Fort Page 10

  Gerard looked uncertainly from me to Augie and back.

  “So stage one of the operation is we need a fire. Okay if we make one?” Augie asked. “Just a little one?”

  “We want J.R. and Morrie to know we’re here, because then they’ll be sure to come up here to try to torture us,” I explained. “And that’s exactly what we want them to do.”

  “They don’t even know you’re here,” said Augie. “You’re part of the surprise.”

  “Gerard is part of the surprise!” Gerard repeated.

  I was relieved and glad to see that he was grinning happily again, like nothing had ever happened.

  While Augie and I started making a fire, Gerard got his squirrel tail and rabbit’s foot and held them, humming a little tune. He didn’t sing the words, but I recognized the crummy “song” J.R. and Morrie had made up.

  Hearing it made me mad all over again. Augie and I had promised Gerard we’d make up something better, but we’d been concentrating on other stuff.

  The tune played in my head as I walked farther into the woods to get some bigger branches. Some words came to me. I mumbled them along with the tune. Then I hurried back, threw the branches in a pile, and got my notepad and pencil from the fort.

  Augie looked at me curiously and Gerard asked, “Whatcha doin’, Wyatt?”

  “Hold on a sec,” I said. “Let me think.” I scribbled for a while, crossed some stuff out, scribbled some more.

  “Okay,” I said after a while. “Gerard, do you remember that stupid song J.R. and Morrie made up for you?”

  Gerard looked up from the squirrel tail he was petting and said cautiously, “Gerard is not supposed to sing it anymore. It’s a bad song.”

  “It is,” I said. “And remember Augie and I said we’d make up a new one? A better one?”

  Augie looked nervous.

  Gerard nodded.

  “Did you come up with something?” Augie asked hopefully.

  “Maybe,” I said. “What do you think of this?” To the same tune Gerard had been humming a minute before, I sort of half sang and half spoke the song I’d been working on.

  When I finished, Augie was looking at me with his mouth hanging open. “Holy cow, Wyatt! I can’t believe you just made that up!” he said. “Say it again.”

  I did.

  “I am Gerard!” Gerard shouted when I’d finished.

  “Darn right you are!” I said.

  Gerard kept saying the words over and over while Augie and I finished making the fire. Gerard got a little worried when we first lit it, but after that he was fine, even though he didn’t sit too close. We sat around eating the brownies and snickerdoodles from Aunt Hilda and examining the new calendar from Al—all the while remaining on high alert for any sounds of J.R. and Morrie approaching.

  Al was right. Some things never do change. Not the STP annual calendar, anyway. It was the same, only with different ladies and different cars and trucks. It’s a winning formula, and I can see why STP sticks with it.

  We got up a few times to gather more wood. We called Gerard’s mom to tell her we were fine. We listened. But the woods were quiet and peaceful, with not even a little wind to rustle the leaves. Soon, Gerard’s head was nodding and Augie and I had to keep punching each other on the arm to stay awake.

  I looked at my watch. It was almost ten thirty.

  “What do you think?” I whispered to Augie. “Are they gonna come?”

  “Doesn’t look like it,” Augie whispered back.

  “Bummer. I want it to happen tonight.”

  “Me, too. You want to take turns keeping watch, just in case?”

  “Good idea.”

  “Okay.” Augie smiled sleepily. “You first.”

  “Thanks a bunch.”

  Augie and Gerard wriggled into their sleeping bags. I could tell by their breathing that they were asleep almost right away.

  So there I was, the lone sentry, protecting the fort from enemy intruders.

  18

  Being on guard was actually pretty cool. I looked to see that Augie’s backpack and mine were close at hand, and checked again to make sure everything we needed was in them. Then I stared into the darkness, every muscle and nerve on edge.

  After a while, it’s possible that my eyes closed for a few seconds.

  Because suddenly my head snapped up and I sat bolt upright. Voices! Then I saw flashlight beams. They were headed across the field behind Al’s toward the entrance spot to the woods.

  I leaned into the doorway of the fort and whispered, “Wake up! They’re coming!”

  Augie was awake in a second. He grinned in the firelight.

  Gerard took a little longer to stir, but soon he was sitting up, eyes wide with excitement.

  We all listened. I was straining my ears so hard I thought my head would explode.

  There was nothing for a while, except the occasional crack of a twig and the sweeping of the flashlight beams as J.R. and Morrie moved slowly through the woods.

  Then there was a loud thud and an “Oooof!” followed by “Stupid branches!”

  Then some pretty bad words rang through the night.

  “Did you hear that?” I said. “One of them hit the first trip wire!”

  Al’s two-word tip had been “Trip wires.” On the library’s computer, we’d found a ton of information about them. It turns out they’re pretty simple to set up. Like, you can set one up in your victim’s path, using invisible fishing line. You can tie one end to something that will fall on your victim, or jump up or swing down to scare him when he trips the wire by walking into it.

  Or you can use something stronger for your wire and actually trip the person.

  In wars, like the one in Vietnam, soldiers set them so that giant rocks would fall on the enemy, or sharp spikes would impale them, or a giant blade would swing down and chop off their heads. Or the wire might set off a gun or a grenade or something.

  When we’d gotten to that part, Augie had whispered, “Geez, Wyatt. I mean, I know this is war. And I hate those guys. But I don’t want to chop off their heads or anything like that.”

  “Yeah,” I’d said. “Me neither.”

  That was when we’d agreed on our no damage, no death, no dismemberment policy.

  So the first trip wire we’d set was a simple one, designed to do exactly that—trip the first person who stepped into it.

  “That voice sounded like J.R. to me,” I whispered.

  “Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy,” Augie replied.

  This made Gerard laugh like crazy. Seeing him so happy was great, but I was afraid J.R. and Morrie might hear him, so I put my fingers to my lips to show him we needed to try to stay quiet.

  We could hear the rise and fall of J.R.’s and Morrie’s voices, growing closer.

  Then one of them, Morrie, I think, called out, “You girls having fun in your pink fort?”

  “Quick, hide your dollies,” yelled J.R. “We’re coming to pay a little visit.”

  “No!” I called, making myself sound real scared. “Don’t come up here!”

  “Yeah, get outta here,” hollered Augie. “This is our fort.”

  “Hang on to your flashlight,” I whispered to Gerard, “but don’t turn it on.”

  We all stepped out into the darkness and crept quietly in the direction we thought they’d be coming from, but not too far yet.

  To Augie I said, “Ready?”

  “Oh, yeah!” he replied.

  After a couple of seconds, we heard a shower of thumps followed by “Ouch!”

  “Ow!”

  “Whoa!”

  “What the—?”

  “What’s going on?”

  Followed by more thumps and some curses.

  This meant that the wire to the bucket of black walnuts had been tripped. We’d gathered at least a hundred of them. They were round—somewhere between the size of a golf ball and a lacrosse ball—and really hard. The entire bucketful had just fallen on J.R.’s and Morrie’s heads.
Which probably didn’t feel so hot. Then, as they tried to run away, they kept stepping on rolling walnuts and falling down.

  To Augie I said, “Ready? Fire!”

  One by one, we each took the balloons we had blown up and stashed in our backpacks and popped them—Augie with his pocketknife and me with a knife from our kitchen. I handed a couple to Gerard and said, “Stomp on them!”

  It was kind of amazing how loud the pops sounded, carrying through the quiet night woods.

  We heard J.R.’s and Morrie’s cries—

  “What was that?”

  “Were those shots?”

  “Is somebody shooting?”

  There were grunts and more thumps as they stepped on the rolling walnuts in their hurry to get away, fell, tried to get up, and fell again.

  In my mind, I could see it as plain as day, in spite of the darkness. It was beautiful.

  “Valerio,” J.R. shouted, “you are such dead meat.”

  “You, too, Jones,” snarled Morrie.

  I wasn’t worried. Because next, if all went according to plan, they would trip another wire, which was attached to another bucket—

  “Wait for it…” I whispered.

  “Ewwwww—gross!”

  “Disgusting!”

  “Yes!” said Augie. “They tipped the garbage bucket!”

  Howls of anger filled the night, along with some words I was sorry Gerard was hearing. He didn’t seem to be bothered, though. In fact, he was yukking it up, with his hands over his mouth to stifle the sound.

  We had calculated that by this point, J.R. and Morrie would be disoriented and would no longer be moving in a direct route toward the fort. So we didn’t know which wire they might hit next: the one that would tip over a half gallon of Gram’s honey, or the one with Aunt Hilda’s perfume mixed with soapy water.

  The timing on the honey bucket had been extra tricky. We’d figured the thick honey would ooze more slowly from the bucket than the perfumed water would, so it had to be situated in a tree farther away from where J.R. or Morrie actually tripped the wire, in order to be sure it would plop on their heads. Lots of angles and several hooks and eyes were involved.

  We listened carefully, watching J.R.’s and Morrie’s flashlight beams zigging and zagging through the trees. We had made our calculations about the path J.R. and Morrie would take, based on the idea that people and animals always take the easiest path. If we were real lucky—and they were very unlucky—they would come the same way. J.R. would tip one bucket and Morrie the other.

  “Looks like they both may be dead on course!” Augie said, poking me in the ribs. And from the screams and threats we heard next, I knew he was right.

  We had discussed the possibility that J.R. and Morrie would surrender at that point, turn around, and go home, drenched in either garbage or perfume, and dripping honey. If that happened, it would definitely count as a victory. But we really hoped they kept on coming.

  “Don’t come up here!” I called again.

  “You wish!” Morrie roared.

  “You two are going to be sorry you were ever born!” an enraged J.R. hollered.

  Augie and I cracked up, and Gerard joined in with his excited, high-pitched laugh.

  I checked the fire to make sure it was still burning brightly enough to act as a beacon to keep the enemy coming straight for the fort. It was.

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  Trying not to make a sound, Augie, Gerard, and I started to move toward J.R. and Morrie. We shuffled very slowly at first, in a line—Augie first, feeling his way, Gerard between us, and me last.

  There were still a couple of simple trip wires J.R. and Morrie could run into, bonus traps we’d added just to aggravate and embarrass them even more. But the best trick of all was waiting, the one we were sure would send them running, crying like babies, never to return.

  Augie led us on toward the place in the woods where the final trap was set. We tried to be careful and not make any noise. But we really didn’t have to worry much about keeping quiet. J.R. and Morrie had managed to hit a few more of the wires, and their groans, shouts, and cusses echoed through the trees.

  “We’re here,” Augie whispered.

  “Gerard,” I said, “kneel right here by this fallen tree. Keep your head down out of the beams of their lights. Stay here. Be super quiet, and don’t move until I tell you, okay?”

  Gerard nodded. He had a huge grin on his face and was wriggling all around, practically doing a little dance, he was so excited.

  I grinned back at him, suddenly really glad he had come along.

  When Gerard was all set, Augie and I took up our positions. I stood behind the trunk of a tall tree, Augie behind another about twenty yards away. We held our flashlights ready. My cell phone was ready, too, sticking out of the top of my shirt pocket where I could grab it in a hurry.

  J.R. and Morrie were charging through the woods in our direction, crashing wildly through the underbrush in their rush to get to the fort—and us.

  “You little wusses are in for a world of pain,” J.R. shouted. From the anger in his voice I could tell this wasn’t a game to him anymore, if it ever had been.

  My heart was beating so hard, it felt like a flock of birds was flying around in my chest. I’ll admit it: part of me wanted to turn and run. But I reminded myself what we had in store for them, and I stood my ground.

  The enemy was coming right toward us, just as we had hoped. I said a silent prayer that Gerard would remember to stay absolutely still and quiet.

  J.R. and Morrie were so close by then we could hear them panting. Augie and I stayed behind our trees, out of reach of their flashlight beams, waiting, waiting, waiting for the perfect moment …

  Then, as spookily as I could, I called, “Hoo-hoo-hoo. Hoo-hoo!”

  J.R.’s and Morrie’s footsteps came to a halt.

  “What the heck was that?

  “Hoo-hoo-hoo. Hoo-hoo.”

  Quickly, J.R. and Morrie pointed their flashlights around in all directions.

  “Up there!”

  “What is that?”

  Both flashlight beams now shone directly up into the tree branches over Augie’s head.

  Now! I sent a silent message to Augie.

  And as if he’d heard me, there was a sudden—

  Whoooosh!

  Herkimer’s large feathered body came swooping down from the tree, right past J.R.’s and Morrie’s faces.

  A shrill shriek of terror filled the night.

  We could see everything in the glow cast by the two flashlight beams, even though one had now fallen to the ground.

  Then Herkimer came swinging back.

  I didn’t know if Augie was adjusting the fishing line we’d attached to Herkimer’s body or if it just worked out that way, but when the owl swung back the third time, his claws tangled in J.R.’s hair.

  J.R. screamed and batted the body away, only to have it swing back toward him again.

  “Help! Get it off me!”

  Aaah. Music to my ears.

  J.R. was freaking out, swatting wildly at the owl’s swinging body, yelling, “Get off me!”

  I thought I heard a burst of laughter from Gerard, and I couldn’t blame him. It didn’t matter, what with all the other noise and confusion.

  J.R. was crawling on the ground, desperate to get away from his attacker. Morrie was focusing his light on Herkimer, who was now swinging in smaller and smaller arcs. I saw some loose feathers drifting through the air.

  Morrie stood still, looking scared and nervous as he watched Herkimer slowly swing to a stop. Then he walked closer and reached out tentatively, as if he was afraid whatever it was might move again. At that moment, it did, as Augie released his end of the fishing line and Herkimer’s body fell to the ground at Morrie’s feet. He stepped back with a cry of surprise, then bent down and picked it up.

  “What is it?” croaked J.R.

  “Some kind of bird,” Morrie answered. Sounding uneasy, he add
ed, “With no head.”

  Before he could notice the fishing line attached to Herkimer’s body, I loosened the end of another line that led to a screw eye high up on the trunk of my tree, and slowly let out several feet. I could feel the answering pressure as Augie, from his position in the tree across from me, took up the slack.

  J.R. and Morrie stood frozen in place, staring in mute terror, looking as if they couldn’t believe what they were seeing—or didn’t want to.

  From high in my tree, an eerie apparition floated sideways and downward, right past J.R.’s and Morrie’s faces. It was Herkimer’s head, with his yellow glass eyes staring and his beak open as if he was about to attack. From behind his tufted ears billowed a scrap we had torn from Aunt Hilda’s nightgown. It was so thin and gauzy it seemed to be there one minute and gone the next. The effect was even creepier than Augie and I had hoped.

  I pulled on the line again, and the head glided back in my direction. Then it was Augie’s turn. The head swayed gently and started back toward him. The rubber band that connected it to the fishing line caused it to bob in a weirdly convincing and lifelike way.

  I reached for my phone, touched the camera icon, and called, “Say cheese!” My camera’s flash lit up the darkness. Quickly, I checked the image. Yes! I had captured Morrie’s eyes bulging in panic and J.R.’s mouth hanging slack with fear. But—even better—the picture showed:

  Their ripped shirts and the stained and shredded knees of their pants.

  The dirt and leaves and pine needles stuck in the honey that dripped from Morrie’s face and hair and clothing.

  The scraps of rotten lettuce, moldy cheese, and unrecognizable goo that decorated J.R.’s shoulders.

  And the piece of greasy chicken skin dangling from his ear.

  “Gotcha!” I said. “It’s a lovely photo of you both!”

  I only wished that phone technology had advanced so I could have captured the smells, too. The odors of Floral Fantasy (from Morrie’s direction) and putrefied garbage (from J.R.’s) floated around them in a cloud so thick you could almost see it.

  I also wished I could see Augie’s face and Gerard’s right at that minute. Operation Doom had gone off with military precision! Everything had worked like a charm! We had done it!