I check my phone. No messages from Owen or Mercy. That’s probably because I have no service. I’ve been walking along the Starling for two and a half hours now. And I haven’t found anything. Camp Clearwater can’t be too much farther. If I don’t find it soon, I’ll have to head back to the road and call Owen and Mercy. Otherwise, they’re likely to send the park rangers out to find me.
Just as I’m thinking about heading for the road, I spot the beach of Camp Clearwater. Kayaks are neatly lined along the edge. Just a little farther.
I make my way along the camp’s shore. I don’t see a soul. Not Mr. Evans or Raina or anyone. The camp is deserted. I’m glad. I really don’t want to have to answer any questions about why I’m out here on my own.
The clear shores of Camp Clearwater begin to give way to shrub and bramble. Thorns and sticks poke at my feet as I move beyond the camp’s boundaries. The pools should be around here somewhere.
I walk along the shore, my eyes turned from the water, peering through the trees. There’s nothing but forest as far as the eye can see.
And then I spot it. A glint of sunlight off a reflective surface between the trees.
I step away from the river and into the shade of the pines. There’s a smell. Like rotten eggs and hot glue. As I get closer, I can see that it’s not just one but four pond-sized pools of murky water. An electric-green algae grows in clumps on the surfaces. This is it. Mike was standing right here, right where I am. There’s a hum of excitement in my skin, like I can feel Mike close by.
“I’m comin’ for you, man,” I say. And for the first time, I really feel like it’s true.
I take out my phone and begin to snap pictures. I don’t know what else to do but exactly what Mike did. I wander around the pools, kicking at the ground, looking for signs of him. There’s nothing. I glance from the pools to the waters of the Starling not far away. If he came back by kayak to check out the pools, then why didn’t he just head back to camp when he was done? Why go down to the Nebula and then the Black Hole, of all things?
To my left I see a couple empty barrels. Green-and-black steel drums with orange, foamy gunk crusted at their bases. And a symbol in a yellow triangle on each of them. It’s faded and covered in grime, but I still recognize it. A skull and crossbones. Toxic.
What is all this doing here? And so close to Camp Clearwater?
A sound hums in the distance—a boat. It’s getting closer.
Through the trees I spot a fishing boat making its way down the Starling, the nose pointed toward the bank. It’s headed straight toward me.
I duck behind the barrels as the boat grinds onto the shore. Two men—a big fat dude with a round nose and overalls missing one strap, and a shorter man with long red hair in a ponytail and a beard like a pirate’s. They hop out of the boat and wrestle with more of the same steel drums, struggling to lift them out of the boat. Each one rolls a barrel toward the edge of the nearest pool, then goes back for another. Four barrels.
The big one takes a sniff of the still water and spits. “We’re going to need to dig another pool soon.”
The bearded guy says nothing, focused on pouring the contents of his barrel.
“Ed!” the big one snaps. “Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, Dale,” the bearded guy says.
“Tell you one thing,” Dale continues. “The boss is going to have to start paying me a lot more for this kind of work.”
Ed still doesn’t say anything, just gets to work dumping another barrel.
“Especially if he expects us to keep our mouths shut about that camp kid.”
My heart stops. Mike.
“Going to talk, are you?” asks Ed, finally looking up from his work.
“If I don’t get more money? You’re darn right.”
Ed smirks and shakes his head.
“You don’t believe me?” asks Dale.
“Nope.”
“That right?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” says Ed. “Cuz if you talk, you’re going to have to explain how you chased the kid into the river, and since Bob wasn’t here when it happened, who do you think the police are going to blame?”
“Hey, genius,” says Dale, grabbing a hold of the barrel, “I chased the kid back to that camp they all go to. As I recall, it was you who made him take the kayak in the water.”
“Me?”
“You took off after him in the boat!”
“On your orders.”
“Still,” says Dale, “not much I could do standing on the shore, was there? He ended up in that white water because of you. Not me.”
The two men glare at each other, and I imagine Mike running along the shore, that big goon chasing after him. He probably thought the kayak was his best chance to get away—until Ed came after him in the fishing boat. I knew it. Mike didn’t go into the Black Hole because he wanted to. He did it because he was trying to avoid getting caught by these guys. He did it because he had to.
I lift my phone. I want a picture of their faces. I want to give the sheriff whatever she needs to find these guys. Quietly I press the button, and when I check the screen, there’s a branch blocking the view of them. Darn it. I need to get closer.
I wait, frozen, for the right moment. I want them to be focused on what they’re doing so they don’t look up and spot me for the two seconds I need to step free of the barrel and snap a picture.
Who are these guys, anyway? I’ve got two names, Ed and Dale. But what good is that? What are they doing out here, dumping this stuff? What is all this? Illegal, whatever it is. Illegal enough to risk getting Mike killed so they don’t get caught. I need to be careful. I don’t know what they’ll do if they find me, but I know it won’t be good.
The big one lets out an angry “Bah!” and starts heading back to the boat. As he passes me, I manage to take a picture without him noticing. I look at my screen. It’s a great shot. Clear. There’s no denying his face. Now I just need one of Ed.
Ed starts wheeling an empty barrel. Now’s my chance. I crawl out from my hiding spot and wait for Ed to stop moving. He leaves the barrel by a stump and takes off his hat, wiping his forehead. Snap.
“Hey!”
Behind me, Dale stands up in the boat. He points directly at me.
“Ed! There’s another one!”
Ed spots me, and my stomach leaps into my throat.
Run.
I tear off into the trees, the men shouting behind me.
Mike, my brain whispers. They chased Mike. And now he’s missing.
And now they’re after me.