Fort (8 page)

We looked at each other.

“Weird,” I repeated.

“
Definitely
weird.”

Augie kicked the rock back over the remaining stuff, and we went to the fort, picking up firewood on the way.

Once we had the fire going, I was rummaging around in the semidark to find the peanut butter and bread when my fingers closed on a squishy little plastic baggie. I held it up to the light from the fire.

“What the—?”

Augie glanced over and frowned. “I don't remember bringing those,” he said.

“We didn't,” I answered.

The bag was filled with gummy worms.

“Gerard,” we both said together.

“
Gerard
was
here
?” I said. It hardly seemed possible. “What was he doing here? This is
our
fort. It's supposed to be
secret
.”

Augie was still staring at the baggie.

“Is anything missing?” I asked. I found a flashlight and began to look around.

“What I can't figure out,” Augie said slowly, “is whether he was sneaking around, and he dropped the gummy worms by mistake…”

“Yeah?” I said. “Or what?”

“Or, I don't know, maybe he left them on purpose.”

“What? Like a warning?
I'll be back to burn down your fort?
”

“Maybe like a … I don't know … a
present,
” said Augie.

“I don't even like gummy worms,” I said. “And why would he give us a present anyhow?”

Augie shrugged.

“It gives me the creeps to think of somebody else being here,” I said.

“I know what you mean,” Augie agreed.

We sat quietly for a while, looking out at the night. I didn't know how to describe it, but it felt like something perfect had been ruined somehow. I tried to shake the feeling as Augie and I made peanut butter sandwiches and ate them by the firelight.

We played poker for matches. I creamed Augie, and after that I felt a lot better.

I woke up several times during the night, my heart pounding, expecting to see Gerard's big, white moon face staring in at me. But nothing happened.

 

8

In the morning, we headed home.

“See ya Monday,” I told Augie.

“Yep. I'll come over early,” he said.

Dad and I finished our usual Saturday grocery shopping and laundry by noon. We spent the rest of the day at the county fair, staying late for the fireworks. Sunday it rained, so we went to the movies and fooled around at home, playing poker, five-card draw. He was teaching me all about odds and betting and bluffing.

We'd been playing pretty even. It was my deal, and I gave myself two jacks, which I held. Dad held four cards and threw in just one. I dealt his card, then gave myself three. I got two nines and another jack, meaning I had—
yes!
—a full house. I tried to maintain my poker face, but it wasn't easy.

Dad examined his hand and bet three matches. I saw his three matches and raised him two. He saw my two and raised two more.

Uh-oh. Was I overplaying my hand? No! I didn't think so, anyway. I raised two more.

Dad threw in two more matches. “Okay, hotshot,” he said. “This is getting too rich for me. I see you and call you.”

I laid down my full house. Dad groaned and put down a queen-high flush in clubs, a pretty decent hand.

“Read 'em and weep!” I said, something I'd learned from watching movies. I made a big show of hauling in all the matches. “Are you sure you want to keep playing?” I teased. “Your match pile is looking a little, uh,
low
.”

“It's considered bad form to gloat when you win,” Dad observed.

“Sorry. I couldn't help it.”

“It's getting late. You'd better give your mom a call.”

“Oh, right. I forgot.”

After we'd talked for a while, I asked Mom, very casually, if I'd had a tetanus shot. Pranking Augie about having lockjaw had been fun, but I didn't want to be sick for real. Immediately, I wished I'd never brought it up. Mom asked me a million questions and made me put Dad on to make sure I didn't need an ambulance or something. Anyway, the good news was, I did have the shot.

Monday morning, Augie and I met up to head back out to the fort. The plan, approved by both Dad and Gram, was that we could stay there until dinnertime Wednesday. Then we had to come home for a night to “get re-civilized,” as Gram put it.

Augie came to my house and we loaded up our backpacks with supplies. Dad had helped me pick out stuff that doesn't spoil, like cans of tuna fish, beef jerky, saltines, nuts, dried fruit, granola bars, and a new tub of margarine. He'd also let me get junk food like potato chips and Cheetos, which we didn't usually buy, but he winked and said he'd heard they went well with squirrel. I'd spent part of my allowance on extra flashlight batteries.

“Good score,” Augie said approvingly. He had two new comics to contribute, as well as some homemade cookies from Gram, some tomatoes from her garden, and marbles for the slingshot. We planned to hunt squirrels again.

Al and Unk weren't there yet when we stopped to stash our bikes at the junkyard. We headed straight for the fort. As we crossed the stream, we saw right away that the rock was overturned again. This time, the squirrel skin and innards had been disturbed. Actually, they were gone.

Augie and I looked at each other.

“I guess maybe it
was
an animal before,” I said uncertainly.

“I guess maybe,” Augie agreed.

But when we got to the fort, the flap was hanging crookedly, half-open. And when we looked inside, it was obvious right away that someone had been there again.

First, we were hit with a horrible smell that almost made me toss my breakfast.

We hadn't exactly cleaned up on Saturday morning, but we'd left our sleeping bags rolled in one corner and our other stuff in the orange crate shelf or on the table. Now our cards and comics were thrown all around. There was a heap of blackened stubs, as if somebody had lit one match after another and watched them burn down.

The smell came from the remains of the squirrel, which sat in a disgusting, stinky pile on top of one of the sleeping bags—which just happened to be
mine.
Worst of all, the whole pile looked like it was moving, which was really creepy. Then I realized it
was
moving—crawling with maggots, actually—which was
way
creepier.

“Oh, man!” I said. “Gross!”

I picked up the sleeping bag—making sure not to touch anywhere near the maggots—and took it outside, where I gave it a good shake, sending the guts and maggots flying. I probably should have walked farther away from the fort, but I just wanted that stuff
off my sleeping bag
.

Going back into the fort, I looked around again. “What the heck?” I said. “I can't believe he came back.”

Augie looked as freaked out as I was. “I just don't get why he did this.”

I pointed to the matches. “From what you've said about him being a firebug, I guess we're lucky he didn't burn the place down. I never should have told him we were making a fort.”

“You didn't tell him to come here and trash the place,” said Augie.

“
Man
. We were nice to him! We offered to make up a new song for him!”

We were quiet for a minute, trying to take it all in. Then Augie said suddenly, “The calendar!”

We looked, but it was gone.

That did it.

“Let's go,” I said.

At the same time Augie said, “He's toast.”

 

9

Quickly, Augie and I stashed our supplies, pulled the flap down, and hurried back through the woods.

Al and Unk were setting up their table and chairs when we reached the junkyard.

“Did you see Gerard around here this weekend?” Augie asked.

Al held up his hands, palms out. “Whoa there! No ‘Hi, Al, how ya doin'?' What's got your panties in such a bunch?”

“Sorry,” said Augie. “Hi, Al. Hi, Unk.”

“That's better,” said Al with a smile.

“So what's up?” said Unk.

“Gerard's been at our fort,” Augie explained. “Messing things up and taking stuff.”

“The DeMuth kid?” Unk asked.

We nodded.

“Well, if that don't beat all,” said Unk, shaking his head. “First he burns down Al's shed. Now this.”

“Hey, I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt in regards to the shed, ya know? I mean, I got no proof says it was him. And, truth be told, I had no use for that dilapidated old heap of boards.
But
,” he declared, “a man doesn't mess with another man's fort. It's just not done. A guy's fort is his
castle
. It's—what do you call it?—
sacred
.”

We all nodded.

“So what are ya gonna do?” Al asked.

“Go to his house,” I said, getting on my bike.

“Careful now,” Unk called after us as we rode away. “That kid's kind of funny in the head, you know. He's big, too. There's no telling what he might do.”

We found Gerard in a lawn chair in his front yard, petting what looked like a little gray kitten sitting on his knees. We ditched our bikes and walked up to him, and as we got closer, I saw that it wasn't a kitten after all.

“Augie!” I said in a low voice. “He's got the squirrel tail.”

The tail was spread across Gerard's knees and he was running his chubby white fingers down the furry length of it, over and over again. In his other hand, his thumb rubbed back and forth over the rabbit's foot.

Gerard looked up then, saw us, and grinned, like he didn't have a care in the world. He didn't even look guilty, which really bugged me.

“Where did you get that?” I asked, pointing to his lap.

His grin faltered for a second, but then returned big as ever. “Want to feel it?” He held out the tail. “It's real soft. Soft as a rabbit.”

“What were you doing in the woods?” Augie asked, ignoring Gerard's outstretched hand.

“Wait a second,” I said. Something was bugging me about seeing Gerard with the squirrel tail, besides the obvious fact that he'd found it right near our fort. “Augie, didn't you say that thing would stink after a while?”

“Huh?” said Augie, looking surprised by my sudden changing of the subject. “Oh. Yeah.” He thought for a minute. “It
oughtta
stink by now.”

I didn't feel like getting close enough to find out for myself, especially after almost upchucking from the guts in the tent, so I asked Gerard, “Does it? Does that squirrel smell bad?”

Gerard shook his head. “My mom called it nasty. She was going to throw it away. But Gerard said no! So she fixed it.”

Fixed it? This was interesting. I wanted to ask how, but Augie was looking impatient. I figured she must have done that boiling-salting thing that Augie had told me about.

“Gerard, we know where you found that,” he said. “What were you doing in the woods?”

Gerard pointed to me. “
You
said. Remember? You said you were making a fort.”

“So you followed us?” I demanded.

He nodded. “You saw me,” he said, and—I swear—he giggled, like it was a secret little joke.

I had a brain flash of that brief second in the woods when I thought I'd seen something out of the corner of my eye, then had dismissed the idea.

It must have been Gerard.

“I like the fort,” Gerard went on. “It's nice. But there were no gummy worms.”

“Yeah,” I said. “We saw your gummy worms. They were almost as nice as the squirrel guts on my sleeping bag.”

“And you took our calendar!” said Augie.

“What were you doing lighting all those matches?” I added.

Gerard's eyes popped open, and he looked very frightened. “Gerard does
not
play with matches!” he cried.

“Then why did you?” I asked.

“No! Not Gerard!” he blubbered, beginning to cry. His hands rose from his lap and fluttered nervously. “No matches for Gerard. No matches! No fire!” His round white face had turned bright red, and his eyes kept on blinking really fast.

“Come on, Gerard,” I said. “You admitted you were there. Just give us the calendar, okay?”

“And promise you won't go back,” Augie said.

At that, Gerard did this weird thing where his eyes rolled up and to the side, almost like he was trying to disappear, or like he thought if he couldn't see us, maybe
we'd
disappear. He became very still. His hands, which had been stroking the rabbit's foot and squirrel tail, froze. He was like a big, blind stone statue.

I looked over at Augie and we stared at each other, wide-eyed, wondering,
What do we do now?

I thought for a minute. Gerard had been in the woods, for sure. He had the squirrel tail to prove it. He'd been in the fort for sure, too: he'd left the gummy worms. But, for some reason, I believed him about the matches. And if he hadn't lit them and trashed the place and taken the calendar, who had?

I was pretty sure I knew.

I said, “Okay, Gerard. You're not allowed to play with matches. You promised you wouldn't. And you didn't, did you?”

Gerard's face relaxed. His eyes opened and darted from mine to Augie's and back as he shook his head no. He looked down happily at the squirrel tail and the rabbit's foot and his hands began their rhythmic stroking again.

“So who
did
light the matches?” I went on.

The eyes flew up under the lids again and stayed there. The hands froze. The statue was back.

“Do you know?”

No answer.

I tried a different tactic, trying to get him to relax. “Was it your mother?” I asked in a teasing voice.