On top of Harkness Hill, the best view in the county, the boys lay in the grass, Otto on his stomach with his backpack resting nearby, his tiny notebook and pencil in hand, and Sheed on his back, calling out shapes in the clouds.
“That’s a hippo. For sure,” Sheed said, pointing skyward.
“Focus. We need a plan,” said Otto, busy reviewing the OAAO.
Gravity holes
Frog storms
T. Treasure at B. Cave
Bottomless pit
Machen house RT
“I’m enjoying the day. Maybe that should be the plan.”
Ignoring that nonsense, Otto tried to determine which Awesome Adventure represented the best opportunity for another Key to the City. “We can look for the Triptych Treasure in Bosch Cave.”
“That sounds hard, yo. I’d rather look at the clouds.”
Otto sighed heavily.
Gravity holes
Frog storms
T. Treasure at B. Cave
Bottomless pit
Machen house RT
“Fine,” he said. “What about closing the reality tear in the old Machen house?”
“That sounds scary. Everyone who even steps foot in that yard disappears.”
Gravity holes
Frog storms
T. Treasure at B. Cave
Bottomless Pit
Machen house RT
Frustrated, Otto closed his notebook and pushed onto his knees, staring Sheed down. “Everything we do is hard and scary. That’s why we do it.”
“Now I’m confused,” Sheed said, unblinking. “I thought you did it for more keys, so you can brag to Wiki Ellison.”
“There can be multiple reasons. The point is we only have one day left, and we’re wasting it.”
“What’s wrong with a day off?” Sheed’s pointer finger shot toward a particular cloud in a jerky stabbing motion. “That’s a sloth!”
“You’re a sloth!” Otto chewed his bottom lip and stomped away.
From there on Harkness, he could see the county end to end. Big and green, with wide fields of high grass that swept back and forth with the breeze, turning the blades into gentle waves. Grandma’s house was less than a mile away, a canary yellow island to the west. Beyond it was the town of Fry. Fry only had two intersections and three traffic lights (the third traffic light was a spare, acquired in a buy two, get one free sale; it got mounted in Butler Park, regulating foot traffic between the swings and slide). Also visible on the far side of Fry was the Gnarled Forest, where the ash-white trees never grew leaves, and the Eternal Creek, which had no beginning or end. Other points of interest included Sunshine Cemetery, the FISHto’s, and the many other things, mundane and strange, that made up Logan County. All of it lay before them. All of it full of potential. All of it just out of reach once they returned to D. Franklin Middle School tomorrow morning.
And Sheed couldn’t be bothered to get his head out of the clouds.
Maybe I need a new partner, Otto thought.
“Well, hello, young men!”
Otto spun at the sound of the new voice. Sheed hinged up at his waist, shielding his eyes with one hand and squinting into the sunlight. The approaching silhouette was string-bean slim and taller than most, thanks to the stovepipe hat propped crookedly on his head. He stepped quickly, his skinny arms and legs whipping him forward with almost boneless ease. Tipping his head toward them, the hat’s brim slashed a shadow across his face, dividing it diagonally, leaving a single crystal blue eye, half a nose, and a split grin visible.
“Who are you?” Sheed said, getting his feet under him.
Otto, shorter and wider than his cousin, gravitated to Sheed’s side. Both of them angled slightly away from each other for a better view of their flanks, in case something dangerous tried to sneak up on them. Maneuver #24.
“I’m a fan!” The man offered his hand. “You two are the Legendary Alston Boys of Logan County, correct?”
Otto relaxed. “Yeah. We are!”
“You dispersed the Laughing Locusts before they devoured the county crops!” he said. “You solved the Mystery of the Woman in Teal!”
Sheed stiffened. “How do you know that?”
“Doesn’t everyone in Logan County know you two?”
Yes, Otto thought, proud of their reputation, they do!
Sheed, always a killjoy, said, “You’re not from Logan County.”
Otto cringed at how rude his cousin was being. To a fan!
The man remained gracious. “Oh, but I am. I’ve just been away for some time. “ He offered his hand again. “I’m honored to meet you.”
Otto, wanting to make up for Sheed’s lack of manners, broke formation and shook. “Hi.”
Sheed followed suit, though with less enthusiasm. “Hey. Mr. . . . ?”
“Flux! Did I accidentally overhear you’re concerned about this being your last day of summer?”
Sheed said, “Not real—”
“Yes!” Otto said. “Absolutely!”
Mr. Flux said, “That just won’t do. Time gets away from me, and I’m just a simple man. I can’t imagine what it must be like for a couple of heroes like you. It must seem like there just aren’t enough hours in the day.”
“You don’t seem simple.” Sheed noticed a canvas sack slung over the man’s shoulder.
Otto said, “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Flux. Indeed, we could do a lot more good for the county if we had more time.”
Mr. Flux’s smile grew to a width that threatened to split his head in two. “Oh! Oh my goodness! I may be able to help you, if only in a small way. With a gift.”
Even though Otto liked Mr. Flux, or rather, he liked that Mr. Flux liked them—fans were awesome—he knew to be cautious when strangers offered help, either by gift or effort. As Grandma said often, nothing good is free or cheap. Otto stepped forward, polite though a little disappointed to decline the present. “No, sir. You don’t have to give us anything. Our grandma says we shouldn’t take stuff for doing right.”
Mr. Flux paid him no mind. Stooped on one knee, his arms lost in the mouth of his bag while he searched. Finally, he sprang upright. “Here.”
Balanced on the man’s palm was a camera. Bulky, with a strap to hang around your neck and a slim slot along its front, it was the kind of device that seemed ancient. Like Grandma’s not-flat TV with the rabbit ear antennas.
Sheed relaxed a bit. Otto fought to hide how unimpressed he was by the gift.
“I don’t know if it will be much help to you,” said Mr. Flux, “but a camera like this is special. It will capture the best time of your life. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”
It did, Otto agreed, but he couldn’t believe the old-school camera even still worked.
Not wanting to embarrass Mr. Flux when the gift was an obvious piece of junk, he accepted the offer, grabbed the camera by its strap. “Thank you. We’ll put it to good use.”
“Would you?” Mr. Flux’s unshadowed eye took on a puppy-dog quality. “Would you honor me by taking a picture?”
“Of you?” Otto asked.
He twisted away slightly. “No! Of Fry maybe. This view of the city is spectacular.”
Hefting the camera, Otto tested the weight. Heavy, almost uncomfortably so. Somehow, that made it feel more valuable. How could he not honor the request of the man who gave it to them? “Sure. Why not?”
“Otto?” Sheed said, uncertain, but without a good solid reason. When he didn’t go on, Otto shrugged and raised the camera’s viewfinder to eye level.
The lens was amazing! So clear, almost clearer than looking at Fry with his own two eyes. With his index finger, he found the shutter release. “Press here?”
“Yes,” Mr. Flux said, joyful, “just like that.”
Otto nodded and pressed the button.
Click. There was a flash in the viewfinder. A blinding white light, visible for a second, then a motorized whir from inside the camera.
Otto lowered it, confused. Sheed was next to him in an instant, hearing it, too. A stiff plastic square—white border, black center—unspooled from the slit along the camera’s front. Sheed pulled the filmy paper free. Already, the black center had lightened, familiar images of county landmarks brightening into view.
“That photo,” Mr. Flux said, “will be an eternal keepsake of the day. Would you two like a similar photo of yourselves?”
Sheed stared at the photo in his hand, saw no reason to object. Otto gave the camera to Mr. Flux.
“Excellent,” he said. “Squeeze in tight. I want to get all of you.”
Otto beamed and twisted to his right side—his good side. He looped an arm over Sheed’s shoulder, hoping his cousin didn’t have his usual awkward smile. Their picture had been in the Logan County Gazette a bunch of times, and Sheed always looked like he was trying to suck broccoli from his teeth.
Mr. Flux raised the camera. “On three. One, two . . .”
Another flash. Not from the camera, from the sky.
A blinding, electric-blue hole ripped the very air next to Mr. Flux, and a man ejected from it feet first, as if from the end of a steep waterslide. He kicked Mr. Flux, knocking the camera free.
Before Mr. Flux recovered, the stranger scrambled to his feet, whipping his head around, startled and confused. He was brown, like the boys, wore dark goggles cinched tight through a mane of coiled dreadlocks that whipped about as he got his bearings.
“Did it work? Is this the right day?” he said, his eyes resting on Otto, and then Sheed. For a moment, his face flickered, the confusion replaced by a slight smile. Then he glanced sideways, at the man he’d kicked over. “Flux?”
Mr. Flux began to rouse, but the stranger leapt on him, pinning him, or trying to. The pair rolled in the grass. The way they grappled, it didn’t seem like the stranger would be able to hold Mr. Flux very long. His dark goggles angled in their direction, he yelled, “Take the camera and run! Whatever you do, don’t take any more pictures!”