“KKKKKK-RRRRRAAAAACKKKKKKKKK!!”

Travis sat straight up in his bunk, his eyes wide open. The last time he had been in this cabin and heard a crack like that it had been instantly followed by a rush of air and the crash of the falling hemlock. This time, however, there was only the burst of thunder, followed by nothing. He could hear rumbling in the distance; the storm was closer, but still not raining on the camp. The crack that had woken him must have been moving ahead of the pack. Travis lay back down in his bed and was soon fast asleep once again.

The Owls and Aeros practised in the morning. It was, by far, the finest practice so far that week. It was almost exactly as Travis had envisioned hockey camp would be. Muck set up the drills, and Jason and Simon ran them. Morley Clifford was there, and came out during the break with Gatorade and sliced oranges for the players.

The difference, everyone knew, was that Buddy O’Reilly wasn’t around. No fancy tracksuit with his name all over it. No shrieking whistle. No chewing out anybody who failed to do exactly as he said. No picking on Nish.

They played a few games–even British Bulldog, which they hadn’t played since novice–and then had a wild and crazy scrimmage, defencemen and goaltenders against forwards. The goalies and defence won by about a zillion-to-ten, because Travis’s side had no one with the slightest notion of how to make a save.

Nish was the hero of the scrimmage. His puck-carrying abilities were the best of all the defence. He once even set up Jennie Staples, a goaltender, for a goal when he went in on the last forward back–poor Dmitri–faked him to the ice, and then sent a perfect Sarah-like pass back between his skates to Jennie, who was driving to the net as fast as her big goalie pads would let her.

After the goal, Nish skated over to Sarah Cuthbertson and went down on both knees, his head bowed. It was Nish’s way of finally apologizing for what he’d done to her after she had made the same play the day before. Sarah knew Nish well enough to know how hard this was for him. She wasn’t interested in any revenge that might involve hammering Nish head-first into the boards. She laughed, turned her stick around, and tapped him on both shoulders: Sir Nish, Knight of the Between-Your-Skates Pass.

Practice over, the happy Screech Owls and Aeros were on the buses to go back to camp, when Simon and Jason came down the aisle and leaned over the seat Travis was sharing with Nish.

“Good on you, Nishikawa,” Simon said.

“Classy act, Nish–proud of you,” Jason added.

Nish nodded and looked down. Travis could see that his friend was battling to contain a smile; he was looking straight down into his lap, trying with all his might to remain serious.

Sarah came along, the last player to board the bus. She, too, stopped as she passed.

“You guys ready for adventure?” she asked.

Nish looked up. “Whatdya mean?”

“Muck’s given me permission to take you two out in a canoe to the little island this afternoon. We can swim and jump from the rocks.”

Travis looked up, unsure. “It’s okay?”

“Of course it’s okay. I’m a fully qualified Red Cross lifeguard, you know. Nish goes down, I can go get him.”

Travis smiled. “Would you have to?”

“Are you up for it?” Sarah asked.

“Sure,” said Travis.

“Nish?”

Nish just nodded. He wasn’t even trying to fight the grin any more.

 

Before they took out the canoe, Travis and Nish had to take care of their wet hockey equipment. They spread it on the ground in front of the cabin so it would dry in the sun. Travis noticed there wasn’t even a light dew on the grass, and he remembered the storm during the night. It must have passed right over the camp without raining. He wondered if the lightning with the single clap of thunder had struck anything.

“Let’s go!” Nish shouted.

Nish was excited. Before he’d come to camp, he’d never even been in a canoe. Now he thought that, next to Sea-doos–and anything else that had an outboard engine, for that matter–canoes were a terrific way to move about the water. Like the others, he thought the silence was incredible, the way they could sneak up on almost anything: the loons, the ducks, maybe even old Snappy sitting out sunning on a log.

The two boys ran across the main camp grounds and down along the beach to the boathouse. Sarah was already there, waiting for them.

“I thought maybe you’d chickened out,” she said.

“You seem to forget you knighted me,” said Nish. “I’m ready for anything–even hand-to-hand combat with that stupid turtle.”

“Right,” Sarah laughed.

Nish was anxious to get going. He opened the door to the boathouse and the three friends entered. Inside, the air was musty from woodrot and years of wet life-preservers. But it also smelled neat. The walls had never been painted, and there was the faint odour of cedar, and of oil and gas and outboards–the smells of summer at the lake. They could hear the waves lapping lightly under the boat slip. A swallow left its nest high in the beams and swooped out under the main door.

There were two canoes in the boathouse. One was missing a stern seat, so they moved out the good one and began loading up. Sarah had even brought a small picnic for them.

“I’ll get the paddles,” offered Travis.

He looked around: old fishing rods, sails, rudders, oars, a fibreglass canoe with a great gaping hole in its side, an auger for drilling holes in the ice on the lake in winter, several old propane lamps that needed cleaning, water-skis, the tube, a new wakeboard.

“Over there!” Sarah called to him.

She was pointing to a jumble of ropes and stacked-up gas tanks on the far side of the slip.

Travis jumped across the slip, took one step, and crashed down onto the rough boards.

“Walk much?” Nish shouted. He was laughing.

“You okay, Trav?” Sarah called.

“I slipped on something,” Travis answered. He felt okay. He wasn’t hurt. He had put his arm down to break his fall, and something had jabbed him near the wrist. “There was something here on the boards,” he said, struggling up.

“Yeah,” laughed Nish. “Your own shadow!”

Travis bent down to look. It was difficult to see. He rubbed his arm. Whatever it was he’d landed on was hard. A short distance away, something was shining in the dim light of the boathouse. He crept over and picked it up. Without a word he held it out in the palm of his hand for the others to see.

Sarah caught her breath. “A bullet?”

It wasn’t a live bullet, it was an empty shell. It had been fired. Travis sniffed it: he could smell gunpowder.

Could this have been the crack of thunder that woke him up last night?

“What’s that on your arm?” said Nish. He was pointing at Travis’s other arm, not the one that had landed on the shell. Travis felt it.

Goo!

“What is it?” Sarah asked. She seemed concerned.

“I don’t know,” Travis said.

“Maybe that bird we scared out left you a present.” Nish giggled. He didn’t seem in the least concerned.

“It’s pitch,” said Sarah. “Pitch from the boards.”

“I guess,” said Travis.

There was a rag near the gas cans. He picked it up and wiped his arm. Whatever the goo was, it was sticky. Probably pitch. He rubbed hard and got most of it off.

“Let’s get going!” Nish called. “Day’s a-wasting!”

Travis carried the paddles over to the canoe. Nish was already in, and Sarah handed him the waterproof bag with the sandwiches and drinks.

“We’re short two life-preservers,” Sarah noted.

“We don’t need them,” Nish said. He already had one on and was keen to get going.

“We’re not going anywhere if we don’t all have one,” said Sarah.

“Okay, okay–but let’s get a move on!” Nish said. “There’s probably a couple over there where you found the paddles, Trav.”

Travis went around the slip this time, not wanting to jump across and risk another fall. His arm was throbbing a bit. He’d have a bruise.

Everything was piled up in this corner as if it had just been thrown there–and yet everything else in the boathouse had been very neatly stored. It made no sense. He pulled away a couple of the gas cans, some rope, and a pair of old oars. He yanked at a plastic tarp that had been thrown into the mess. It was stuck, but he was sure he could see the faded red of a life-preserver underneath. He yanked again and the tarpaulin gave a little.

There was something sticky on it. It felt the same as what had been on his arm. It couldn’t be pitch. What was it?

Blood?

He pulled again, and the tarp came free.

When Travis saw what had been hidden underneath, he gasped. He must be mistaken! The shadows…the bad light…

He moved so more light could get in. It was an arm, the fingers tightened as if trying to hold something. The arm went in under an overturned canoe. And beneath the canoe, presumably, was the rest of the body.

“Hurry up!” Nish called.

Travis tried to speak, but he couldn’t.

“Travis!” Sarah called sharply. “What’s wrong with you?”

Travis stammered, then spit it out: “Th-th-there’s a b-b-body under here!”

“A what!” Nish laughed.

“What?” said Sarah. She wasn’t laughing.

Travis felt frozen, unable to move. He could see Sarah coming toward him uneasily. And he could see Nish scrambling to get out of the canoe.

“What do you mean a ‘body’?” Sarah asked.

Travis moved aside slightly so she could see. He heard her breath catch.

“Lemme see!” Nish shouted. He was scrambling across the planking.

“Wh-wh-who is it?” Sarah stammered.

“I don’t know,” Travis answered. He thought he did, though. He knew the jacket.

“Move the canoe!” Nish shouted. He was already pulling at the bow. “Help me!”

Travis moved without thinking. It was as if he was watching a movie of himself, stepping over and reaching down and taking the other side of the bow, and lifting…

Most of the body was in dark shadow, but as they raised the canoe higher, some dim light from the side door crept over its chest, and towards the face.

“Buddy!” Sarah hissed.

“Is he dead?” Nish shouted. He couldn’t see as well as the others. The bow of the canoe was in his way, and he wanted to be closer to the action.

“I think so,” said Sarah. But there could be no doubt. Buddy was white as a ghost. His face looked as if it had been carved out of candle wax. His eyes were staring past Travis, seeing nothing.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Travis.

“We better find Muck,” said Sarah.

They set the canoe back down, carefully covering the hideous dead face of Buddy O’Reilly.

And then they ran, Nish well out in front of the others.