Travis was grateful there was no school. He could not possibly have done all that needed doing if classes were still on. He spent much of his time fielding calls from his old teammates, all wanting news about Mr. Dillinger. Data, Fahd, Travis, and Sarah had talked on a conference call, and they decided that rather than cancel the special night, perhaps now it was more important than ever for the Screech Owls to be home.
Each and every one of them knew what Mr. Dillinger would say: “Game on.”
Travis saw Derek every day. They met at the hospital, they took breaks together at Tim Hortons for coffee, and once Derek had realized he could not spend every minute of the day lingering in the hospital waiting room, the two of them began running together.
The running helped. It distracted Derek – and, besides, he needed to be in better shape if he was going to play in the exhibition match. The two longtime friends would run up to the Lookout and down along the river, Imoo nipping happily at their heels, and they ran as often as not into Sam and little Muck down by the beach.
The “Stop the Casino” campaign was still on – in fact, it had gained strength since the attack on Anton and Mr. Dillinger. The Toronto Star had sent a reporter up to look into the attack, and a front-page story had all but linked the violence to the arrival of Fortune Industries and the hint of organized crime. Fortune Industries had even served notice on the newspaper that they intended to sue.
No mention had been made of a possible connection between Mayor Denzil Black and those locals most keen to bring the development in, and Travis was somewhat grateful for that. He personally could not imagine the mayor being involved with what had happened.
Sam, however, was not so easily convinced. Her anger was apparent now at all times – even when pounding nails into the hand-painted posters she still put up daily around the beach.
Travis worried that Sam was pushing herself too hard. She never missed a day at the hospital, though each day the news was exactly the same: Mr. Dillinger was still in a coma; doctors were still waiting to see. No one would say for sure if he was expected to pull through. And Sam was all the while taking care of little Muck and running most of the anti-casino activity while Anton recovered from his injuries.
Greenpeace, however, was getting more and more involved. The environmental group had called a press conference in Tamarack and accused Fortune Industries of “violating the most significant habitat of the oldest living residents of Canada: the snapping turtle.”
Travis had no idea if this was true, but it made a great splash in the national media, with little Tamarack featured on all the major newscasts that night.
The talk around town was that the mayor and council were outraged at Sam for starting this whole backlash, but if Sam was worried about herself she never let it show.
“We’re going to kill this thing,” she told Travis and Derek. “We’re winning.”
“That’s what I tell my dad when I talk to him,” said Derek.
Sam stopped hammering up her sign.
“Do you think he hears you?”
“Yes,” said Derek. “I do. Sometimes his eyes flutter. So he’s not gone from us completely.”
“He’s not going anywhere,” Sam said sharply. “He’s going to pull through.”
“I don’t know,” said Derek, his voice breaking. “I just don’t know.”