Chapter 2 – Gone

Upstairs in the house, eleven-year-old Mike Stout had heard the front door open and his mother call out, “Yes, you can come back tomorrow, Charlie, after they’ve learned to behave.”

Charlie’s “Okay Mrs. Stout,” was followed by the slam of the front door and the sound of his footsteps, hurrying along the garden path to the gate with its very hard to open bolt. “See you guys tomorrow,” he called.

Seething, Mike sat on the edge of his bed and glared across the room at Noel, his brother. “It’s all your fault,” he said, breaking the room’s icy silence. “You’ll be sorry”.

Noel smirked. “Your stuff’s still down by the pond.”

Mike started to rise, “You left my…” he said,  his voice rising with him, Then, half-standing, half-sitting, he thought about Mom downstairs, “I get you for this. Huh…” he sighed, and folding his arms tightly sat down heavily on his bed again

“Someone could steal it,” Noel goaded.

Mike pretended not to hear him. But none-the-less, he could not take his mind off the thought of his stuff, his fishing rod and slingshot. An instinct to get out of the house grew stronger and his stomach ached. Noel was right. Someone, anyone, could take it.

He glared at Noel, “I know what you’re trying to do,” he said, resisting the temptation to punch him.

“Who… me?” Noel asked, pointing at himself with an air of innocence.

“Yeah, you!” Mike replied, pointing an accusing finger. “You’re just trying to get me into more trouble with Mom,” he said, and clenching his teeth, lay down and turned his back to the room and Noel. Typical Noel, he thought, as the clinking of Mom washing dishes filtered up from the kitchen below, giving him an idea.

Mike’s spirits lifted, Mom would be another while at the sink. Maybe even long enough to slip out, make it to the pond, grab my stuff and get back. Ten minutes tops, he convinced himself.

Mike unclenched his teeth, rolled out over and sat on the edge of the bed. He looked at Noel with a determined grin.

Noel looked back at him and they glared at each other. Then Noel narrowed his eyes, inquiringly.

Satisfied, Mike got to his feet, and ignoring Noel, made his way to the bedroom window. Then pressing forehead against the glass, he rolled his head from side to side as he scanned the backyard.

The coast was clear.

He glanced back at Noel. And Noel gave him a ‘gotcha’ smile.

Mike’s hesitation evaporated and seized by an impulse, he opened the window and stuck his head out.

Halfway between the back door and the safety of the high grass and undergrowth in the surrounding forest, sat a stack of firewood, shrouded in ivy. I should be able to make it to the wood, he thought, glancing from the firewood to the back door.

Mind made up, he put a leg through the open window, turned to look at Noel and gave him a defiant glare. “You’d better not have lost my stuff.”

“Hey, you’re not thinking about doing anything stupid?” said Noel.

Mike let out an audible sigh “You’ll see.”

“Mom’s going to send to your room you for a week.” Mike ignored Noel’s comment and hoisting himself up, straddled the window. 

“Mom’s not going to like it.” said Noel, his ‘gotcha’ smile tinged with concern.

Mike put his other leg out and sat on the windowsill, then turned and lay on his belly, his legs dangling.

“And don’t think I’m going to cover for you again,” said Noel.

“Fine, just don’t be a snitch,” said Mike.

“I’m not a snitch,” said Noel indignantly.

But Mike didn’t hear him, he was already lowering himself down the outside, dropping to the ground with a soft thump.

Furtively, he made his way to the stack of firewood and peering around it, looked in through the open kitchen door at Mom, who was leaning over the sink with her back to him. He turned, stooped low, and using the stack for cover, made his way to the high grass beyond the white picket fence.

Stopping for a moment, he glance up at the bedroom window, to where Noel was pointing a finger mockingly at him, just before turning away, his chin jutting out at a stubborn angle.

Frustrated, Mike clenched his fists and made a wide circle stealthily around the house to a bend in the path leading to the pond. He stopped and raised his head to look back beyond the old wagon at the front of his home. No sign of Mom. All was quiet; no breeze stirred as the summer of 1920 drew to a close.

Turning away, he ran along a familiar path to a grassy clearing, deep in the forest and stopped, his shirt sticky with sweat. Bending over, he gripped his sides and took quick gulps of air. Then, wiping his forehead, he looked across the clearing at a rock jutting over a stream-fed pond, to where his stuff should be. But the rock was bare, his stuff was nowhere to be seen.

“Noel…” he fumed, walking over the soft ground, towards the rock,  his anger rising with every step. Drawing near, he spotted his fishing line draped from the rock, meandering in the slow-moving current. Quickening his pace he reached the line and hooked it with his fingers, “Just you wait, Noel,” he uttered, glancing to where the line      disappeared into some high grass at the edge of the clearing.

Letting the line slip easily over his fingers, he traced it to where his fishing rod and slingshot lay carelessly thrown about. Wait till I get home, he thought, and picking up the slingshot, tucked it into his back pocket, where he kept small stones as ammunition.

He picked up his fishing rod and retraced his steps towards the rock, reeling in the line as he went. At the edge of the rock, he continued to reel—until the line snagged on some weeds. Pulling and whipping back and forth, he struggled to free it, his fishing rod bent double, like the letter ‘C’. Then the line slackened, the ‘C’ became an ‘I’ and the line floated to the surface—all of it, the hook was gone.

 “That does it. When I get home, I’ll…” He stopped, a grin spreading across his face as he thought of Noel, waiting for him to get back, wondering and sweating in case Mom decided to check up on them. I know he won’t snitch but he’ll get in trouble just the same, he mused, laying down his fishing rod on the rock. “Hah…I’ll show you, I’ll stay as long as I like,” he said to the air. And shucking off his shoes, he stripped down to his shorts and took a flying leap off the rock, into the pond.

The water felt icy, making him breathless. He surfaced quickly and gasped in short sharp breaths until his breathing slowed and he was able to relax. Still smiling, he thought of Noel stuck in the bedroom and he rolled onto his back, floating lazily in the easy current, soothing his anger.

But after a few minutes, he thought about Mom. Better get back. He swam to the rock, clambered up and picked up his shirt, using it as a towel to dry off some, before twisting it to wring some of the water out and pull it over his head.

Struggling to get his arms through the shirt’s damp sleeves, a strange feeling made him shiver. Yet it was not from the cold water, it was like nothing he ever felt before. Scarcely able to breathe, the sensation squirmed its way up his spine, chilling him all over with an imminent dread.

He tensed, immobile, his face framed by his shirt, his arms stuck in the air at awkward angles. Only his eyes moved, side to side, back and forth, but nothing seemed to be out of place.

Unfreezing, he turned about slowly, still scanning the clearing. No leaves stirred on the trees; even the forest seemed to be holding its breath.

The feeling inside intensified. Mom…Noel…Captain Jack…I’d better get home, he thought, dispelling all fear.

Feverishly, he wriggled his arms through his shirt sleeves. Pulling it partway down, leaving it bunched about his midriff. He reached for his overalls and shooting his legs through them, pulled them on, hitching up one of the straps across his shoulder—all the while scanning, checking the surrounding forest.

He reached for his shoes and socks, but, they’ll take too much time to put on. So leaving them where they lay, he darted across the soft grass to the stone littered path leading home, barely slowing as stones tore at his feet, making them bleed.

He raced on, the stitch in his side growing ever more painful. The bend in the path came into view.

Almost there, he urged himself, ignoring his painful side and the sick feeling that grew evermore nauseous.

Go faster...

Only Ten more strides to the bend…

Nearly there

BOOM!

A blast, like a brick wall, punched him hard in the chest and flung him back along the trail, knocking the air out of his lungs, leaving him stunned, unable to breathe.

As if he was going deeper into a tunnel, his angle of vision receded to a small circle of light.

Then his chest heaved and air gushed into his screaming lungs, “Huuuugh…” he gasped.

After a few minutes or seconds, he wasn’t sure which, dazed and numb, his senses filtered through his dazed state. The numbness faded, replaced by a buzzing in his head and the weight of something heavy on his chest, pinning him down.

Overhead, trees swayed wildly all around, their branches snapping and falling down. Numb and confused, he watched them fall, some on top of him, crowding out the daylight.

A splinter of light, a crack in the shroud of foliage, split the darkness. Frantically, he moved his head from side to side and broke through the shroud. Daylight flashed in his eyes, blinding him momentarily. He squinted against the glare and looked around.

Overhead, the tops of the trees and most of their branches had been snapped off. Slowly the truth dawned; he was buried under a mass of broken tree branches.

He wriggled to break free and felt a sharp pain sear along his left arm. He opened his mouth to scream, but a voice inside his head willed him to lie still and grimacing against the pain, he heard the urgent sound of air hissing through his teeth as his chest rose and fell in rapid succession.

Slowly, the heaving in his chest calmed and the sound of his hissing breath quietened. He looked about and spotted a tree root sticking out of the ground nearby. As he reached to grasp it, more pain shot along his arm, his breathing became fast and shallow again, its urgent sound growing ever louder between his teeth once more. He thought of Mom, Noel and Captain Jack. I need to get out of here. He swallowed hard, willing himself to relax; to lie still, to wait for the pain to ease; for the world to stop hurtling sideways.

The pain eased. He felt tears trickle on his temple and sweat pool in his eyes, stinging them.  His sight dimmed. And in that dim state, between consciousness and oblivion, he saw a specter like figure drawing nearer, pulling away some of the debris, reaching for him.

“Who…” he slurred.

His voice trailed off and he was in a tunnel once more, his vision and light receding as blackness closed in and his world was gone.