“So why are we going camping?” Milton asked Fig as they headed back down Dr. Paradis’s hall.
“Because we’re getting that treasure,” Fig said, her words timed to her fast-paced footsteps, “no matter what. Today is Wednesday, so we have today and tomorrow to figure out how to get behind that tree ship banyan.”
“We’re still going to save the island!” Milton cried. He took off his hat and threw it into the air as they stepped onto the sunshiny front porch.
Where Rafi and Gabe were waiting for them.
“Why do you have that?” Fig demanded, pointing to the field guide in Rafi’s hand. “Sea Hawk, how did Rafi get the guide?”
“I took it yesterday,” Rafi said. He held the leaf-paged book out to Fig, who snatched it up. “Me and Gabe read the whole thing last night, and I don’t know if any of it’s actually real, but we want to help.”
“Treasure, me mateys!” sang out the patched-up Gabe.
Milton glanced from Fig to Rafi, from Rafi to Fig, and even though his sensitive stomach was beginning to curl into itself, he didn’t feel like fleeing the scene quite yet. Maybe it was because he had assisted in a life-and-death rescue mission. Maybe it was because he had (very impressively) stood up for himself. Maybe it was because Rafi had (somewhat shockingly) actually apologized. Maybe it was all of these things, but something, Milton felt, had shifted between them.
Fig, however, had not been part of Operation Rescue Gabe.
“Just because Sea Hawk was careless with the guide and also lied to me”—she paused to frown at Milton, who gave her his most sincerely penitent look—“doesn’t mean we need help.”
Rafi let out a pshaw of duck-lipped frustration. “We heard what you and Dr. Greene were saying,” he said. “You only have two days to find Dr. Paradis’s treasure. You definitely need help.”
Fig ignored him. “Come on, Sea Hawk,” she said. “We have an island to save.”
Rafi threw up his arms and stomped off the porch. “Come on, Gabe!” he called. “We’ll see who gets the treasure first!”
A few minutes later, Milton burst through the front door of Uncle Evan’s cottage. His instructions from Fig were to pack for a night outdoors and then meet at the tree ship in twenty minutes. He got to work filling his canvas backpack with supplies.
He would be wearing his utility belt (obviously), which covered a lot of camping basics. There was also some useful gear on the makeshift shelves that lined Uncle Evan’s walls, and Milton decided that given the circumstances, Uncle Evan wouldn’t mind if he helped himself. He took a sleeping bag that was stuffed in an impossibly small pouch and a waterproof sack that he thought would come in handy in case of inclement weather. He considered bringing a few cans of spaghetti and meatballs, but they were super heavy. He did find some packages of what looked like grayish beef jerky and a packet of crumbs that had probably been crackers once. He hoped Fig was packing extra snacks.
He still had lots of room in his backpack, but he wasn’t sure what else to bring. He had only camped that one time with Uncle Evan, and, being five years old then, his mother had done his packing for him. Finally, he added an extra pair of socks and a fork, and, after some serious back-and-forth, he tucked his HandHeld into the dry bag too. Just in case.
That oughta do it.
Because his packing had only taken five minutes, he did a few stretches (maybe being limber and loose would help him keep up with Fig) before he shouldered his pack and headed out the door with eleven minutes to spare.
The sun was shining, the waves were crashing, a pelican was swooping over the water, and Milton felt like the world was his oyster (whatever that meant).
“The adventure is now!” he shouted as he took off down the beach trail toward the banyan tree and the treasure that surely lay beyond.