Crocs, p.15
Crocs, page 15
The older sister sensed Sabina’s problem. She waited until Luke was ahead of them to say, “I get feelings like that all the time. You know, that I’m in danger. Or about to have some bad luck. Everyone does. And I’m almost always wrong.”
“I’m not everyone,” Sabina replied. “And I’m almost always right.” She spun around as if she’d heard a twig snap. “Did you hear that?”
“No. What?”
Luke didn’t notice, he was so busy chopping a path.
“What if he’s here already?” Sabina whispered. “What if he’s following us?”
“You mean Leon?” Maribel gave her sister a reassuring look. “He doesn’t get out of jail until tomorrow. Besides, I have this.” She unclipped the handheld radio and held it up to illustrate. “Do you want me to call Hannah just to be sure?”
“That’s smart. Do it now,” Sabina said. She continued to search the darkening trees behind them.
Maribel squeezed the radio’s transmit button. “Break-break, calling Sanibel Biological Supply,” she said into the radio. “Do you copy?”
The name of Doc Ford’s business was Sanibel Biological Supply. On the porch of his house was a VHF marine radio that scanned for calls.
Static was the only reply.
Maribel cleared her throat. “I’ll try a different channel,” she said.
The girl tried several channels. Same thing. No one answered. Just static.
Maribel battled a slow rush of fear. “The trees are too thick for the signal to get out,” she said calmly. “Relax, it’s no big deal. Doc or Hannah will hear me when we get to the top of the mound.”
Sabina muttered, “That skunk-in-the-weeds bully. Leon would love to catch us out here all alone.” She tilted her head skyward. “Where’s Luke’s stupid osprey when we need that mean bird?”
In the silence that followed, a mother raccoon and two furry babies went scampering through the brush behind them.
Relieved, Maribel laughed. “That’s what you heard. See? We’re not in any danger.”
Sabina didn’t believe it. But when the osprey appeared overhead and circled, she took this as a good omen.
“Besides,” the girl reasoned, “Periwinkle will help us if we’re in trouble. This is where she stays day and night—unless there’s a heavy fog.”
The imaginary ghost again.
* * *
By sunset the kids had battled their way to the top of the ancient mound. They were soaked with sweat and tired. Finally, they saw oranges dangling from high limbs in the distance.
But from which tree?
It was impossible to tell. Trees of all sizes grew here in a jumble.
“Let’s spread out,” Maribel suggested. “Start shaking limbs. If an orange falls, you’ll know you’ve found the right tree.”
To the left, below the mound, Sabina saw a splotch of water. It reflected a wafer of copper light that was the rising moon.
“I know where we are,” she said. “The morning you two got lost in the fog? There was a path that led me to a great big tree. It was as wide as a bridge. That’s the opening to the … to the…”
The girl almost said Bone Tunnel, but caught herself. She didn’t want to be laughed at again.
People won’t believe you anyway, Captain Pony had warned. They’ll think we’re both bat-daft loco—unless they see the tunnel for themselves.
They will, Sabina decided.
The timing was perfect. A huge moon would soon cast shadows and provide plenty of light to explore.
The old fishing guide had also told her, Find the gold medallion. You’ll know what to do when the time comes. The spirit of my poor little sister will finally be free.
I will, Sabina vowed again silently.
“Sure, spread out,” she said to Maribel in a normal voice. “That’s smart—explore on our own. If I find that path, it’ll be a lot easier for us to get back to our camp.”
Luke was all for splitting up. Drink more water than you think you need was a team rule. He had. Now what he really needed was a private place to pee—the sooner the better.
“Take the machete. I’ve got my knife,” he said to Maribel, and hurried off.
When he was comfortable again, he puzzled over the oranges hanging overhead. There were dozens. But they weren’t clustered in one spot. They were scattered in a strand over a broad area.
Weird, he thought. That’s not the way fruit grows in most orchards.
The boy zigzagged through the foliage, shaking limb after limb. No oranges fell. He came to a clearing. This made no sense either until he saw the remains of a gigantic tree lying flat on the ground.
It took him a moment to figure it out. Long ago, when the giant had fallen, the trunk had smashed every living thing around. Now only saplings grew in the area. They were skinny trees and very, very tall. Oranges appeared to dangle from the scrawny limbs.
Interesting. Hannah had said the citrus experts wanted young survivor trees to transplant. Maybe he had made an important discovery.
Luke approached the fallen giant. The trunk was waist high and six feet wide. He threw his arms over the thing and climbed up. The tree became a bridge that allowed him to walk among the skinny saplings. They were covered with thorns. Huge thorns, sharp, three inches long. They were dangerous looking, just as Hannah had described.
She was right about wearing gloves, he thought, and gave one of the skinny trees a shake.
Thump-thump-thump. Several oranges landed on the ground nearby.
Same with the next tall, skinny tree. And the next.
The trunk of the fallen giant arched over a mound of old seashells six feet below. His head tilted up, then downward. That was when the boy realized the saplings weren’t trees. Not really. They were new limbs growing from the underside of the fallen tree he was standing on.
Was that possible?
He got down on his belly and confirmed it.
Amazing. This old giant of bark and moss was a living citrus tree. The thing had to have survived hundreds of years before it fell. Yet the giant had refused to die. Its new limbs were still producing big, healthy fruit.
“Over here!” he yelled to the girls. “I found it, I found it! The survivor tree!”
The osprey had been following Luke until then. Suddenly, though, the bird soared off like a fighter jet, screaming, SAR-SAR-SAR!
The wild cries sounded like a warning.
Luke was too excited about what he’d found to suspect that Leon might be following them.
THIRTY
CAPTAIN PONY’S SECRET PLACE
One look at the giant tree, and Sabina knew what Luke had discovered. It was a spot known only to the old fishing guide and her sister, Periwinkle, who had died after falling from the same tree more than sixty years ago.
This was another secret that Captain Pony had shared in the hospital.
Maribel and Luke were busy shaking limbs and trying to catch oranges before the oranges fell into a basin of shells below. They didn’t notice that it was getting dark until the moon appeared.
“There it is,” Maribel said. “Look behind us, Luke.”
To the east, the moon was the size of a frozen sun. It floated weightless and huge in blazing silence. Black craters etched eyes and a crooked smile, all encircled by smoky blue rings.
“Ice crystals way up in the sky,” Luke remarked. “That’s what Doc said.” He kept his voice low. “We should get back to camp and use the telescope. Where’s Sabina?”
Sabina had been waiting for this moment. “I found the path,” she called. “Follow me. I want to prove I’m not crazy.”
The opening to the Bone Tunnel awaited.
Just like on that foggy morning weeks ago, the narrow path turned and twisted downhill toward the bay. Maribel and Luke followed. Each carried a sack of oranges.
“Look at our shadows,” Sabina said over her shoulder. “When’s it’s darker, our shadows will be the size of giants. That’s the way Pony described it. Now do you believe I’ve been here before?”
This was true. Sort of. The moon cast light at a low angle. The milky beams connected Luke’s feet to a human shadow that was taller than he was. But not gigantic.
“Shadow people. Right,” the boy responded. “You can tell us all about it when we get back to camp. I’m hungry.”
“Not until you see the opening for yourselves,” Sabina shot back.
Luke was running out of patience. “The opening to what?”
“You’ll find out” was the reply.
They continued downhill to where they had a view of the ancient tree. The trunk curved like a bridge over the basin of shells. Sabina stopped and looked beneath the tree. Moonlight created what appeared to be a misty curtain. A pile of oranges, newly fallen, had collected there after rolling downhill.
“There it is. The opening to the Bone Tunnel.” Sabina sounded confident. “Come closer and look for yourselves. But you have to do exactly as I say. It’s dangerous.”
Maribel placed her bag on the ground. Concerned by her sister’s behavior, she spoke in Spanish. “Dangerous? How? Are you still worried about Leon following us?”
Luke understood some of what she’d said. Not much. To the left was the bay. Water glistened with moonlight and the last silver rays of the setting sun. They’d been dopes to hack their way to the top of the mound. Camp was only a few minutes away if they had waded along the shoreline. It would have saved them a lot of work.
The boy studied the area beneath the fallen tree. “I don’t see any tunnel,” he said in English. “But I do see a bunch of oranges, and I still have some room in my bag. I’ll grab a few, then we’ll head back to camp.”
He started toward the basin of shells.
“Don’t!” Sabina shouted when he got to the tree. “Stop right there. Not another step! That’s where Periwinkle died on the night she tried to return the gold medallion.”
Startled, the boy turned. The look on his face asked, Are you nuts?
“If you take more than six steps,” Sabina insisted, “you could be trapped in … trapped in…” The girl paused, suddenly unsure of herself. Had she had really seen Spaniards on horseback and a Calusa village? Or had it all been part of a dream?
“All I know is, something bad is going to happen,” she finished in a stubborn voice. “I warned you, so don’t blame me.”
With a shrug, Luke ducked beneath the fallen giant and walked toward the pile of oranges. Seven … eight … nine … ten steps—Sabina counted each long stride in her head.
Nothing happened. No misty curtain parted. There were no sparks from Calusa cooking fires. No Spaniards with gleaming swords.
Maybe I was dreaming, the girl finally had to admit. She watched as the boy continued several more yards, then knelt over another new discovery.
“Hey! Come look at what I found!” he hollered.
At Luke’s feet, in a ribbon of moonlight, grew a tiny orange tree, only two feet tall. The trunk and limbs were spiked with thorns. Maribel joined him. To be sure, she removed a leaf from the tree, crushed it, and held it to her nose. The tangy citrus odor was unmistakable. “Perfect,” she said. “A pretty little sapling orange tree. This is exactly what the scientists need.”
“It’s too small to be called a sapling,” Luke corrected. “Sprouts this size are called seedlings. But it sure looks strong and healthy. Wish we hadn’t forgot the camp shovel.”
“Let me try,” Maribel said. She squatted beside him and used the machete to trench around the little tree. After several minutes of digging, she muttered, “The tree’s roots are all tangled in a great big seashell. Sabina, do you have a flashlight? We need it.”
The girl approached reluctantly at first. Her worries vanished when she recognized the seashell that her sister was trying to pry free. It was a horse conch—almost exactly like Captain Pony’s ancient Calusa horn.
The roots of the little tree had woven themselves through three holes in the shell. The holes had been precisely drilled. A longer root protruded from the center of the crown. The shell’s pointed end—the apex—had been sawed flat like the mouthpiece of a trumpet.
“That’s just like the horn we left back at camp,” Sabina said. “It must have belonged to Periwinkle. I was right. She was here!”
Maribel and Luke were too busy digging to listen. Gently, gently, after several more minutes, the seedling tree finally came free in Maribel’s hands. The huge old shell horn provided a solid base for the roots. The way the tree sprouted from the shell, healthy and green, it might have been a trophy from a garden show—or a 4-H project.
Maribel’s voice was shaking, she was so excited. “Shine the flashlight,” she said. “There’s a lot of dirt inside this shell. But I hear something else clinking around in there.”
“Oh my stars,” Sabina whispered when she saw what spilled into her sister’s hand.
It was the gold medallion.
Now it was Maribel who felt as if she were dreaming. The medallion was smaller than imagined—half the size of her palm. But it had weight and warmth. The strange designs they’d seen in the old drawing were there, but very faint.
Two square holes for eyes stared back at the kids from what might have been the head of an alligator—or a crocodile. Beneath the eyes were fangs. Or teardrops.
Luke noted circles within a circle above the eyes. He was studying the moon when the sound of a fast outboard motor caught his attention.
“A boat’s coming,” he said in a rush. “Give me the flashlight. I’ll flag them down.”
“No!” Sabina protested. “It might be Leon. I told you something bad was going to happen. I can feel it.”
Luke didn’t have witchlike powers, but he did have excellent hearing. “It’s not Leon, or his creepy partner. I recognize the boat. I’ve heard that engine lots of times.”
The boy was right. He grabbed the light and ran to the water’s edge. Soon Doc and Hannah appeared in Hannah’s fancy skiff.
But Sabina was right, too.
Earlier in the day, something terrible had happened.
THIRTY-ONE
SURVIVORS
It was Hannah who gave them the first piece of bad news. The police had released Leon that morning, not tomorrow as planned. The man was free, so they would have to leave Bonefield Key right away.
When they returned to camp to pack, the trio got another shock. Something—or someone—had gone through all their stuff. Their tent was a mess. The jungle hammock had been turned inside out.
Maribel felt goose bumps when her sister announced, “Pony’s shell horn is gone. I was right! Leon was here looking for us. Can you imagine what he would’ve done if he’d found us all alone?”
Luke wasn’t worried until he saw the concern on Doc’s face. “Leave your gear and go with Hannah,” the biologist ordered. “Do it now. She’ll take you back to the marina. I’ll come later in the rental boat after I’ve had a look around.”
On foot, the man circled out into the dusky moonlight alone.
The members of Sharks Incorporated did as they were told.
Hannah waited until Doc was at the marina, tying up the rental boat, to give them more bad news. They were gathered near the marina office when she finally said, “There’s no easy way to put this. The hospital called. Pony Wulfert died this afternoon. She left a letter addressed to you kids. And a separate letter for you, Sabina. The letters are in the lab if you want to read them. Doc will be up there in a minute or two. Or would you rather wait until your mother gets off work?”
Sabina ran toward the lab, yelling, “No, that can’t be. I should have been with her!”
Luke and Maribel followed in a daze. They hadn’t had time to tell Hannah much about the ancient survivor tree they’d discovered. And it didn’t seem right to show off the gold medallion without Doc present.
The biologist didn’t stick around long enough to allow that to happen. There was so much shock and confusion, only Luke noticed when the man slipped away and sped off toward Captain Pony’s house in his larger, faster boat.
Maybe he was upset by the sound of kids crying.
Hours later, the boy changed his mind. The moon floated huge over the water when he saw the strobe of blue flashing lights at the mouth of Dinkins Bay. Was the mysterious biologist working with the police again?
Probably.
It made sense. Someone had torn their camp apart. The police were investigating. That was proof enough for the boy.
* * *
The next morning, in the lab, Doc told the kids what had happened during the night. He was at his desk icing a swollen left hand—the result of a fall, he claimed.
Luke’s suspicions were right. Detective Miller had found Leon inside the old lady’s house, trapped in a closet by a furious goose. Scratches and tufts of missing hair suggested that Leon had also been attacked by another type of bird.
“An osprey or a hawk of some type,” the biologist guessed. “If so, that’s not as unusual as people might think. Animals can be very territorial. They have incredible instincts when it comes to targeting anything—or anyone—who poses a threat. How they know is still unclear to science.”
Perplexed, yet amused, Doc added, “Like that big mother crocodile. The police were surprised to find her lying in the yard like she was waiting for Leon to come out. A coincidence? Could be. But I doubt it. Instinct is a form of intelligence. It’s born into just about every living thing—animals and plants. That croc wouldn’t have survived for sixty years if she had ignored threats like Leon.”
Picturing the big croc, Sabina-Belle, Luke grinned. Even Sabina managed a smile. They sat at a metal table, tired but alert after a long, restless night. Positioned between them was the little seedling orange tree. It was rooted solidly in the ancient shell horn. Nearby, atop two envelopes, lay the gold medallion.
The envelopes contained the letters that Poinciana Wulfert had written only a few hours before her death. The handwriting was shaky and ornate. It was the sort of penmanship taught at small, old-time country schools.
