Sammy Keyes and the Wild Things (13 page)

I keep on walking. “That horse poop's not very old.”

He doesn't say it right away, but eventually it comes out: “So . . . ?”

“So I saw some on the trail yesterday.”

Another pause. “And . . . ?”

“And there are no wild mustangs around here.”

We're at the ring of trees now, and when we step inside it, I see that, sure enough, someone's used the camouflaged area as a camp. There's a crude fire ring with a pile of ash and a small area of flattened dry grass where a tent used to be.

“Where are you guys
going
?” Cricket calls. “The trail's over here!”

Casey calls back, “We'll be there in a minute! Sammy's found a campsite!”

“We don't need a campsite!” Gabby shouts. “We need to get back to the Lookout!”

“Give us just a couple minutes, okay?” Casey calls. “We'll be right there!”

I poke through the ashes in the fire ring with a stick. No smoldering embers or heat at all. And I unearth two burnt-clean cans, a wad of aluminum foil, part of a protein bar wrapper . . . and no bones.

So I give up on that and pace off the size of the flattened area where the tent used to be. Four feet by six feet. About. Then I find more horse poop near one of the trees. Quite a bit more. And there's poison oak galore. I'm doing my best to avoid it, but it's under every tree, popping up everywhere, lovin' life.

A crow caws at us from the top of a tree, then flaps kind of awkwardly as it takes off. And that's when I see something long and black on the ground across the camp area. I rush over, and what I find is the biggest feather I have ever seen. “Casey!” I gasp. “Look.”

“Sammy, I don't get it. Why are you so spun up?”

“They don't make crows this big—this is a condor feather!”

“But . . .
we've
got the condor! And they do lose feathers, right? Like any other bird? And we're right near Chumash Caves . . . which is where they roost, right?”

I nod because he
is
right.

But still, something
feels
wrong.

Casey follows me as I wander along the outskirts of the campground. There are hoofprints in the sandy dirt in a lot of places, but they get more concentrated as we near an opening between two large oaks on the far side of the camp.

I point at the dirt and say, “I think they came in and out through here. Quite a few times.”

“You part Indian?” Casey asks.

I almost tell him, “No,” but then it hits me that I don't know—seeing how my mom won't tell me who my dad is. Then I get distracted by a large patch of flattened grass on the back side of one of the trees we've just passed, and when I check it out, I discover a large, dark brown spot on the ground. I squat down to get a closer look, then ask Casey, “Is this blood?”

He inspects it, and says, “That would be my guess.”

“Hey, you guys! Where are you?” It's Cricket's voice, and it seems more worried than irritated.

Casey waves across the clearing at her and calls, “Back here!” while I start to follow a sort of choppy streak of flattened dirt and grass that's leading away from the camp. “See these hoofprints?” I whisper to Casey. “And this flattened path? It's like something got dragged along through here.”

“Must've been heavy,” he says.

And that's when I hear a buzzing sound in the air. It's not loud or scary or weird. It's just one of nature's sounds. Like a bee buzzing. Only it's not just one, it's several. No, not just several,
bunches
. Like a big ol'
swarm
of buzzy bees.

I look up and around, suddenly worried that this forest also has beehive bombs hanging from trees. “You hear that?” I ask Casey.

Just then Gabby calls, “Where are you guys
going
?” and when we turn around, all three of them are coming toward us, Billy waddling along with his backpack
and
Marvin.

“I just want to check something out!” I call back. “It'll only take a minute!”

So I hurry along, following the choppy streak of flattened dirt and grass between shrubs and trees and nasty prickery plants pretending to be flowers. I'm still dodging poison oak because it's still everywhere, and the buzzy sound is getting louder.

“You think it's a beehive?” I ask Casey.

“If that's bees,” he says, “we're outta here.”

But then we come to a large clearing beneath the steep white face of Chumash Caves and discover that it's not a beehive.

It's something much bigger.

Much weirder.

Much
grosser
.

FOURTEEN

Casey and I just stare at what looks like a giant
fly
hive that's dropped out of the sky. It's big and black and buzzy and just
nasty
. And what flashes through my mind is that we've discovered the mother ship of gnatty flies. You know, like a giant flying cow pie from space! But then I realize that this giant flying cow pie has cloven hooves.

And
tusks
.

“What
is
that?” Gabby asks as the others join us.

“It's a bug blitz!” Billy cries. “Those buzzy boogers brought down a boar!” Then he grins and adds, “Cool.”

I pick up a rock and chuck it at the mother ship, and we all watch as the invasion of flies lifts off and swarms noisily above it.

The ship has hooves and tusks, all right. Plus a wiryhaired body with a big hairy head, pointy hairy ears, and a huge round snout. It's like a cross between the Big Bad Wolf and one of the Three Pigs.

The flies come back in for a landing, so Casey moves a few steps closer to the dead boar and chucks another rock at it. “The stomach's been slit open and the guts are pulled out, which is what's making these flies so crazy.”

“Any arrows?” I ask.

He chucks another rock, takes a few steps in, and swats flies from around his face. “Not that I see.”

“Was it shot?”

“I can't tell!”

“No little pellets?”

He kicks the carcass, shooing flies away and waving them from around his head. “Don't see any!”

“Why are we
doing
this?” Gabby asks. “Can we please just
go
?”

Casey hurries back toward us as Cricket says, “We really do need to get going. Robin and Bella are probably worried sick about us.”

So we move away from the mother ship, and as I relieve Billy of his bird burden, I say to Gabby, “Can you try to get a reading on Marvin's mom while we're hiking?”

“Why? What's that got to do with anything?”

But Cricket grabs her by the arm and says, “Yes, she can do that. Now let's get
moving
.”

So we fall in line, and as we're hiking back toward the trail, Billy starts chanting:

When he starts on the second verse, Casey moves up next to me and says, “Tell me what you're thinking.”

I take a deep breath. “Okay. Yesterday when we were walking through some meadow covered in cow pies and swarming flies, I saw horse poop. Fresh horse poop.”

“Still steaming?”

I laugh. “Not
that
fresh, but you know . . . still moist.”

“Yum.”

I laugh again. “The point is, I didn't see a guy on a horse, did you?”

He shakes his head.

“But the person who camped back there had a horse. And I think he used the horse to drag that boar from the place where he shot it to that clearing.” I look at him. “What do bow-and-arrow hunters do with a boar when they kill it?”

“Butcher it for meat. Or mount the head on their wall.”

“But this one was killed, slit open, and left behind. I think it was used as condor bait. The campsite was near the caves where Marvin and his mother were roosting, and I'm sure that's not a coincidence. I think someone camped there so they could catch or kill a condor. Marvin got away, but I have a bad feeling about his mom. Especially since there was a condor feather
in
that camp.” I sort of scowl and say, “What's bugging me is the shots. We only heard two shots, and they were in a row. I'm guessing those shots killed the boar. Then it would take time to drag a boar into a clearing and gut it, and even more time after that for it to attract a condor, right? But we didn't hear shots after those first two.” I look at him. “So when did Marvin get shot?”

Casey scratches the side of his head. “Maybe you just couldn't hear it? Maybe they used a rifle on the boar and something smaller on Marvin? Or maybe the person who killed the boar didn't have anything to do with Marvin getting shot. The feather in the camp could just be a coincidence. Or maybe the boar was killed before you even got here and one shot was for Marvin and the other was for his mom?” He sort of frowns and says, “But why would anyone bait and shoot a condor?”

“It doesn't make sense to me, either.”

“And how would they know there were condors living in those caves? I sure didn't.”

“You don't watch the local news?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You
do
? And what's the local news got to do with this?”

“Actually, I try not to, but you know that reporter with the swoopy hair? Grayson Mann?”

“I know who you're talking about. My dad calls him Pretty Vegas.”

I laugh because somehow the name is perfect. “Exactly! Well, apparently he did a whole series of spots on the condor for KSMY. So anyone who saw the show knows that there were condors living in those caves!”

“But I still can't believe someone would go through all this trouble to
kill
one.”

Billy had gone through about five verses of his fly march but had finally quit. And I guess Casey and I had raised our voices, because Gabby calls out, “You're paranoid, you know that? And you're flat-out wrong!” She turns to face us. “I've got a signal on AC-34 right now! She's actually pretty close by!”

“Really?” Cricket says, hurrying over to check the receiver.

I look at Casey.

He looks at me.

We both shrug and I call, “I'm glad, Gabby!” but inside I feel kinda weird. I mean, I
want
to be wrong, I just can't quite believe that I am.

We headed back toward the Lookout the same way we'd come, only everyone agreed that without a compass, we wouldn't be taking any shortcuts.

We did try shouting up to the Lookout a few times, but since we couldn't see it or hear our voices echo, we quit. What was the use?

When we got to Miner's Camp, the Camo Creeps were still there. It was like they hadn't budged since we'd been there the day before. I took one look at them and kept on trucking, but Casey called, “You guys see anyone on horseback come through here yesterday?”

They just stared.

So Casey stepped off the trail toward them and said, “It's important. Did you see a guy on a horse come through here yesterday?”

They all glowered at him, and the biggest one growled, “This is our camp, kid—get out.”

And I couldn't believe it, but Casey went even
closer
. “Look, man. Someone's been taking potshots at condors.” He pointed toward me. “We've got a wounded one right here. We think it was a guy on horseback. Can you help us?”

Slowly they all stood up and started coming toward me. “Are you serious?” “You got a
condor
there?” “A
thunderbird
?” “You joshin' me?”

So we showed them Marvin and they showed us a lot of dirty teeth as they smiled and took turns looking at what was apparently the eighth wonder of the world.

“Yeah, we saw a fella on horseback,” one of them finally said. “Yesterday. Around suppertime. He was riding a chestnut mare, blue and tan blanket under the saddle.”

The other two looked at him, then started chiming in.

“That poor horse was overloaded.”

“Saddlebags out to here.”

“And the cat riding her was wearin' shades
and
a hat.”

“That's just not right. You wear one or the other.”

They all nodded. “Not both.”

“Unless you've been city-fied.”

“Or
sissy
-fied,” the biggest one said with a laugh.

I was hanging on their every word. “Did the guy
say
anything?”

“Not a word.”

“Just rode on through.”

“Yeah. And he switched that poor filly every step of the way.”

I thought about this a minute, then asked, “What about clothes, hair color, anything else . . . ?”

“Well, he had on that
hat,
” the big one said, looking at the others.

“So it's hard to know about the
hair
.”

“He coulda been
bald
fer all we know. . . .”

“But he
was
wearing ridin' gloves.”

“And cowboy boots.”

“And, a-course, jeans. . . .”

“And a T-shirt. It was green, wasn't it, boys?”

The other men nodded. “Olive green.”

Then they all glanced at each other. “That's about it.” A crow cawed at us from the branch of a tree. The big man gave it a disgusted look and muttered, “Outta this campsite, ya oversized flyin' cockroach.”

I snickered, which made him grin at me and say, “Bottom of the bird barrel in my book.” He shot a look at the crow again and told it, “Go back to the rest of your murder, why don'tcha?”

“Back to your
murder
?” Gabby whispered, her eyes wide.

Cricket told her, “Flock of seagulls, murder of crows . . . ?”

The big guy nodded. “Perfect description of their kind, too, if you ask me.” He turned back to me. “Any more we can do for you, missy?”

I shifted Marvin to my left side. “You said the horse was really loaded. Could he have been packing something as big as this?”

“You tellin' me he was packin' out a
thunderbird
?”

“We don't know that!” Gabby said. “We don't know any of that!”

I looked the guy square in the eye. “That's what I'm saying.”

“Let me at that sucker! Let me at that sucker and I'll—”

“And,”
I throw in, “they used a boar to bait it.”

They all fell quiet until one of them finally asked, “How do you know that?”

I held his gaze. “We found the campsite. We found the boar. Big hairy beast with tusks and a big ol' snout.”

“Look,” Cricket said, pulling on my arm. “We've
really
got to get this condor some help.” She gave me a stern look. “So if we could get
moving
. . .”

Just then we heard frantic honking in the distance, and when we looked up, we could see a spot of red on the ridge above us.

“Quinn!” Gabby squealed. “It's
Quinn
.”

Cricket and Gabby jumped all around,
hugging
each other in between waving up at the ridge. One of the Camo Guys scowled. “Nature Ninja to the rescue.”

I busted up. “Not a fan, huh?”

He shrugged. “He's just a little too by-the-book. Likes to nose in other folks' business.”

“Was he nosing in your business yesterday?” I don't even really know why I asked. It's not like I thought Quinn was roaming around the canyon with a shotgun or anything.

“Day before,” he said. “Gave us the third degree.” He sort of frowned. “But what else is new? We get that from everybody.”

I wanted to say, Well, maybe if you didn't dress like trees and give people the evil eye when they came through camp, they wouldn't think you were boar-hunting wackos. But were they boar-hunting wackos? Maybe they were thunderbird-worshiping, tree-hugging wackos. It was really hard to tell.

“Come on, Sammy,” Cricket was saying, tugging on my sleeve. “We're going to eat some lunch while we wait for Quinn to show up.”

“Snake?” Billy asked, looking around. “Did someone say snake?”

Casey rolled his eyes and yanked him along. “More like sticks and berries, dude.”

I laughed, then followed, calling, “Thanks a lot!” to the Camo Campers.

But the minute we were out of earshot, Gabby started hissing in my ear. “I can't believe you were
talking
to them! They're so creepy!”

“But they gave us a lot of valuable information!”

“Couldn't you tell they were making all that stuff up?” She snorted. “A
chestnut
mare, a
blue and tan
blanket, an
olive green
T-shirt, riding gloves, cowboy boots, a hat and sunglasses . . . they were stringing you along!”

I couldn't believe my ears. “Why are you putting me down? I'm just trying to help figure out who shot Marvin. And I thought they were really helpful!”

Gabby smirked. “They played you
bad
. They acted all sincere and helpful so you wouldn't think
they
shot Marvin.”

“But—”

“And how convenient that they didn't
talk
to the guy—”

Now I was getting mad. “Did they talk to
us
when we came through? No! They—”

“And how convenient that he was wearing gloves and a hat and sunglasses so they couldn't tell you any
real
details about him!”

I zeroed in on her. “That's
exactly
what you'd want if you'd just bagged a condor!”

“Nobody just bagged a condor! Marvin's with us, and I got a really strong reading on AC-34. She is
fine
.” She leaned in closer. “And get this straight:
I'm
the one who found Marvin, not you! So quit acting like you know everything!”

So that was it.

I screwed my mouth into a little knot and said nothing.

The others had found a place to park and wait for Quinn to arrive and were digging into Billy and Casey's trail mix. I was all for that, but Gabby was more interested in proving that she was right and I was wrong. She fired up her receiver and got busy tuning in the signal for Marvin's mom.

“See?” she said to me, turning the controls so the chirping sound it was making was loud and clear. “That's AC-34's frequency. Nobody packed her out of here. She's fine!” She turned the volume down and murmured, “And close!”