The murder of crows rose as one into the sky, circling in a giant black screeching flock as the gleaming red-and-white fire engine sped around the corner of the highway, lights flashing, siren wailing. As the truck slowed and turned up Mr. Thorvald’s driveway, Paige could read the words GRAYDON ENGINE NO. 1 painted along its side. She looked at the long extension ladder on top of the truck and saw firemen sitting in the engine’s cab and perched along its flanks. The truck rolled to a stop in front of the farmhouse, and the siren went dead. Eight firemen in heavy grey coats, rubber boots, and black helmets climbed down and walked across the gravel to talk to Mr. Thorvald and Cole. The crows settled back onto the trees and power lines. A southerly wind was rising.
Out on the highway a car that had been following the fire engine slowed at the base of the driveway, hesitating for a moment before turning in. Seconds later another car came around the bend, then another, followed by a pickup truck, and another car, and another, and another. Soon a whole line of cars and pickups was snaking along the highway. Paige saw Helena Babchuk’s blue Datsun in the middle of the procession.
Stanley Thorvald had begun snapping photographs again. Some of the cars turned up the driveway, but not all could fit in, so they lined the shoulders of the highway. People poured out of the cars and began streaming up the road and into the driveway. Over their heads the crows screeched and squabbled in a frenzy of excitement, bursting into the air like feathery black flames.
That stupid duck. It really hurt you last time. Whoever knew a duck was so fast, and that it had such a sharp beak! Those roots around its stump got in your way. You couldn’t strike. Then it got you in its beak, flew into the air, and dropped you in the swamp. How embarrassing. How humiliating to have to swim back to shore. It took all afternoon for your rattle to dry out. And that sharp beak hurt! You couldn’t slither properly for days. Or catch anything at all to eat.
So not again. Not this time. You’re starving, and this time you’re going to get those eggs.
Two of the firemen stayed with the truck as six others marched down the lawn with Mr. Thorvald and Cole leading them. Their black boots trampled the grass as they crossed the field, their wide-brimmed helmets gleaming in the sunlight. The crowd of people followed in a long procession. Paige’s mother was standing near the back of the station wagon, her arm around Toby. She turned and lifted him into the car and closed the tailgate. “Stay in the car, Toby,” she said. He began ferociously blowing his flute at the approaching crowd.
Stanley scaled halfway up the rope to the fort and snapped pictures of the mob.
“Hey!” Paige yelled at him. He slid down and ran into the field, crouching in the grass and snapping more shots. Paige pulled up the rope. As the crowd neared, Stanley rushed back and joined the rest of the hippies, gathered now at the base of the oak. Eudora was still inside the Volkswagen with the baby. Michelle, the girl with the long hair, crouched down, holding Sally’s collar as the dog barked and growled at the approaching mob. Paige’s mother moved forward.
When the firemen came to a stop about thirty feet from the tree, Paige was amazed to see that they all had their faces made up like clowns — painted white, with huge red lips, exaggerated arching eyebrows, and bright red noses. She couldn’t recognize any of them.
Behind them the crowd flowed into the field, forming a wide arc beneath the curve of purple clouds approaching from the south. There must have been two hundred people. There were adults and children holding balloons and eating cotton candy. Others had bags of popcorn. Some also had their faces painted. Paige realized they all must have followed the new fire engine from the volunteer firemen’s picnic. At first she didn’t recognize anyone, but then a few familiar faces popped out — the librarian, Mrs. Greenwood from the post office, Mrs. Cunningham. Paige searched for Janine and Billy, but they weren’t there. Of the firemen, two or three glanced up, and Paige tried to catch their eye, but they looked away. The lead fireman, standing with Mr. Thorvald and Cole, had his face painted as a sad hobo clown, with a down-turned mouth, a shadowy beard, a red rubber nose, and a black tear running down his cheek.
You slither across the ground, pushing your nose through the dry leaves. Your tongue flicks at the air, sensing, tasting, smelling, searching. Where is it?
You flick your tongue and you smell water close by and rotting wood and that strange animal smell, the flowery, musky smell from those two who were here before. But there’s nothing now. They aren’t here. The two are gone. Just the trace of a smell left behind. You slither on through the leaves, hunting for the duck’s scent ...
The sad clown fireman stepped forward. His voice was pinched and nasal from the rubber nose. “Good day, Susie.”
Paige’s mother didn’t reply. She simply folded her arms and turned her gaze from side to side, scanning the faces. Overhead the wind was picking up, rustling the leaves of the tree and shaking the branches. The dark ridge of clouds in the south was pushing northward, extending like a tidal wave over the entire region. Stanley was circling the group and snapping pictures.
The sad clown continued. “There’s a storm brewing.”
“I see that,” Paige’s mother said.
He glanced up at the tree. “Your girl’s in danger up there.”
A commotion broke out from the crowd of onlookers. Mrs. Thorvald pushed her way through to the front and stared at her husband, breathless and flushed. A blue ribbon was pinned to her chest. She began to speak in Latvian, but Mr. Thorvald didn’t back down this time. He merely glanced at her and barked three sharp words, which silenced her instantly. She raised a hand to her mouth in shock and turned away, sinking back into the crowd, where she was met by Helena Babchuk. Stanley ran over to comfort her.
The clown continued. “You know we can’t let this go on much longer.”
One of the hippies, Gunter, stepped forward. “Hey, man, why don’t you quit hassling these good people? They aren’t hurting anyone.”
The clown glared at Gunter. “Who’s this?”
Mr. Thorvald sighed. “They’re friends of my son’s.”
“I’m a citizen of the Earth, man,” Gunter said, “just like that tree and that little girl.”
“Well, thanks very much for the sermon, man,” the clown said, “but we’ve got adult work to do here if you don’t mind stepping aside.”
“We can’t let you cut down this tree, man. That would be a crime against the Earth.” The other hippies chimed in with support.
The clown laughed. “You can’t let us?”
“Nope.”
“Listen, kid, you don’t have any say in the matter, so why don’t you just push off?”
“I’m not a kid, you fascist hobo.”
The clown laughed, then lunged at Gunter as though to punch him, but stopped short. Gunter stumbled backward and fell to the ground. A wave of laughter rippled through the crowd.
“You can’t even stand on your own two feet, kid,” the clown said. “How you gonna keep a tree from falling?”
When the clown lunged, his red nose had popped off. Paige now recognized his voice. “Hey!” she yelled down. “Hey, Mr. Cunningham!”
He glanced up, still laughing, and Paige saw a look of recognition in his eyes, but he turned away quickly, the smile dropping from his face.
Lying on the ground, Gunter said, “That’s assault! I want him charged!”
Stanley ran over and helped Gunter up. “Peace, man,” he told Mr. Cunningham. “We didn’t come here to fight.”
Cole stepped forward, waving his hands. “Now, now, everyone just calm down. No one assaulted anyone that I saw.”
“Not yet!” came a shout from the crowd.
Cole turned to the mob. “Everyone just relax.” He looked at the hippies. “Stanley, I think you and your friends would be best advised to get in your van and head out of here.”
Stanley turned to confer with Gunter in whispers. At some point in the ruckus Sally had gotten free, and Paige now heard her yelping. She turned to see the dog running away across the field toward the highway and figured the poor creature must have been terrified by the hostile mob.
You slither on through the leaves in the direction of the new scent. Is that it? You stop and lift your head again and search the air with your nose and tongue. Yes. Over there. That direction. Toward the water. You slither closer and can see it now. The stump. The duck nest. The nest is empty. The duck mother is away. You can smell the eggs. You slither closer ...
Paige heard someone below ask, “Hey, what are they doing?” She looked back at the ground and saw the hippies encircling the tree, forming a human chain around the trunk, standing face out, their elbows linked together.
Cole and Mr. Cunningham stared at them, then glanced at each other and shook their heads. Mr. Cunningham wheeled around and addressed the crowd. “Okay, you people, make some room!” He shouted at one of the firemen, “Harry, go up and tell them to bring down the truck!” Then to the crowd he said, “Now, everybody, clear back and make some room to let the engine through!”
One of the firemen ran to the rail fence and waved to the two firemen still up at the truck. A minute later the big engine rolled down the lawn, rumbling and wheezing as the driver negotiated into the field. The crowd parted to let it through.
The sky overhead was now dark with clouds, and the wind began gusting fiercely. The tall grass of the field and the limbs of the oak were whipping and thrashing wildly. Stray hats and empty popcorn bags blew through the air. Some of the people began leaving, running back to their cars. The fire engine came to a stop about twenty yards out from the tree. Paige watched the firemen lift a large white half-moon-shaped object out of its back. They folded it open, and Paige realized it was a safety net, like a trampoline, made of white canvas laced to a circular metal frame about twelve feet across. She had seen them in the movies. There was a large red dot at its centre, like a target. The canvas billowed and fluttered in the wind, and five of the firemen clung to it tightly as they carried it under the tree and held it below the fort, looking up at Paige as if expecting her to jump into it.
Just then Paige heard the crows screaming and cawing out at the power lines. She glanced up to see a black car approaching along the highway. It was her father’s Thunderbird. “Daddy!” she cried. She looked over the side of the fort. “Mom! There’s Daddy!”
The Thunderbird stopped at the end of the clogged driveway, unable to advance farther. Paige saw her father get out. He gazed across the field, dressed in a business suit, his curly mop of blond hair blowing in the wind.
“Daddy!” Paige screamed. “Help me!”
He hesitated for a moment, peering at the oak tree and the crowd around it, then started running diagonally across the field.
You can smell the eggs. You’re getting closer. Almost at the roots surrounding the stump. The duck is gone and you’re going to have a feast. Then, suddenly, you feel something. The ground vibrates. Something is coming down the hill through the woods. Something big. You can feel its vibrations in the ground. You stop, turn, and draw your body into a tight coil. That smell hits you again. That sickly flowery, musty smell of those two who were here before. You flick your tongue at the air. The thing is coming down from the woods ...
At the fire engine Mr. Cunningham was standing at a control panel, turning knobs and flipping switches. Paige’s mother was talking to him frantically, but he just shook his head and concentrated on the instrument panel. Thick black clouds rolled in, and the wind was so forceful now that Paige couldn’t hear what her mother was saying. She saw her mother pull at Mr. Cunningham’s coat, trying to turn his attention toward her. He shrugged her off and barked something at Cole, who stepped in and held her back.
Mr. Cunningham flicked a switch, and two metal legs lowered on either side of the engine. As the legs pressed into the ground, the truck shook, rose slightly, stabilized, and then became very still. The two firemen who had been inside the cab were now on top of the truck. Paige saw their clown faces gazing up at her. Mr. Cunningham pulled a lever and, with a loud hydraulic whine, the ladder on the engine shuddered to life, lifting at an angle and turning toward the tree. It stopped, pointing straight at the fort, and then began extending toward Paige.
Rain started to fall. Fat drops exploded against the oak leaves and planks of the fort. Within seconds it developed into a torrential downpour. The crowd scrambled across the field toward their cars. Paige spotted her father struggling toward her against the flow of the crowd. The hippies retreated to their bus. One of the clown firemen on top of the truck began climbing slowly up the ladder, his head and face bowed, shielded under his helmet to protect himself from the rain. He clung tightly to the ladder and concentrated on keeping his balance in the storm.
Paige was soaked to the skin and shivering. Her father finally arrived, and her mother broke loose from Cole and ran over to him. They stood there, drenched in the rain, and talked frantically, her mother gesturing wildly at the tree. Then her father yelled, “Where’s Toby!”
You flick your tongue at the air. What is it? What is that smell? It’s disgusting. You scrunch up even tighter. Rain is beginning to fall. The thing emerges out of the woods. It’s one of those two from before, the smaller one. It’s coming closer. Too close. It’s coming straight at you. It has a big stick. You have no protection this time, no rock cover to hide under like you did before. You raise your tail. Doesn’t it see you? You rattle your tail. Get out of here! Don’t come any closer!
Paige’s mother wheeled around and pointed at the station wagon, but then she stopped. The back passenger door of the car was wide open. Paige’s mother ran to the car and looked inside. Then she shouted, “Toby!”
“Mom,” Paige yelled down, “what’s wrong?” The wind was blowing ferociously, clearing everything off the fort.
“Do you see Toby?” her mother asked frantically.
Paige clung to a branch of the trunk and scanned the pasture. “No!” Then she remembered seeing Sally running across the field. “He must have gone to the duck nest!”
“I told you to stay away from that nest!” her mother said angrily.
You rattle your tail as loud as you can, but the thing won’t listen to you. The vibrations fill your body and fill the air with buzzing. But the thing won’t listen. It won’t pay attention. Can’t it see you? Can’t it hear the rattle? It swings the stick at you, and you jerk backward, raising your head and hissing at it. Now there’s something else coming. You can feel it in the ground and smell it. A dog running. Coming down the hill. This stupid thing with the stick won’t pay attention to you, and now a dog is coming. You raise your head higher and open your mouth wide ...
The rain was pounding down now, and Paige saw her mother run to Cole and begin speaking to him almost hysterically, pointing back at the car. Cole ran to the car and peered inside, then looked across the field. He turned back and waved two of the firemen off the trampoline. Gunter and Stanley also rushed over from the Volkswagen. Mr. Cunningham stopped the ladder and hurried over from the fire engine. The fireman on the ladder stopped, his head tilted down as he watched the others below. Cole pointed across the field. Paige saw her mother say something to her father. He passed her something and then she ran off across the field in the direction of the Thunderbird. Two of the firemen and Gunter followed her.
Paige’s father turned and looked up at the tree. “Paige,” he yelled, “get down here right now!”
Paige’s heart sank. “No! You have to stop them!” She stared down at him. “They’re going to kill the tree and pave the pasture, Daddy!”
“I don’t care what they’re going to do! Get down here right now!”
Just then there was flash of lightning. The sky had become dark, but the flash illuminated the whole scene. Thunder rumbled and crackled through the clouds. Hail began pelting down.
Paige’s father turned to Mr. Cunningham. “Get her down!”
The air fills with a flash of light and a rumbling explosion. You want to get away. The thing is swinging that stick at you, and now you can see the dog. It’s running toward you. A furry black beast. You stretch your mouth wide and feel your fangs drop down from where they nestle in the roof of your mouth. The buzz of your rattle is sending vibrations through your whole body. You strike as fast as you can ...
Mr. Cunningham ran back to the fire truck as Paige’s father grabbed the hoop of the catcher with the four remaining firemen. The other fireman on top of the truck climbed down and joined them. They were all looking up at Paige. The paint on their faces was streaking due to the rain.
There was still a fireman on the ladder. Mr. Cunningham worked the controls, and the ladder began extending again toward the fort. Paige searched around frantically. In the distance she saw her mother and the others get into the Thunderbird and speed off up the road. She tried to climb one of the tree’s thick limbs, but it was too slippery in the rain. She still had only one shoe and couldn’t get a grip. Hail bounced off the fort and rattled on the metal ladder. It stung as it hit her face, arms, and legs. She ran across the fort, tried another limb and managed to find a foothold. She grabbed a branch overhead and pulled herself up, then glanced back. It was no use. The end of the ladder simply changed course and was swinging through the air after her. The fireman on the ladder was about halfway up its height now, climbing with his chin and face tucked into his collar to protect himself from the hail bouncing off his helmet.
Paige climbed higher, but the ladder kept tilting upward, following her, extending after her. When Paige could go no higher, she turned and scanned the branches quickly. The fireman was about three-quarters of the way to the top. She chose a spot and jumped.
You strike as fast as lightning, but it’s not fast enough. The stupid dog grabs you in its jaws. How could you let this happen again? You couldn’t get them both? And now you can’t move. The dog has you behind the head, and it’s growling and shaking you. And you feel more things coming down the hill now, bigger things crashing through the woods. You try to shake your tail, but the vibrations send ripples of pain through your body. You can barely breathe ...
Paige landed on a thick branch ten feet below and four feet over. The ladder stopped and began retracting to get out of the tree, so it could swing over to where Paige was. But as it did, it got caught in the branches, and the fireman had to wrestle it free. Paige descended to the fort, ran to the other side, and began climbing again. Down below, the men holding the catcher kept circling the tree, trying to stay below Paige.
You can barely breathe. They’re all around you now. Their stench is everywhere. They are much bigger than the first one. The dog has let you go, and it’s barking now. You try to roll over so you can slither away, but the pain is too great. You can see one of the things bend down and lift the one you bit, the smaller one that swung a stick at you. The bigger one hoists the smaller one off the ground and carries it up into the woods. Some of the others follow ...
Paige climbed high into the other side of the tree. Once the ladder got free of the branches, it swung sideways above the fort, coming to a stop and pointing straight at her again. It began to extend, with the fireman clinging to its end, his face still buried in his collar. Hail continued to pelt down. Paige already knew where she was going to jump, but she waited, wanting the ladder to get as high into the tree as possible before she leaped. Then, in the distance, she saw the Thunderbird pull out onto the highway from the dirt road and stop. Gunter got out and began running across the field as the Thunderbird sped south.
“Daddy!” Paige yelled, pointing across the field.
He turned and saw Gunter charging through the grass. When her father looked up at the tree again, his face was filled with panic and he waved Mr. Cunningham on.
Paige glanced back at the ladder just as another bolt of lightning lit the sky. The fireman was only about fifteen feet away now, and in the sudden flash of light Paige saw his face. Beneath the smeared streaks of red, white, and black clown paint she recognized him. It was Larry Russell, the arborist.
Thunder exploded overhead.
“No!” Paige screamed, looking down at her father. “No, Daddy! He’s a murderer! He killed his daughter!”
But no one heard her over the storm.
You try to roll over, but you can’t move. Two of the things are coming closer now, and the stupid dog is running around barking. You open your mouth to show them your fangs. But it’s pointless. You couldn’t reach them if you tried. You rattle your tail, and the pain is excruciating ...
Gunter was almost at the tree. He was yelling something no one could make out. Paige felt her knees go weak, and she was unsure if she could jump. She turned and tried to climb higher, but the ladder just followed her. Paige scanned the branches again, then leaped for one on the other side of the fort. It was too far. The tree was too wet. Her foot slipped as she pushed off, and she fell through the hail and wind. She landed on the fort with a jolt, feet first. Pain shot up her right leg, and she collpased on her side as one of the boards gave way, see-sawing into the air and tumbling out of the tree, just missing people below.
Lying in the fort, Paige tried to get up, but when she put weight on her stockinged foot, pain shot through her heel and she collapsed, clutching her ankle. She rolled over and saw Russell’s paint-streaked face glaring at her from above as the ladder began retracting and swinging toward her. She looked through the open gap in the planks at the target below and at her father. Gunter was beside him now, shouting something in his ear.
“He killed her ... Margaret ...” Paige said weakly.
Her father turned and yelled something up at the fort, but Paige couldn’t hear him.
“What?” she cried through the storm.
He hollered again, but only one word cut through the storm. “Rattlesnake!”
Rattlesnake? she thought.
You rattle your tail and try to move. You try to strike, but the pain is too great. Then one of them raises its huge black foot. You hiss at it, but as it comes down over your head, everything goes black.
Something touched Paige’s foot. She rolled over and screamed. Russell gripped her injured ankle and was trying to drag her toward himself. Paige screamed in pain and tried to kick him, but it was no use. His hold was too strong, and the ladder was protecting him. A searing pain shot up her leg. She grasped the edge of the fort where the plank had fallen and screamed to her father for help, trying to pull herself into the opening. A bolt of lightning flashed, followed quickly by an enormous explosion of thunder. Russell stopped pulling. He still had her foot, but he wasn’t pulling anymore.
Paige looked back at him. He was peering out across the field. She followed his gaze and saw something in the storm. A grey form coming through the grass. Another lightning bolt flashed, illuminating the apparition. It was a woman walking across the field. She was drenched by the rain, wore an old housedress that Paige recognized instantly, and was clutching something to her chest. A bundle.
Russell reeled backward on the ladder, releasing her foot, his face a smeared spasm of shock. Paige rolled away, pulling herself toward the gap in the fort just as the air filled with a loud crackle and a strange earthy smell, like the odour of ironing. The fort opened up beneath her, and Paige dropped through the gap as the air above her exploded. Then she was falling, falling through the rain and hail and wind toward the target below and its enormous red dot.