Roadside Picnic

"We'll see when we get there.” Redrick kept looking at the map. There were two other X's, one on the slope of the hill with the tree, the other on the rocks. Poodle and Four-eyes. The path was marked below them. “We'll see,” he repeated, folding up the map and putting it in his pocket.

He looked Arthur over.

"Put the backpack on my back. We'll go like before,” he said, shifting under the weight of the pack and arranging the straps more comfortably. “You go ahead, so that I can see you every second. Don't look back and keep your ears open. My order is law. Keep in mind that we'll have a lot of crawling to do, don't suddenly be afraid of the dirt. If I tell you to, drop your face into the mud without any backtalk. And button your jacket. Ready?"

"Ready.” Arthur was very nervous; the rosiness of his cheeks had disappeared.

"First we go this way.” Redrick waved sharply in the direction of the nearest hill a hundred steps from the rocks. “Got it? Let's go."

Arthur heaved a sigh, stepped over the rails, and started down sideways from the embankment. The pebbles rained after him noisily.

"Easy, easy,” Redrick said. “There's no hurry."

He started down slowly after him, automatically adjusting his leg muscles to the weight of the heavy backpack. He watched Arthur out of the corner of his eye. He's scared, he thought. He must sense it. If his sense is like his father's, he does. If you only knew how things were turning out, Buzzard. If you only knew, Buzzard, that I took your advice this time. “This is one place, Red, that you can't go to alone. Like it or not, you'll have to take somebody with you. I can give you one of my people who's expendable.” You talked me into it.

It's the first time in my life that I agreed to something like this. Well, maybe it will turn out all right, he thought. Maybe, somehow, it will work out. After all, I'm not Buzzard Burbridge, maybe I'll figure something out.

"Stop!” he told Arthur.

The boy stopped ankle-deep in rusty water. By the time Redrick got down to him, the quagmire had sucked him in up to his knees.

"Do you see that rock?” Redrick asked. “There, under the hill? Head for it."

Arthur moved on. Redrick let him get ten paces ahead and then followed. The mud slurped underfoot. It was a dead swamp—no bugs, no frogs, even the willows were dry and rotten. Redrick looked around, but for now everything seemed to be in order. The hill slowly got closer, covering the sun, which was still low in the sky, and finally blocking the entire eastern sky. At the rock, Redrick looked back at the embankment. It was brightly lit by the sun. A train of ten ore cars stood on it. Some of the cars had fallen off the tracks and were lying on their sides, and the embankment above them was covered with the rusty red piles of the ore. Further on, in the direction of the quarry, north of the train, the air over the track shimmered and undulated, and tiny rainbows exploded and died in the air. Redrick looked at the shimmer, spat, and turned away.

"Let's go,” he said. Arthur turned his tense face to him. “See those rags over there? You're looking the wrong way! Over there, to the right."

"Yes,” said Arthur.

"Well, that was a guy called Whip. A long time ago. He didn't listen to his elders and now he lies there in order to show smart people the right way. Look just to the right of Whip. Got it? See the spot? Right where the willows are a little thicker. That's the way. You're off!"

Now they were moving parallel to the embankment. Every step brought them to shallower water, and soon they were walking on dry, springy hillocks. The map still showed this as solid swamp. The map's old, thought Redrick, Burbridge hasn't been here in a long time, and it's gotten out of date. That's bad. Of course, it's easier to walk on dry land, but it would have been better for that swamp to be here. Look at Arthur go, he thought. He's walking like he's strolling down Central Avenue.

Arthur seemed to have perked up and was walking full speed. He had one hand in his pocket and he was swinging the other as if out on a stroll. Redrick rummaged in his pocket, took out a bolt weighing an ounce or so, and threw it at his head. The bolt hit Arthur in the back of the head. The boy gasped, grabbed his head, crouched, and fell into the dry grass. Redrick stood over him.

"That's how it comes out here, Artie,” he pontificated. “This isn't an avenue, we're not on a promenade here, you know."

Arthur got up slowly. His face was drained white.

"Everything clear?” Redrick asked.

Arthur gulped and nodded.

"Fine. And next time I'll let you have it in the teeth. If you're still alive. Go ahead!"