“Are you sure about this, Nate?”
Mr. Evans watches me, wide-eyed, from behind his desk.
I’m sitting in his office. Raina is cleaning and bandaging the gash on my leg. When I made it back to Camp Clearwater, Raina saw me waving my arms on the opposite bank. She zipped across in the camp’s motorboat and picked me up. Then she took me straight to see Mr. Evans.
“Do you think you could lead us back there?” Raina asks, looking up from my knee. She’s mad. She’s been fuming since I told her everything that happened.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Mr. Evans says quickly. “If these guys are as dangerous as Nate says…”
“Well,” huffs Raina, “I bet they’re real tough guys when it’s two against a kid. I’d like to see them try to pull that nonsense with us.”
“They left anyway,” I say. “I saw them take off in their boat.”
“What color was the boat?” asks Raina.
I shrug. Gray, black, navy. I wasn’t paying attention to the color.
“All right,” says Raina, getting to her feet, “if we take my truck, do you think you could recognize this dump site from the road?”
I nod. The neon green of the algae will make the ponds unmistakable.
Raina heads for the door, and I stand up.
“Just hang on a second!” says Mr. Evans. He looks at me with concern. “Nate, you’ve been through a lot today. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
He’s right. I’m exhausted. My clothes are still damp. I have no shoes. But I do want to do this. “It’s for Mike.”
Raina nods approvingly. “Brave man, Nate.”
But Mr. Evans doesn’t look so sure. He bites his lip. I remember the words he wrote in my file—skittish around water. Don’t push. He doesn’t want to make me do something I’m not ready for. But I’m more than ready. I want Mike found. And getting these guys will help make that happen.
We all pile into Raina’s truck—an old rusty pickup with a Camp Clearwater bumper sticker. The inside is clean and orderly, like Raina. It smells like cinnamon. The clock says six thirty. Owen and Mercy must be freaking out. With my phone dead, I haven’t been able to text them. They haven’t come back to Clearwater yet. So they must still be in town, waiting for Mercy’s car.
We drive along the road, me sitting by the window. My nose is pressed to the glass. I stare through the trees, keeping a careful eye out for the pools.
Finally I catch a flash of green.
“Stop!” I shout.
Raina slams on the breaks, and Mr. Evans nearly smashes his face on the dashboard.
“Do you see something, Nate?” asks Raina.
Through the pines, the unmistakable green sludge glints in the patches where the sun breaks through the branches. “That’s the spot.”
Raina turns the truck off the road, and we follow a dirt path into the forest. As we get closer, the other ponds come into view. Four in all.
We get out of the car. Raina and I make our way over to the ponds. She kicks at one of the empty barrels and swears.
“Industrial waste of some kind,” she says. “Been at it for months, it looks like.” She looks toward the Starling, flowing not far away. “This is definitely Clearwater property.” She turns back to Mr. Evans. “Isn’t it, Steve?”
Mr. Evans is leaning against the truck, kicking at the ground.
“What kind of jerk thinks they can just dump their poison out here and nobody will ever find out about it?” says Raina.
The kind like Ed and Dale.
Mr. Evans sighs—a long and heavy sound—and lets his head drop. Poor Mr. Evans. He looks so defeated, like somehow this is his fault. After all, it happened on his watch. If someone’s abusing Clearwater property, it’s Mr. Evans’s job to put a stop to it. And Mike—would he still be missing if Mr. Evans had known about this sooner?
“It’s not your fault, Mr. Evans.” The words just tumble out. I don’t want him to blame himself. Don’t want him to beat himself up because of something Ed and Dale did.
He looks up, surprised. And he grins. “Thanks, Nate.”
I nod. He still looks upset. I know he’s going to keep blaming himself. But hopefully, now that we know about this we can find Mike faster, and he won’t have to feel guilty much longer.
“Well,” says Raina, “I guess the next step is to go report all this to Sheriff Nichols. I could take you, but I volunteered to cover the dinner shift at Smokin’ Elliot’s.”
Mr. Evans pushes off from the truck. “I’ll do it. You guys don’t have to worry about it. I’ll go report it.”
“Don’t you think Nate should be there?”
“I think he’s been through enough, Raina.”
“I don’t mind,” I say. “Really. I can describe these guys. And when we find Mike, he can back me up.”
Mr. Evans and Raina exchange nervous glances.
“What?” I ask.
Raina folds her hands together like she’s going to pray. “Nate—”
“Come on, Nate,” Mr. Evans says quickly. “We’ll go to town, you and me.”
Raina smiles sadly and nods.
My stomach tightens. Whatever she was going to say, she’s thought better of it. But it was something about Mike. Maybe that she wants me to be ready for a bad outcome. Wants me to be realistic. But I am being realistic. This is Mike’s river. If anyone can survive the Starling, it’s Mike Elliot.