Hideout Page 3

  “Dump the stuff out of the backpack,” I said.

  Davey dumped the contents onto the deck, and I picked up the Ziploc bag with the milk and dropper. I gave it to him, and we went inside the camp and stood over the pot that held Baldy’s nest. Davey seemed to know what to do and took some milk into the dropper, dug around until he found Baldy, and dripped some on the mouse’s face.

  “Doesn’t look like he’s drinkin’ it,” he said.

  “Put it in his mouth.”

  Davey tapped Baldy’s mouth with the tip of the dropper. After a moment the mouse mouthed at it and appeared to take some of the milk.

  “How much you think?” Davey asked.

  “I don’t know anything about it,” I said.

  Baldy took a few more drops, then refused to open his mouth.

  “Maybe you should try again later,” I said.

  Davey studied Baldy for a moment, then put the dropper into the bag again and recapped the pill bottle. We went back onto the deck and I saw Davey eyeing the water jug.

  “Can I drink some of that?” he asked.

  “Of course,” I said. “It’s for you.”

  We sat down with the pack between us. Davey picked up the water, admired it like a Christmas present, and unscrewed the cap. He turned it up and took a couple of long swallows.

  “Good,” he said, catching his breath.

  “You can’t live on Dr Pepper.”

  “I know,” he said. “I ran out yesterday.”

  “You haven’t had anything to drink since yesterday?”

  “I licked the dew off some leaves this mornin’. And I was gonna boil some creek water to make it safe.”

  “Geez. Drink some more.”

  Davey drank half the water in the jug while he watched me open one of the cans of ravioli and set it before him.

  “Eat that,” I said. “And a banana. I don’t have a fork or anything.”

  Davey set the water down and stood up. “I’ve got one inside. I’ve got just about everything I need.”

  Davey went inside the camp and reappeared with a rusty fork. He sat and shoveled ravioli into his mouth.

  “I remember this fork,” he said while he chewed. “I found one of my old toy cars in there, too. It’s just like we left it.”

  “Maybe I should call your dad when I get home,” I said.

  Davey took another bite and shook his head. “I don’t know his phone number,” he said in a matter-of-fact way.

  “What about your brother?”

  Davey shook his head again.

  “How about your mom?”

  “She’s dead.”

  “Oh … Well, I can’t keep bringing you things like this. My parents are gonna get suspicious.”

  “You don’t have to,” he said. “Just come and visit me.”

  “But you drank almost all the water I brought, and you can’t just lick leaves every morning.”

  Davey ate the last of the ravioli and set his fork in the can. “I know,” he said. “I’m gonna boil water.”

  I shoved a banana toward him. “Eat that. Keep eating all you want.”

  He grabbed the banana and started peeling it.

  “Do you have matches?” I asked.

  He shook his head as he took big bites.

  “How are you gonna make a fire?” I asked.

  Davey shrugged. “I’ll figure it out. Indians did.”

  “I’ll bring you some matches.”

  “What about boards? Can you bring me some?” he asked.

  “Uh, maybe. Dad has a few pieces lying around that he didn’t use for his projects.”

  “I’ll pay you for it.”

  “You don’t have to pay me, but it’s gonna take more than just some scrap wood to fix this place up. And it might take a while.”

  Davey grabbed the other banana and began peeling it. “Well, I’ve been havin’ to look for food most of the time.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Have you caught any fish?” he asked me.

  “No,” I said. “I was looking for a dead body.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. A man that got lost out here. Dad says he’s probably dead since they haven’t found him.”

  “That must be why the boats kept coming by and the helicopters were in the air.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “You see them?”

  Davey nodded. “I hid my canoe.”

  “Why?”

  Davey kept chewing and didn’t answer.

  “Well,” I continued, “I thought maybe I could find the body. But this swamp is bigger than I expected.”

  “What are you gonna do when you find it?”

  “I guess tell the police. Get on the news and stuff.”

  “Yeah, that would be cool,” Davey said.

  He finished his second banana and looked at the hot dogs.

  “They’re cold,” I said, “but they’ll fill you up.”

  “I was thinkin’ they’d make good fish bait,” he said.

  “I can’t leave you my fishing rod. Dad would ask me about it.”

  Davey shook his head and stood up. “Don’t need it. I found some fishin’ line and hooks in the camp. And I had an idea.”

  Davey disappeared into the camp and came back with a wad of tangled line, rusty hooks, and a cooking pot. I watched as he sat down and poured the rest of the water out of the jug into the pot. Then he began untangling the line.

  “I’m gonna tie a hook and line to the handle of the milk jug and float it out into the deep part of the creek like a big cork. I heard of it before. I’ll bet I can catch somethin’.”

  I watched Davey’s fingers working at the hopeless tangle. Then I studied his face and the way he squinted his eyes. It was obvious that he couldn’t see well.

  “Davey,” I said.

  He didn’t look up. “What?”

  I didn’t really plan on saying it, but it just came out of my mouth. “Are you telling me the truth?”

  6

  Davey kept working at the tangled fishing line and didn’t answer my question.

  “Did you run away from somewhere?” I asked him.

  His fingers continued to move, but I could see he wasn’t concentrating on the line anymore.

  “I’m just curious,” I said. “I won’t tell anybody.”

  He still wouldn’t look at me, and I sensed he was growing uncomfortable.

  “I told you,” he said. “I’m waitin’ on my brother. And Daddy.”

  I knew he wasn’t telling me everything, but I decided maybe it wasn’t any of my business. There were things I didn’t want him to know about me, too. I reached out and pulled the tangled line away from him. “You’ll never get that undone. I’ll just pull some off my fishing reel.”

  He nodded and let me stuff the wad into my pocket.

  “It’s probably rotten anyway,” I said.

  I got my fishing rod out of the Bream Chaser and returned. I broke off my lure. Then I stripped about twenty feet of line from the reel, bit it off, and handed it to him.

  “That ought to be enough for the jug, and maybe you can rig a fishing pole.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  Davey took one end of the line and tried to thread it through the eye of one of the rusty fishhooks. It was hopeless.

  “I’ll help,” I said.

  He handed it to me. I got the line through the eye, then remembered that I still didn’t know how to tie a fishing knot. I recalled what Dad had told me about twisting it and sticking the end back through the hole—but then it was too confusing and I felt the pressure of Davey watching my fingers. I tied a quick square knot and gave it back to him.

  “That’ll work,” I said.

  Davey put a piece of hot dog on the hook, stood, and tossed the jug into the creek. A cool breeze came over the tops of the trees and rippled the water. I thought about how lonely I’d be if I were by myself out here in this abandoned camp. I grabbed my fishing rod and backpack and stood up as well
.

  “Do you have a flashlight?” I asked him.

  “I did. But it got wet and now it won’t work.”

  “What do you do when it’s dark?”

  “I sit out here.”

  “And do what?”

  “Just sit here and listen. There’s owls and raccoons and stuff.”

  “Do you get scared?”

  “Sometimes. I don’t like goin’ inside the camp after dark. You can’t see anything in there.”

  It sounded awful.

  “But the sheets will make it better,” Davey said. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll bring you some more stuff,” I said.

  Davey smiled. “Like wood?”

  “Forget the wood. You need more food and water. Then you need something so you can see at night.”

  Davey nodded.

  “Okay. I’ll bring more food and water and a flashlight … and maybe some lumber.”

  Davey smiled again.

  I looked back at the camp. “What tools do you have?”

  “I’ve got a hammer.”

  “That’s all?”

  Davey nodded.

  “I can get a handsaw and a tape measure.”

  “I got three pieces of roofin’ tin from an old camp up a ways. I got it stacked on the ground.”

  “Do you have nails for it?” I asked.

  “I’ve been pullin’ old nails out of boards and usin’ those.”

  “I’ll bring some new nails. What else?”

  “All of that sounds good.”

  “What about some fishing tackle?”

  “Okay.”

  “You can have that lure I broke off … Matches? You need matches.”

  “Okay.”

  “And soap. You need to have a way to get clean.”

  “Okay.”

  “Anything else?” I asked again. “There’s probably a lot I’m not thinking of.”

  “No, that’s good,” he said.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can. But I have church tomorrow, and then I’m supposed to go stay the night at my friend’s house. It might be Monday.”

  “What’s your friend’s name?”

  “Grover Middleton.”

  “Is he pretty cool?”

  “Not at all,” I said. And it felt good to finally say it out loud. “I don’t even want to go over there, but he keeps bugging me.”

  Davey smiled the tiniest bit, like he thought something was funny.

  “You gonna be okay?” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll be okay. I’ll see you Monday.”

  * * *

  When I got back to our dock I fastened the Bream Chaser to the cleat and thought about how I could get one for Davey. Then I started up to the house and came across Dad in the yard working on the sprinkler system. He was still in his gym clothes from working out at the precinct fitness center.

  “Any fish?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Well, don’t get discouraged.”

  “I just rode around mostly. Exploring, you know.”

  “Did you stop off and show Grover your new boat?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “I’m spending the night at his house tomorrow. I’ll show it to him then.”

  Fortunately, Dad didn’t ask any more questions. He knelt in the grass and inspected the sprinkler head he’d dug up.

  “Hey, Dad?”

  He got some pliers out of his pocket and began twisting at the water pipe. “Yeah, son?”

  “Isn’t it illegal to have camps in the swamp?”

  “You mean east of the Pascagoula River?”

  “Right.”

  “It’s mostly conservation land now.”

  “So you can’t just go out there and build something?”

  He looked back at me, his hands still working. “I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

  Suddenly I was sorry I’d brought it up.

  “I was just wondering,” I said.

  Dad grabbed a screwdriver lying near his foot and started tightening a screw inside the sprinkler head.

  “I know a guy with the marine police who patrols the area,” Dad continued. “He tells me people get into all kinds of trouble out there.”

  I swallowed nervously and turned to go.

  “Best to stay out of it,” he said. “We’ve got all the water we need close to home.”

  So there it was. He’d basically told me the swamp was off-limits. But I’d told Davey I would bring him supplies. And he didn’t have enough to live on anywhere, much less in an abandoned swamp camp. My brain went to work, twisting Dad’s words into what I wanted them to be. He hadn’t said not to go out there. He’d just said it was best not to go out there.

  “I’m headed inside,” I said.

  I started for the back door. It felt like a rope was tugging my conscience in two directions at once. Neither one of them good.

  7

  Sunday morning Dad appeared dressed in his Sunday suit. He told me he had to go to the station for a couple of hours before he met us at church. There had been a shootout with some gang members and two of his officers that night, and he needed to make a statement to the press.

  I rode to First Methodist with Mom. She has a Nissan Altima that isn’t nearly as cool a car as Dad’s, but it’s tidy and smart like she is.

  “Do you ever worry about Dad getting shot?” I asked.

  She pulled up to a four-way stop, flipped down the visor mirror, and checked her makeup.

  “Of course I do,” she said. “But I believe in what he does, and I knew what I was getting into when I married him. You know, I thought about attending the police academy at one time.”

  “Seriously? You?”

  Mom smiled. “Sam, your mother’s not all paintings. She knows how to take care of herself.”

  “I just can’t see it.”

  “Well, in the end, I didn’t either. Both your dad and I would have had long hours and crazy schedules, and it’s hard to raise a family like that.”

  “I guess so,” I said. “But that would have been cool.”

  Mom reached over and playfully poked me in the leg. “I’ve outgrown cool.”

  * * *

  Dad arrived just before service started and squeezed into the pew with us. When the preacher came out and began his sermon, it wasn’t long before Dad was drumming his fingers on his thigh. I knew his knee would start jumping next and he’d get up and go to the restroom at least once to walk some of it off. Sometimes Mom could calm him by reaching across me and tapping his shoulder, but it just wasn’t easy for him to sit still for long.

  In spite of Dad’s restlessness in church, he rarely missed service. He knew attending as a family meant a lot to Mom, and it was obvious he just did it for her—and did the best he could with it. Dad was all about people doing their duty and tending to their responsibilities, and church was one of his.

  For me, church was thinking time. I thought about Davey. I imagined the two of us repairing the old camp together and making a sort of clubhouse out of it. A place where I could come visit him and even spend the night sometime. A place where I’d be important, where I’d be the one who was cool and knew about things. Things I could do that no else could. Then, like most fantasies, the perfect picture I’d built in my mind was slowly taken down by reality. Davey’s dad and brother would be there soon, and I’d be an outsider again.

  After service the congregation gathered in the fellowship hall for doughnuts, milk, and coffee. It wasn’t long before I saw a red tuft of hair bobbing toward me through the crowd. In a moment Grover’s big pasty-white face was staring at me like I had some explaining to do.

  “What?” I said. “I told you I’m coming over.”

  “When?”

  “This afternoon. In my boat.”

  “When did you get a boat?”

  “I told you yesterday I was out in my boat.”

  “No, you said you were out in the boat.”

  Grover’s always precise
and remembers everything.

  “Well, whatever,” I said. “I got it on my birthday. It’s called the Bream Chaser. I got some fishing stuff, too.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I told Dad I wanted to learn to fish.”

  “Why?”

  “I just told you why.”

  Grover stared at me a moment. “Well,” he finally said, “I found a portal. When you get to my house I’ll show you level six.”

  “Fine,” I said. “See you in a little while.”

  Grover turned abruptly and walked away, satisfied that his mission was complete. I watched him go and wondered how I’d ever found anything to like about him. Then I saw Natalia, their housekeeper, waiting for him at the door. She’s Argentinean, about Mom’s age, and I’d always thought she was pretty. But I’d never seen her at our church before, and Mrs. Middleton was nowhere to be seen. I thought that was strange.

  * * *

  Mom left ahead of us in her car while I climbed into Dad’s Tahoe. It’s all white, with the City of Pascagoula Police Department emblem on the doors, a brush guard with a winch on the front, strobe lights on top, and a spotlight on the driver side. It was probably the coolest truck I’d ever seen, and people stared at us everywhere we went. I pulled the heavy door shut and sank into the big leather seat.

  Dad let out a sigh of relief. “All right,” he said.

  “Doughnuts were good,” I commented, just to say something.

  He looked into the side mirror and began to pull out into traffic. Dad’s a cool driver. It’s not just the dark sunglasses and the Tahoe; it’s also in the way he works the steering wheel with only the palm of his left hand. His other hand remains on the seat near his waist, where he usually has his pistol holstered. Like he could draw and shoot without even slowing down.

  Dad pulled onto the highway and accelerated, and it felt like he was in charge of everything again, even the truck engine itself. I sat back and faced forward and thought about Davey and the swamp.

  “Have you ever hit a log out there?” I asked him.

  Dad must have been thinking about something else, and it took him a moment to respond.

  “You mean in the boat? On the river?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Once or twice. It happens … which reminds me that I need to show you about the shear pin.”

  “What’s that?”

  Whatever he’d been thinking about had crept into his head again.