Sammy Keyes and the Wild Things (11 page)

“But we don't have our sleeping bags,” Gabby said. “Or water!”

Casey scratched the back of his neck. “The five of us can fit in the tent and we've got two bags. We'll survive.”

“But . . .” Gabby's eyes got huge. “Oh, Robin's not going to like this! She's not going to like this at all!”

“What are we going to do with Marvin?” Cricket asked. “He can't stay in the tent with us—he won't fit!”

“And he's a
stinker,
” Billy said. “Man, he's rank!”

I looked at the others. “What if we set up the second tent and put him
inside
it?”

Casey nodded. “That should work.”

“If he doesn't claw his way out,” Billy said.

“They don't have
talons,
” Gabby said like a know-it-all. “They're not
predators
. They're
scavengers
.”

“Yeah. They've got to eat
other
people's snakes,” Billy grumbled. He was still hauling his stupid snake around, only now it was about five feet long, with about a foot of skin dangling. “And maybe that thing doesn't have
talons,
but I bet it hammerheads out of the tent in five minutes.”

Cricket took a deep breath. “Let's not fight.” She turned to Gabby. “We're lucky we ran into these guys, okay? They helped us catch Marvin, they're sharing their supplies . . . they're being really nice. We need to just set up camp and make the best of it.”

“I agree,” I said. “And if anyone's got a better idea, let's hear it.”

No one did. So we put Gabby in charge of Marvin, while Billy made a fire ring, Cricket gathered wood, and Casey and I put up the second tent.

When everything was set, we all worked together to get Marvin inside the tent. He
was
really stinky, but it was actually easier than it might have been because he was pretty subdued. And after we unwrapped him and closed the screen, he just sort of stood there while we crouched in front of the tent and looked at him with a flashlight.

Now, maybe we shouldn't have been using a flashlight on him at all, but it's not like we were putting it in his eyes or anything. And Cricket and Gabby were in obvious awe over the fact that right there, right through the mesh, was a real, live
condor
. And I don't know, it was sort of contagious.

Then Billy said, all matter-of-factly, “What if he's sick from the bird flu?”

We all pulled a face at him like, Oh,
nice,
and right then Marvin tried opening his wings. He couldn't raise them very far, but I was close enough now where I could see that he had some kind of rash that ran under one wing and along part of his chest.

I took the flashlight from Gabby and shined it directly on the rash. “What's
that
?”

“What's what?” Cricket asked.

“Those spots.” Marvin's wing was down now, but I could still see some of the spots along his chest. “They're brown.”

Almost like he was trying to show her what I was talking about, Marvin turned and raised his wing again. And that's when I saw that it wasn't just spots. There was a whole area of patchy, crusty brown.

It wasn't some weird bird rash.

It was blood.

And in the pit of my stomach I knew—Marvin had been shot.

TWELVE

Casey confirmed it. “It looks like he was hit with birdshot.”

“Somebody
shot
him?” Gabby gasped. “What kind of idiot would shoot a condor?”

Cricket's eyes were huge. “They must've seen him and thought he was something else. Like maybe a turkey vulture sitting in a tree? Nobody would shoot a condor on
purpose
.”

We were all quiet a minute, then I asked Casey, “Is birdshot meant specifically for birds?”

He kinda grinned. “That's why they call it birdshot.”

“But you wouldn't go hunting, say, rabbits with it?”

“Oh, I think people do.”

“People like Elmer Fudd!” Billy said.

Billy said it all goofy-like, which made Gabby glare at him and say, “This is serious, okay?”

“I wewize dat!” he said, sounding just like Elmer Fudd.

“Then act like it!” Gabby snapped.

He put his finger to his lips and whispered, “Pweaze, wady! I'm twying to wisten!” Then he turned to Casey. “Gow won, den.”

“I don't even know what I was saying,” Casey grumbled.

“Sowwey.”

“How about boar?” I asked Casey, trying to get things back on track. “Would you use birdshot if you were trying to kill a boar?”

“
Buck
shot, maybe. Birdshot would probably just make it mad. And shot's messy. If you're hunting for game, you have to get all the little pellets out before you eat it.” He hesitated. “You know how shot works, right?”

I shook my head. “And how come you do? You're scaring me, you know.”

He laughed. “I'm not into guns, but there's this guy in our neighborhood who's a skeet-shooting fanatic.”

“Skeet? Is that some kind of bird?”

“Sort of. It's a clay pigeon.”

“A
clay
pigeon?”

“It's a little Frisbee of clay that everyone calls a pigeon. Don't ask me.”

“
You
know,” Billy said, pretending to aim a shotgun in the air. He cried, “Pull!” then tracked who-knows-what with the imaginary barrel of his gun. “Phuuugh!
Crack-crack,
phuuugh!” He lowered the “gun” and blew on the end of the imaginary barrel.

Casey eyed Billy with a scowl. “
Anyway,
shotguns use fat cartridges with a bunch of pellets in them. When you fire a shotgun, the cartridge opens up and the pellets spray. The size of the pellets depends on what you're hunting, but any size shot starts out in a tight wad, then spreads out. So the closer you are to something, the more concentrated the damage.”

“Can you tell how far away someone was when they shot Marvin?”

He looked at Marvin and shook his head. “I have no idea. But I do think Marvin's lucky to be alive.”

Ever since I'd seen the blood on Marvin's chest, I'd had the eerie feeling that this hadn't been an accident. But who wants to believe that someone had come out to the woods to hunt and kill an endangered species? Now, though, that eerie feeling had become the creeping shivers. Like an army of ticks doing a speedy march up my spine. So I finally just came out and said it. “I think someone shot him on purpose.”

Cricket looked at me like there wasn't enough combined insanity in the world to make someone actually believe that. “Why would anyone shoot a condor on purpose?”

“I don't know, but shot pellets hit him under his wing and on the inside of his chest. He must've been in flight when someone fired at him.”

“I still say they thought he was a turkey vulture,” Cricket said.

“Or maybe he startled them,” Gabby added.

I shook my head. “Is it so hard to believe someone would shoot a condor?”

“Yes!” Cricket and Gabby both cried.

I poofed out a breath of air, then said, “What about AC-what's-his-name? Were you able to track him?”

“It's AC-34, and it's a
female,
” Gabby said like a nature girl smarty-pants. “She's Marvin's
mom,
remember?”

“Oh, right,” I said, “like I was so reminded by the
name
.”

“Shut up,” Nature Girl snapped back.

“Look. I'm just thinking maybe the mom got shot, too. We heard two shots. Two distinct shots, remember?”

“AC-34's fine,” Gabby said.

“How do you know that?”

“Because I tracked her signal, that's how. I tracked both of them. AC-34 was headed west. It was
Marvin's
signal pattern that was weird. And when I tracked him down about an hour later and saw that he was hurt, I started following him and calling for help.”

“How long did you follow him?” Cricket asked.

“All day. Forever.
Hours
.”

I scratched my head. “Well, I tell you what, my gut tells me that him being hurt was no accident.”

Casey and Billy had been hanging around listening to all of this, but now Billy broke away from the group, saying, “You go ahead and listen to your gut and I'll listen to mine. It's snake time!”

“Aren't you afraid it's rancid by now?” I asked.

“Or poisoned?” Gabby said. “What if it bit itself?”

Billy laughed. “You just want me to give it all to Marvin! Well, forget it! I conked him, I'm eatin' him!”

Cricket's face pinched up as she whispered, “Do you think someone was wanting to
eat
Marvin? Like what if they're stuck down here and starving and—”

“You don't go shooting a rare, endangered species for dinner!” Gabby snapped. “It's just not done!”

Cricket gave a helpless shrug. “But if they didn't know . . .”

“How could they not know?” I asked. “It was in flight and it's huge!”

Gabby spun on me. “How could they not know? If it wasn't for us,
you
wouldn't have known!”

Oh. Good point. So I shut up about it and helped Billy get a fire going while the others got the people tent ready. I was starving. We all were. Which is probably half the reason we were all snapping at each other. I mean, it's bad enough to be lost and tired, but lost and tired and hungry and thirsty and in charge of a shot-up condor?

We were all totally stressed.

Well, everyone except Billy. He was having a blast getting his snake ready for roasting. “Check out this skin!” he said after he'd gutted the snake and peeled the skin off whole. “This is the most bitchen snakeskin ever!”

We all looked at him like, Bitchen? 'cause who actually
uses
that word? Sure, I'd heard it in old movies and stuff, but in real life?

“And check out the rattle! I'm gonna tie a piece of leather to it and wear it around my neck. You know—like those surfer dudes wear a shark's tooth?”

“Like cannibals wear shrunken heads?” Gabby muttered.

Billy's eyes got big. “The head! I should have kept the head! I could have—”

“Billy!” we all shouted. “Enough!”

He scowled and grumbled, “You guys are no fun,” then dug through his backpack for some spices.

I went up to Cricket and Gabby, who were searching their daypacks for food. “What's left?”

“Not much,” Cricket said. “Gabby's down to one smashed energy bar.”

“How about water?”

Cricket checked her canteen. “About an inch left.”

It was the same story with Gabby, and I had even less.

“We'll survive,” Cricket whispered. “It's just for one night.”

“What are you guys whispering about?”

Casey's voice startled me, so I spun around. “Uh, nothing.”

“Food,” Gabby said. “We're talking about food and water and how we don't have any.”

“Don't say it like it's his fault,” Cricket said through her teeth. “Do I have to remind you that all of this is
your
fault?”

“My fault? Like it's my fault somebody shot a condor? What was I supposed to do? Let it
die
?”

“Whoa. Take it easy,” Casey said. “I've got plenty of food; the problem is water.”

I pulled a little face, which I shouldn't have because it made my bottom lip crack. I tried to lick the pain away and said, “You don't have much, either?”

He shook his head. “Maybe a cup. Not enough to cook dinner, that's for sure. And most of my stuff has to be rehydrated.”

Just then I smelled something wonderful. Something smoky, roasty, mouthwatering wonderful. And before it dawned on me what it was, my stomach grumbled like, Let-me-at-it!

“Oh, wow . . .” Gabby gasped, her nostrils flaring as she inhaled the smell. “That can't be . . .
snake
?”

One by one we stumbled over to the fire ring. It was like Billy had cast out lines of aroma and was now reeling us in by the nose. He had the snake lashed to a stick and was roasting it like the biggest hot dog ever.

“I've never tried snake before,” Gabby said, still in a trance.

“Me either,” Cricket said, all snake-charmed.

I didn't say anything. I just drooled.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Billy said, in slow rotisserie mode. “I saved a chunk for our wounded phoenix, but the rest is mine.”

“Our wounded phoenix?” Casey asked.

Billy rotated his snake-kabob. “From the ash shall rise a magnificent beast, and all shall gaze in wonder at its glory!”

Casey shook his head. “Where do you
get
this stuff?”

Billy grinned. “From the Book of Billy Pratt.” He looked around at us. “So what are
you
guys eating?”

“Trail mix,” we grumbled.

“Mm-mmm,” he said, slowly turning the snake. “Sounds delish.”

So we all sat around the fire choking down nuts and raisins while Billy roasted his snake. And it was looking pretty done to me, when all of a sudden the lashings that held the snake caught on fire.

Billy started dancing around, blowing on the snake, crying, “Out, you heathen flame! This is my snake! Mine!” But all that did was make the snake fall off the stick and into the dirt.

Billy stood there a minute, smoky stick in one hand, charred and dusty snake at his feet. But then he chucked the stick into the fire, dusted off the snake, and declared, “Chow time!”

We watched him scarf for about five minutes before I finally chuckled and said, “What a caveman you are, Billy.”

He showed me his snaky teeth. “Ug.”

“What's it taste like?” I asked. “Besides dirt.”

“Chicken,” he teased. Then he added, “Actually, it does.” And
then,
because Billy doesn't know when to quit, he said, “Hmm. I wonder if condor tastes like chicken.”

“That's it,” Gabby said, standing up and heading for the tent. “I'm going to sleep.”

“Be there in a minute, honey!” Billy called.

“You're weird!” she called back.

Billy blew her a squeaky kiss. Then he grinned at Casey and said, “I believe the wench has a thing for me.”

“In your dreams,” Casey snorted.

“Which I'll get to soon enough! But for now, somebody tell us a scary story!”

I deadpanned, “Deep in the forest, between the darkness of time lost and souls betrayed, roamed a dreadful beast known as Billy Pratt. . . .”

“Aar-ooooo!”
Billy howled.

Casey laughed, but Cricket stood up and said, “I'm sorry, but I'm going to sleep, too. I'm just beat.”

Which left me and Casey sitting around the fire watching Billy eat snake. “That looks like it's all bone,” I said as he chucked another section of snake ribs into the fire.

“It is,” he admitted. “This sucker's one big tunnel of bones.”

“Does it really taste like chicken?” Casey asked.

“Here, bro. Be my guest.” He broke off a piece and handed it to Casey, then broke off another and handed it to me. “Don't tell the wenches,” he whispered. “Wouldn't want them to get jealous.”

So I took the snake, and yes, I ate it.

And you know what?

Rattlesnake tastes like chicken.

Kinda
stringy
chicken, kinda
tough
chicken, but still, chicken.

After we were all done picking the bones clean, we poked at the embers for a while and just laughed about stupid stuff.

Which basically means that Billy did all the talking.

And since the fire was dying down and Billy and Casey had jackets but I didn't, I wound up sitting with Casey, his jacket draped across both of us.

And really, I didn't know what we were doing up so late. I was dead tired, I was sore and parched and filthy and chapped, but I didn't want to go to sleep. I just wanted to sit under the stars with Casey and watch the fire burn down to embers, while Billy prattled on about the “snake floss” between his teeth and whatever else happened to ping-pong through his head.

But finally the fire was out, and Billy actually seemed to be running out of energy, too. So I said, “How
is
this sleep business going to work?” I looked back at the tent. “That is not a five-person tent.”

Billy stood. “Those wenches are just going to have to scootch. No way I'm staying out here so the centipedes can get me.”

“Centipedes?” I looked at Casey.
“Centipedes?”

He sort of shrug-nodded. “Little, but deadly. They come out at night.”

“Oh, great . . . !”

He laughed. “Yeah, they're pretty creepy.” He stood up. “So it's either let the bird go or cram into one tent.”

Obviously we couldn't let the bird go.

Which left the tent.

He shot Billy a look. “No Sleep Zombie tonight, all right, man? I have a feeling we're in for a killer day tomorrow.”

Aar-ooooo!