Who would forget to close the gate? Quickly, she shined her light across the pasture,
relieved to see that the llamas were all at the far side. If they had been near the lane, they might have escaped.

She stood beside the mailbox and watched the road that led to town. Buckie paced nervously, sniffing the road, the gate, and the weeds.

Molly wondered what was wrong with Aunt Karen. She’d complained of a stuffy nose and sore throat at dinnertime but those were just the symptoms of a minor head cold. A head cold was one thing—not waking up was something else.

Molly thought a coma sometimes happened to people who were severely injured in an accident or who had a stroke or maybe a brain tumor. No one ever went into a coma from a head cold; she was pretty sure of that.

Molly walked impatiently back and forth across the road. She had to move; she couldn’t just stand there. How far did the ambulance have to come? There were advantages, Molly decided, to living in the city.

Wailing sirens were a constant annoyance at home, especially in the summertime, when she left her window open at night. Fire engines and ambulances screamed by regularly, breaking into her sleep.

But those same sirens represented help in an emergency. If Aunt Karen lived in the city, an ambulance would already be here and she’d be on her way to the hospital.

A glimmer of light behind her caught her attention and Molly swiveled around to look back toward the barn. She could just make out the dark outline of the barn against the sky and she peered toward it, wondering if perhaps she’d glimpsed a shooting star.

No, there it was again, a brief arc of light, visible through the barn window. Someone was inside the barn with a flashlight. Was the baby llama being born? But who would be out there? She knew Uncle Phil was in the house with Aunt Karen. Maybe it’s Glendon, she decided. Maybe he went out to check on the mother llama.

She turned back to the road and peered once more in the direction of town.

Lights ahead! Headlights and rotating red lights. Molly waved the flashlight over her head, and the headlights speeded up. She aimed her light down the lane, moving it back and forth the way she’d seen traffic cops do, to indicate where the ambulance should go.

It sped past her down the lane, the revolving lights casting an eerie red glow across the pasture. Just as Molly started to follow it to the house, the siren came on. It pierced the quiet night air and echoed off the mountainside before it faded away. Somewhere in the distance, a lone coyote answered it.

“Here, Buckie!” Molly called. She was sure Buckie knew his way home but she thought the siren might have
startled him. He was already acting so strangely, howling that odd yowl and not wanting to go outside with her until Uncle Phil made him go.

After checking to be sure the llamas were still on the far side of the pasture, she left the gate open so the ambulance could get out quickly.

“Come, Buckie,” she called again. She didn’t want Buckie wandering away down the road. She didn’t see him but she could hear his dog tags jingling in the darkness behind her.

The ambulance jerked to a stop in front of the house; two people in white uniforms jumped out and raced inside. Molly hurried down the lane after them.

She went past the white ambulance, with its red lights still going around and around, and into the house. She could hear voices, but she decided against going upstairs to see what was happening. She knew it would be best to stay out of the way.

Buckie scratched at the door and Molly let him in. He trotted past her, and went straight up the stairs. He’s worried about her, too, Molly thought. He’s going to see if she’s OK.

Molly followed. She didn’t want him bothering the medics.

“Buckie. Sit,” she said, when she reached the top.

Buckie sat down near the door to Uncle Phil and Aunt
Karen’s bedroom. While Molly watched, he threw back his head and howled once more.

“Ooowuuooah!”

Glendon stood in the doorway of his room, watching silently.

One of the medics was talking on a cordless phone. “Before she slipped into the coma,” he said, “her respiration was slow and gasping. She’s asthmatic but has never had a severe attack. We’re starting out with her now; tell Emergency to watch for us.”

He hung up and he and his partner lifted Aunt Karen onto a stretcher. She was wrapped in a blanket and her face was the color of fireplace ashes. They hurried past Molly and down the stairs. Uncle Phil was right behind them; Glendon and Molly followed.

“We’re taking her to the hospital,” Uncle Phil said, as he walked. “Glendon and Molly, you will have to stay here by yourselves. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

Buckie trotted at Uncle Phil’s heels, whining.

“Keep Buckie inside until you close the gate,” Uncle Phil said. “I don’t want him running after the ambulance.” Molly clutched Buckie’s harness while Uncle Phil held the front door open. While the medics slid the stretcher into the back of the ambulance, Uncle Phil ran to his car, started it, and pulled up behind them.

One of the medics got in back with Aunt Karen; the other medic started the engine and the ambulance roared away, with Uncle Phil right behind it. Molly, Glendon, and Buckie stood in the doorway and stared after them until the red taillights disappeared in the distance.

Molly held tightly to Buckie, while Glendon closed the door. When she let go, Buckie scratched at the door and whined.

“I guess we’d better go close the gate,” Molly said.

Glendon didn’t answer. He just looked at her, the way he had when the ship fell. It didn’t bother her so much this time. Glendon was weird and rude but right then Molly was too worried about Aunt Karen to try to figure out what was wrong with him. If he wanted to stand there and stare at her, let him.

Glendon walked slowly toward the stairs. When he reached them, he looked at Molly and said, “A dog howls that way when his owner dies. I read about it in a book.” Without waiting for her to reply, he turned and started up the stairs to his room.

Molly watched him go, her stomach churning. Buckie pawed at the door and whined some more. “You have to stay in until the gate’s closed,” Molly said. Glendon apparently wasn’t going to do it so she supposed she would have to go back out and close it herself.

She slipped carefully out the door, making sure that
Buckie didn’t squeeze past her. It seemed darker than before and colder. Molly shivered. She wished Buckie could walk along with her.

That’s silly, she told herself. You weren’t scared to run down the lane and watch for the ambulance; why should you be nervous now?

She glanced at the barn; all was dark. She’d forgotten to ask Glendon if the baby llama was being born but it must not be. Glendon wouldn’t go upstairs to bed if the llama needed attention.

A dark cloud covered the sliver of moon and the shadowy barn faded into the trees beyond. Molly shivered once more and then stepped resolutely off the porch and hurried down the lane.

She was halfway to the gate when she thought she heard a noise behind her. She stopped and listened for a moment but she heard nothing more. When she shone the flashlight in a wide circle, she saw only meadow grass and trees.

The sound came again—a sharp, abrupt noise, like a braying donkey with hiccups. This time she could tell it came from the barn. Merrylegs. She didn’t know llamas made any sound except the happy hum, but what she heard was definitely an animal noise. Maybe the baby
was
coming.

She walked faster, wondering how long it would take
the ambulance to reach the hospital, wondering if Aunt Karen would be all right.

She reached the gate, lifted the metal rod, and began to push the gate shut. As she did, an engine started behind her. Startled, Molly turned to look back. As she squinted into the darkness, a truck with no headlights on roared down the lane. For an instant Molly stood still, paralyzed with shock. Her eyes widened in terror as the truck rushed forward out of the darkness, straight toward her.

It was almost on her before she could react. At the last second, she leaped out of the way, flinging the gate open again and twisting her ankle as she stumbled into the pasture. She fell to her knees, tearing her jeans. Pebbles flew up from the truck’s tires and landed like hailstones in Molly’s hair.

“Hey!” she yelled, but the driver either didn’t hear her or didn’t choose to stop.

She watched the truck turn off the lane and head toward town; it was nearly out of her sight when the driver finally turned on the headlights.

She was shaking with anger. She might have been killed by that stupid driver, going around with no lights on in the middle of the night.

She yanked the gate shut and started to run. All she wanted to do now was get safely back to the house.

She didn’t know who had been in the barn or why they would drive away without any lights. She’d been so startled when the truck came up behind her, and so anxious to get out of the way, that she hadn’t noticed who was driving. Maybe it was a veterinarian. Whoever it was, he’d better learn how to drive before he killed somebody.

By the time Molly reached the house, her breath came in short gasps and her twisted ankle throbbed.

Buckie wagged his tail happily when she came inside. She reached down to pet him and he licked her hand.

She thought about what Glendon had said.
A dog howls like that when his owner dies.
She hoped Glendon was wrong. Wearily, she locked the door and then climbed the stairs, with Buckie at her side. It would be comforting to have him sleep on the rug beside her bed for the rest of the night.

When she passed Glendon’s closed bedroom door, she hesitated. The way Glendon acted, she didn’t want to talk to him any more than necessary. Still, she was shaken by what had happened just now and needed to find out who was responsible. She knocked.

“Glendon?” she said. “Who was out in the barn tonight?”

Glendon didn’t answer.