Signal (11 page)

He gives me a long, penetrating look and then a nod. I leave, feeling his eyes following me.

On my bike again, I zoom down the rutted dirt path onto the trail, trying to shake off the feel of those knowing eyes.

Josie races beside me, and I think about the morning we discovered the torn, red-stained bits of a white T-shirt and followed the trail of the “bloody guy.” It was six days ago, though it feels much longer. I pedal along, realizing how many trips Josie and I have made up and down this path, and how odd it is to know this is possibly the last time we’ll do it.

Maybe that’s why everything looks and smells and sounds sharper than normal to me. Josie’s always excited when she’s free to race around in the woods, so it’s hard to tell if she recognizes that this is a special day.

Some painted turtles are out sunning themselves on the mossy, half-sunken logs in a pond, and their red-and-yellow throats look especially bright. They slip silently under the duckweed that floats on the pond’s surface. I don’t think I ever before noticed the incredible neon green of those weeds.

One by one, frogs hidden by the water’s edge croak
and jump into the water with loud plops. This drives Josie wild. She races over to the edge of the pond, stares into the water, and then looks at me as if to say,
You heard that, too, right? So where did they go?

A male wood duck takes off, making his squealing call. Then I see a hen with a string of ducklings swimming behind her. Her mate had flown off, trying to distract me from the babies. On the other side of the pond is a dead tree with a big hole in the trunk, where I bet she had her nest. I feel kind of sad to think I won’t be here to see the ducklings grow.

I brush off these misgivings, reminding myself that Cam said there are dogs on her planet. If there are dogs, there have got to be other animals, too.

Soon I get to the place where I know Cam’s tent sits right above me. I stop and look up, but I can’t see any sign of it. There’s nobody else on the trail this early, not even Ernie and Charlene, and I’m tempted to call out to Cam but decide not to take the chance.

I stash my bike extra carefully and start up the hill. “This could be the last time we have to climb this bugger,” I tell Josie. “Not that it ever bothered
you
.”

At the top, I walk along the edge, lean over where the tent sits below, and say in a cheery, singsong voice, “Rise and shine,
Cam
-per! Get it?
Cam
per?”

After a few seconds I hear the sound of the tent door unzipping, and Cam crawls out. She blinks in the sudden brightness, yawns, and says grumpily, “Maybe it’s
good you’re not coming with me. I don’t think my people are ready for your blazing wit.”

I grin down at her. “Well, they’re just going to have to deal with my sophisticated ways. ’Cause if they show up, I’m going with you.”

She peers at me, her mouth falling open in a little O. For once, I’ve managed to throw Cam off balance.

“You mean it?” she asks softly.

The hope in her voice makes my heart do a little flip.

I nod. “If that ship comes, I’m on it.”

“You’re sure?” Cam asks.

I nod again.

“What about your dad?” she asks.

“It might take him a couple days to notice I’m gone,” I say, “but then he’ll be fine.” I can feel her hesitation, and I give her another big grin.

She keeps looking at me. “Are you sure?” she says. “I don’t know …”

I laugh. “Cam! You’ve been bugging me to come with you, and now you’re going to try to talk me out of it? Come on.”

Suddenly she laughs, too, and her face turns to pure happiness. “If you change your mind once we get there, I’m sure they’ll bring you back,” she says.

“That’s good to know,” I say. “Now, would you hurry and get up here? We need to talk about building that signal.”

I
TAKE A BOX OF STRAWBERRY
P
OP
-T
ARTS FROM MY
backpack, but keep the bag of Tootsie Rolls hidden to surprise Cam with later. As we eat, I ask Cam to explain to me exactly how we are going to build a signal using only a board, a hammer and nails, some rope, and a tape measure.

“A board, a hammer and nails, some rope, a tape measure, and a
stick
,” she corrects me.

“Oh, a
stick
. That really clears things up.”

Cam rolls her eyes. “Come on. We need to find a fairly sturdy stick about five feet long, nice and straight.”

We look around until we find a dead branch that meets Cam’s specifications. When I ask her again how we’re going to make the signal, she says it will be easier just to show me. “And we can’t begin until late this afternoon. If we’re seen while we’re doing this, it’ll ruin everything,” she warns.

We sit under the sycamore tree and pass the time teaching Josie to balance a Milk-Bone on her nose. She does it, but looks at us as if to say,
This is dumb. What’s the point?
So we teach her to balance it, then flip it in the air and catch it. After a series of successful attempts, she loses interest, probably because she’s bored.

When we eat lunch, I look at the huge open field. “That wheat only stands about three feet high,” I say to Cam. “Anybody with eyes will see us when we’re standing out there.”

I don’t mention Ray’s name, but I’m sure she’s thinking about him, too.

“I know. That’s one reason we’re waiting as long as we can. But I think the wheat’s high enough to hide us if we crouch down. If someone comes, we should be okay if we hear them in time.”

A small plane flies over, causing Cam to frown with concern. “That’s our biggest worry. There must be a small airport over that way,” she says, pointing. “I’ve noticed over the past few days they keep coming and going from there. They’re flying low, too.”

“If one of them spots us, what do you think they’ll do?” I ask.

“It depends on how far along we’ve gotten with the signal, probably,” she answers. “If they look down and see an obvious design, who knows? They might think it’s interesting, and go on about their business. Or they might call their pilot buddies to have a look. Or they could call someone to report vandalism to a farmer’s
field. Or, they could call it in to the media.” She makes a face. “That would be the worst.”

I picture the drive to the deserted farmhouse swarming with TV vans and reporters. “That would not be good,” I agree. “No spaceship will land if that happens.”

“It’s a chance we have to take,” Cam says matter-of-factly. She gives me a happy smile and says, “But I refuse to believe that anything will go wrong. We’re
so close
. We’ve got the ideal wheat field. We’ve got a full moon. You’re my good luck charm, and you and Josie are coming with me. Everything’s perfect.”

Her confidence is contagious. I’m ready. I can’t wait to get started.

Finally, when my watch says four-thirty, Cam says it’s time. We walk toward the field carrying our materials. I’m wearing my backpack containing the food and drinks for us and Josie, my clothes, and my soccer ball.

We enter the wheat, Cam in front, me behind. “Try to have Josie follow right behind you,” she tells me.

To Josie she says, “We can’t have you racing around making your own designs, Josie. You’d probably spell out something like DOGS RULE THIS PLANET!”

“Knowing Josie, she’d more likely write DROP FOOD HERE!” I say. Then, in my command voice, I tell Josie to heel and, I swear, it’s as if she senses this is important, because she does.

When we get to what appears to be the very center of the field, Cam stops, looks around, and, seeming satisfied,
says, “Okay, we need to put the stick in the ground perfectly upright.”

We try. But even though it rained the night before last, we can’t get the stick to go into the ground deep enough to stand on its own.

I look at Cam, feeling anxious, wondering if this means the whole plan is doomed.

“I
knew
you were meant to be with me on this, Owen,” she says. “Since there are two of us, we don’t even need the dumb stick! You can stand here instead.”

“Oh, great. I get it.
I
get to be the dumb stick.”

Cam cracks up, then promises, “We’ll take turns. After you watch me do one circle, you’ll know what to do.”

She takes the board and hammers a large nail into one end. Then she ties the rope firmly onto the nail.

“Can you hand me the tape measure?” she asks.

I do. She carefully measures off twenty feet of rope and says, “Hold the rope right here at the twenty-foot mark.”

I say, “Yes,
sir.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to sound bossy.”

“Since when?” I ask, smiling to let her know I’m joking.

“Okay, now watch! I’m going to start the first circle.”

“I just stand here and hold the rope at twenty feet, right?” “Right.”

Josie and I watch as Cam walks delicately through the wheat until the rope tightens. Then she puts the board on the ground, bends down, and starts pushing the board along. It takes me a few seconds to see what’s happening. The wheat bends over and gets flattened as the board passes over it. By keeping the rope tight, Cam is making a four-foot-wide swath in the wheat, in a perfect circle twenty feet from the center point: me.

“Stay right there, but turn with me,” Cam calls. “And keep your eyes peeled for anybody coming.”

I do. It takes a pretty long time to make the full circle, and when Cam returns, she is red-faced and sweaty from bending over and pushing.

“It
is
simple,” I tell her. “But it’s also very cool. I wish I could see it from the air!”

“You will, when we take off.” She hands me the board and smiles. “Your turn. Forty feet this time. I went clockwise, so you go counterclockwise.”

“So the wheat will be mashed down in the opposite direction,” I say. “That’s important, huh?”

“It’s a nice artistic touch. My parents will appreciate that.”

So I start my circle forty feet from Cam, pushing in the opposite direction. I’m afraid Josie will come after me, messing up my pattern, so I tell her to stay, and she seems content to sit by Cam.

It’s really hard work. When I get back to Cam I say, “No fair. My circle was twice as big as yours!”

“Yeah, but now I have to do sixty feet,” she says.
She takes a big slug of water and then asks, “Did you see that plane?”

“What plane?” I ask with alarm.

“Another small one flew over, maybe about a quarter mile that way,” she says, pointing south. “It just kept going, though, and didn’t act suspicious.”

“I never even heard it,” I say. Which isn’t surprising, really. The wheat stalks make a pretty loud crunchy noise as they’re pushed over, plus I was facing down and concentrating on making my swath.

We measure off sixty feet, and Cam sets out into the wheat.

I’m standing there, holding my end of the rope and daydreaming about life on another planet. Cam told me her home is similar to Earth, but how similar? I have so many questions to ask her. I’ll have time after we’ve finished the signal, when we’re lying in the center of the circle, watching and waiting …

A sound snaps me out of my daydream. A car is coming up the gravel drive to the farmhouse, raising a cloud of dust behind it. I drop to my knees, grab for Josie’s collar, and desperately follow the line of rope with my eyes. I see Cam—or her bent back and rear end, anyway. I’m sure she hasn’t heard the car.

I jerk hard on the rope to get her attention.

“Hey!” she protests, standing up and looking in my direction. I point frantically toward the farmhouse. She doesn’t waste any time looking, just drops down out of sight.

I lie down flat on my belly, one arm around Josie, another on her snout, ready to clamp down if she makes a sound. Luckily, she seems to think this is a neat new game we’re playing and stays very still, her eyes locked on mine.

I strain to listen, and think I hear a car door slam, then another, and voices. Has Ray figured out where the old Davie place is? Or could it be the sheriff and a deputy, returning for another look around? The real estate lady and a customer? A furious farmer and his hotheaded, shoot-first-ask-questions-later hired man? A TV news van with a full crew? Did whoever it is see us? Is someone headed out into the field at this very moment, as Cam and I wait like sitting ducks? All the possibilities race through my mind until I can’t stand it anymore and poke my head up for a quick peek.

To my surprise, there are three vehicles parked outside the farmhouse: a silver pickup, a little green car, and a black jeep. There are a bunch of high school kids fooling around, laughing and hollering and chasing each other as they unload coolers and blankets and towels. It looks like they’re planning a party. I can’t believe it. Are they really going to picnic in the yard of the farmhouse?

Music blares suddenly. One of the guys hoists a big CD player to his shoulder, and two of the girls start dancing around the yard. Nobody is looking out at the wheat field, so I keep my head up. I see the very top of
Cam’s head peeking over the wheat stalks, and I know she is watching, too.

To my relief, the kids head to the edge of the hill overlooking the trail and, one by one, disappear. They’re going to have their party down by the stream, maybe at the old mill site, not up here.

Whew.

There’s no telling how long the party will last, though. At some point, those kids will be back to load up their cars and go home. The good news, I guess, is that a bunch of teenage partiers aren’t likely to care what two younger kids like us are doing, even if they do happen to see us in the field. It’ll probably be dark by then, anyway.

I stand up and give the rope another tug and after a couple seconds Cam, too, is standing. Then she pulls the rope taut and continues her slow, circular movement around me.

This circle takes a really long time. When Cam returns to the center, her hair is messed up and wildlooking, filled with dust and bits of wheat and plastered to her forehead with sweat.

I hand her the water bottle and she gulps noisily. “Close call,” I say, “but it could have been worse.”

She nods and takes a final swallow.