Free Island of Fog (Book 1) by Keith Robinson Page B

tell you something. Did you forget?”
    “Oh,” Hal mumbled. “Yeah. I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
    Abigail rolled her eyes. “Come out. Bring a lamp and meet me in your garage.”
    “But—”
    Without another word, Abigail tiptoed off across the gravel driveway toward the squat brick building that stood alone at the front of the lawn, next to the road. She had no lantern so faded into the darkness almost immediately, lost against the black silhouette of the garage.
    Hal closed his window with a sigh. He picked up the candle from the bedside table and crept to the door. Popping his head out into the hall, he found more darkness and silence. His mom and dad must already be in bed, which meant it was past midnight.
    As he stood there, candle held high, he noticed with a shock that the back of his left hand was covered with the same dark green rash as his forearm. His mouth dropped open. Candle wavering, he pulled back his sleeve. The rash, or whatever it was, had spread fast and now encompassed his entire lower arm. It had crept up past his elbow and was almost to his shoulder. It didn’t hurt, but it itched, and Robbie’s sludge had done nothing to help.
    His heart hammering, Hal knew he’d have to tell his mom about it in the morning—if he dared wait that long. He’d surely have to go see Dr. Porter, for this was no ordinary rash. It felt tough and smooth, and scaly in the center where it had started.
    One thing at a time.
    Steeling himself, he rolled his sleeve down and tiptoed along the hall past the living room, his candle flickering. He grabbed the lantern that stood by the door, lit it, and snuffed out the candle. With a stronger light to show the way, he slipped out the front door and closed it quietly behind him, then crunched up the gravel path to the garage.
    He found the side door ajar, and a pitch-black room beyond. Hal stepped inside, and the light from his lantern picked out Abigail standing quiet and still in the center of the room, squinting at him. Wasn’t she cold in nothing but a light dress? Where was her coat? And why didn’t she have a lantern?
    A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Come in, sit down,” she said, as if inviting him into her house. She waved him toward an upturned five-gallon drum. “There’s a seat for you. I want to show you something.”
    Bewildered, Hal set the lantern on the floor and perched on the drum, which moved a couple of inches under him and made a horrendous scraping sound. He flinched, glancing toward the door. What would his dad say if he caught him out here in the dead of night?
    And with a girl!
    Abigail looked tired, but her eyes gleamed in the light. She stared at him, then her eyes dropped to his left hand. Too late Hal remembered the green rash, which stood out bright and obvious next to the lantern. Mortified, he stuck his hand behind his back.
    But Abigail had already seen. “What’s that green stuff?”
    Hal racked his brains for some plausible explanation. Green paint? A grass stain? But it was no good; he’d have to tell her. She’d know soon enough in the morning anyway.
    He held up his hand for her to see. “It’s a rash or something. It’s not poison ivy or any kind of insect bite I’ve ever known. Maybe it’s an allergic reaction to something. I’m going to have to go see your mom in the morning, get some kind of treatment.”
    He waited for the teasing to start. This was the sort of thing Abigail loved. She’d probably taunt him all night long and for days to come.
    Instead she nodded with interest, a serious expression on her face. “I’ve noticed you’ve been scratching your arm at school, and now I know why. That’s how mine started.”
    Hal blinked. “You mean . . . you have a rash too?”
    “Not anymore. And it wasn’t all green like that, either. Mine just itched. That’s sort of what I’m going to show you. Are you ready?”
    “Uh, sure.”
    Abigail swallowed. “All right then. Promise you won’t go