Free Camp X by Eric Walters Page B

railroad trestle. It was deserted. No people in black clothing. No train. Just up ahead and off to the side was the large willow tree that had given us shelter before. I wanted shelter—the shelter of my house. I wanted to turn around. I wanted to go home, climb into my bed and pull up the covers. I wasn’t going to get anything that I wanted.
    I’d spent a good part of the day trying to convince Jack that we shouldn’t be doing this. He hadn’t even bothered to argue back. He’d just told me that I was a “sucky baby” and he didn’t even want me to come along anyway. Finally he’d told me that if I said another word he’d just “clean my clock” worse than he’d done to that kid. That was the end of the discussion. I’d seen Jack in enough fights to know I didn’t ever want to get in a serious one with him. Actually, I didn’t want to fight Jack or anybody else.
    The creek dipped and my stomach flipped. I paddled with my hands so I could manoeuvre the inner tube through the centre support of the bridge. It dipped again and the tube started to spin around, but I was able to stay in control and send it shooting through the right spot. Jack was right beside me.
    I paddled hard again, sending the tube out of the current and into the little eddy where we’d beached the tubes the last time. Once we were into the shallow water I jumped off. At least I didn’t have to worry about what was underfoot. I was wearing my sneakers. Jack and I had agreed to wear shoes this time. We waded out of the water and onto the bank.
    â€œRight here,” Jack said, putting his tube underneath a bush.
    I put mine in beside it, far enough from the shore to guarantee there was no way it was going to drift away this time.
    Without a word Jack started off, and I fell in behind him. There really wasn’t much to say, and besides, the quieter we were the better the chance that we wouldn’t be seen.
    I didn’t have my watch with me—I didn’t want to risk ruining it on the creek ride—but I really wanted to know the time. The only thing I’d got Jack to agree to was that we’d head back in time to be home before dark. I figured it had to be close to five-thirty already.
    â€œThis way,” Jack said.
    I followed him through the wire fence again and then across the field and into the trees. I figured he had a pretty good idea where we were headed, but that didn’t stop me from keeping one eye on the railroad embankment. As longas it was in sight I knew where we were and, more important, how to get home.
    â€œLet’s stop and get a drink,” Jack suggested.
    I cupped my hands and scooped a small slurp of water from the stream that trickled through the bush. Jack did the same. Of course I knew where we were now. This was just up from the spot where we’d hidden and watched those men being taken prisoner . . . or pretending to be taken prisoner . . . or whatever it was that we saw.
    â€œWhich way are we going?” I asked.
    â€œThat way. We’ll walk on the edge of the field, close to the scrub and trees.”
    â€œWouldn’t it be safer to stay hidden?”
    â€œIt’ll take too long. We’ll be okay as long as we move slowly and listen. As soon as we hear the sound of a jeep we can get into the bush before anyone sees us.”
    Jack stumbled over the rocks and pushed through the brush to reach the edge of the field. I followed. Looking beyond him, I could see the land sloping gently down and away from us. It was bordered on the far side—it had to be at least a hundred yards away—by a line of trees and brush. Maybe there was another field on the other side.
    We moved around the perimeter. The only sounds we could hear were the birds chirping from the surrounding forest. It was easy to forget that we weren’t just out for a friendly stroll. Actually, so much of what we’d seen was so unreal