The Troop

They tumbled across the shore, striking at each other. Their blows didn’t have much pop, but they were thrown with cruel intentions. Newton’s fist collided with Max’s nose, and the impact set Max’s skull bone ringing like a cathedral bell. Max rolled over, snarling, and his elbow caught Newton under the chin. Blood leapt into the air, startlingly bright in the morning sun.

They shoved away from each other, breathing hard. Max’s nose was a squashed berry. Blood lay stunned across his cheeks. The wound in his abdomen had opened up again. Blood was dripping from Newton’s chin. They eyed each other warily, trying to gauge whether the fight was over or this was just an interlude before hostilities commenced anew.

“Are we done?” Max mumbled.

“Yeah, we’re done,” Newton said with downcast eyes.

They sat in silence as the adrenaline burnt out of their systems. In its wake came dull relief. It was like tripping the release on a steam gauge: they could breathe easier and think straighter.

Max offered Newton his hand. Newton took it. Max pulled him up.

“That was a waste of time and energy,” Newton said.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know why guys do it. I feel sick. I taste blood between my teeth.”

“Sorry.”

Newton shrugged. “Don’t be. I did it, too.” He smiled out the side of his mouth. “Bet you didn’t see that coming, did you? WWAMD!”

“What?”

“Nothing. Your nose okay?”

Max gripped the tip of his nose, wiggled it. “Hurts, but I don’t think it’s broken.”

They looked out over the sea.

“It was Shelley,” Max said.

“Yeah,” Newton said. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“You figure he chucked the spark plugs into the sea?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You think he took them with him?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You figure he wants us to come find him?”

“Uh-huh. Hide and go seek. Fetch boy, fetch.”

Max sighed. He felt about a hundred years old.

“Red rover, red rover, please send crazy asshole Shelley over.”

“Olly olly oxen free.”

“Come on,” said Max. “We got to find him.”

43

THEY SET off in pursuit of Shelley just after noon.

“I got my animal-tracking badge last year,” Newton said to lighten the mood. “But, y’know, they don’t give out a man-tracking badge.”

They decided to search the areas off the main trail. Shelley couldn’t have gone too far. Before leaving, they ate the last of the berries they’d collected—the ones for Eef. They tasted bitter, but they’d need the energy.

Newton packed his field book into his knapsack along with a map of the island, some rope, and a flashlight. Max snapped a branch off an elm tree. It was as thick and as long as a mop handle. He sharpened one end to a wicked point.

“I don’t want him coming near us, Newt.”

“How else are we going to get the plugs?”

“Maybe we can convince him to toss them to us.”

“You think?” Newt looked dubious. “You don’t figure he’d swallow them, do you?”

They set off on that unhopeful note. The sun was obscured behind ashy clouds. The temperature had dipped. The daylight was already starting to fade. They were bone-tired before they even took their first steps on the steep switchbacking trail.

“I saw him last night, you know,” Newton said. “Shel. He came round while you were sleeping.”

“Wait, what? What for?” Max shivered involuntarily. “What did he do?”

“Just crouched there. Watching, you know. The way Shelley does.”

“So did you do anything?”

Newton shook his head. “I just watched him right back. Honestly, I figured it wouldn’t be so bad if he died out here. I know that’s awful, but…”

Newton held Max’s gaze when he said it. Max glimpsed—not for the first time in the past few days—that seam of stoniness running through Newton. It was unexpected coming from someone who usually rolled over and showed his soft belly. If anyone had asked Max who’d still be standing after all this, he would have said Kent, maybe Eef. But Newton had that survivalist’s outlook. It wasn’t about the badges he’d earned or the fact he was best at starting a fire. Newton had inner resources that the rest of the boys simply didn’t possess—even Max himself. Getting teased your whole life must force you to grow some pretty hard bark.

“I don’t mean that we should hurt him,” Newton said. “When we get back to the mainland, we should tell the police he’s still here, and sick, and maybe they’ll be able to do something.”

“I know.”

“I’m just saying if they don’t get here in time—”

“Let’s not talk about it, okay, Newt?”

“What should we talk about?”

“I don’t know. Maybe food?”

Newt grinned. “Yes.”

They covered all their favorites. The peach cobbler at Frieda’s Diner that came with a scoop of just-starting-to-melt vanilla ice cream. The porterhouse steaks Max’s father cooked up at the annual summer barbecue, two inches thick and marbled with rich melty fat. The pies from Sammy’s Pizza down in Tignish—you had to pay five bucks extra for delivery to North Point, but it was so worth it to scarf down one of those slightly chewy slices covered in little spicy pepperonis and mozzarella cheese.