![[Image]](images/BushmanLives-79.jpg)
We were making our way through the park in the darkness. I could hear distant thunder. No, it was too regular for thunder. Boom boom boom. It sounded like a bass drum, only deeper and probably louder when you got close to it.
“What’s that?” I asked Molly.
“Drum.”
“I assume Geets figures into this business . . .”
“He does.”
“. . . because we both got these Lake Scouts permission forms for our parents to sign. Are we in the Lake Scouts now?”
“What’s with all the questions all of a sudden?Up to now you’ve just done what I tell you, as you should.”
“I got nosy all of a sudden. So are we Lake Scouts?”
“Of course not. There’s no such thing as the Lake Scouts.”
“Oh? And what about all these tall, pale, fat, identical-looking . . . ?”
As we passed under a streetlight I caught a glimpse of Molly’s don’t-be-stupid expression.
“Are they robots?”
“Not exactly.”
“Are they zombies?”
“Not exactly.”
“Well, what are they, exactly?”
“Questions, questions. If you wanted to know all this stuff, why didn’t you ask me when we weren’t busy?”
“I’m asking now.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to ask your questions when you get to the island.”
“This is Skolnick Island we’re talking about?”
“Sure.”
“And I’m going there?”
“Not if you don’t want to. But you’d be a fool.”
“Look, who’s in charge of all this stuff that’s been going on? It’s you, isn’t it?”
“Me? I’m not even from around here. I’m from upstate New York.”
I was getting confused. Confused and impatient. “Wait . . .”
“No time to wait. Look! It’s in the water already!”