Down below, she spotted a long red object nearing the creepy island at the centre of the lake. That’s Fish’s kayak. Why is that doofus going to the Siren’s Lair?
The island had a sinister reputation. Some people said it was haunted. Some swore it was a refuge for murderers and thieves. Needless to say, it was a popular destination for anyone on the wrong side of a dare.
Lucy checked her calculator watch. It was getting late, and her investigation into Nu Co. was more important for now. The boy and his boat would have to wait. She pulled a dry leaf out of her hair, crumbling it to dust.
The woodland trail ended at a chain-link fence on the edge of Nu Co.’s property, beyond which lay a diminishing forest bathed in artificial light. The sound of buzz saws and heavy machinery echoed throughout the landscape.
Lucy hid her bike behind a blackberry bush and tucked her conspicuous hair into a black beanie she had borrowed from Willow. It had cat ears. That couldn’t be helped. She scrambled twenty feet up a slender fir tree and hid amongst its branches. Taking out a pair of binoculars from her backpack, she surveyed the scene.
A wasteland of felled trees lay before her, stretching to the edge of Nu Co.’s rapidly expanding orchard of sticky pine trees. Beyond the orchard, the factory puffed brown smoke from its pyramidal brick smokestack. From her perch, Lucy watched the last of the workers’ cars cruise up the long factory driveway and exit on to the main road. Silas’s faded yellow pickup truck was among them.
Lucy trained her binoculars to an area just past the fence where several large machines rumbled beneath the first evening stars. A towering yellow vehicle resembling a giraffe wrapped a complex set of saw blades round a tree, slicing it off its stump in less than a second. The mechanical beast spun the severed tree sideways and, faster than Lucy could say “crudberry pie à la mode”, stripped off its branches and chopped it into logs, stacking them neatly in a pile.
Cripes and beans. At this rate the entire forest would be cleared in a matter of days, if not hours.
Hoping to get a closer look at the operation, Lucy slid to the ground and hopped over the chain-link fence. Slinking amongst the shadows, she crouched behind a pile of wood. The giraffe machine motored down the slope and gripped another tree, sawed it down, then–
POP-PA-PA-CROWW!
There was a bright flash and a puff of black smoke as the giraffe’s saw blades suffered a series of small explosions. An alarm sounded and the vehicle released the tree before it caught fire. The driver jumped out and threw his hard hat to the ground. Meanwhile, a group of workers gathered around, shouting curses.
Lucy felt goosebumps. Sabotage. She tiptoed closer to the mayhem. Sidestepping a freshly cut stump, she tripped and fell face first into a patch of prickly ferns.
“Hey, did you hear that?” shouted one of the workers.
“Is someone over there?”
The shouts of the mob grew louder as angry footsteps crunched towards Lucy. She curled up under the fern’s fronds and tried to make herself as small as possible. These goombas are out for blood!
“No, not there, over here!” someone shouted. “Some cornpone’s behind the stump grinder!”
Now the feet were stampeding in the opposite direction.
Phew. That was close. Lucy crawled behind an alder tree and peered through her binoculars.
The workers surrounded a rhinoceros-sized machine with tank treads. It too was spitting sparks. Abruptly, they dragged a man wearing a grey fedora hat and an overcoat out from behind the vehicle and into the light.
“It’s the weatherman,” gasped the machine operator.
Lucy’s breath caught in her throat. It was none other than Carlos Felina, handsome Sticky Pines newscaster. And secret Pretender.
An SUV barrelled down the dirt road that cut through the orchard and into the clearing, the words “SECURITY” printed on its side in white letters. It slid to a stop and three serious-looking men stepped out.
Great. Fisher’s goons. The first time Lucy had seen these bozos, they’d been disguised as creepy clowns at the Nu Co. Par-T in Da Pines carnival (ugh). Today, they wore black suits and ties topped off with sunglasses, despite the low light. They look like they’re auditioning for Men in Black: The Musical.
The hard-hatted workers thrust Carlos Felina towards the slickly dressed newcomers.
The weatherman raised his hands in surrender. “Please, I can explain,” he began.
“Save it, pretty boy,” snarled a thick-set, soft-chinned goon. It was Murl, Fisher’s head of security. And dillweed extraordinaire.
“You’re coming with us,” said a tall, thin man at his side. Lucy had previously nicknamed this one “Tweedle Dum”.
“Who else is working with you?” yipped the shortest man in black. And there’s “Tweedle Dummer”, his partner in donked-up doofery.
The weatherman cowered. “I’m… I’m…” He seemed to make eye contact with Lucy from afar.
Can he see me?
“I’m alone. I swear it.”
Murl whistled and the Dums bundled Felina into the back of the SUV, then drove off into the orchard.
Where are they taking him?
Lucy snuck round the grumbling workers and hurried after the car. Staying out of sight, she ran through the rows of cultivated trees, each tapped and flowing with sticky black sap. So much sap. But if they’re not selling Nucralose, what’s it for?
The SUV’s rear lights glowed red as it pulled to a stop in the middle of the orchard next to a curiously dense patch of trees.
Murl emerged from the driver’s seat and Dum and Dummer pulled Felina out of the rear. They escorted the weatherman through a narrow pathway leading into the grove.
As soon as they disappeared, Lucy hustled across the road and crawled through the grove’s underbrush. When she reached the edge of a clearing, she hid behind a low branch and peeked through the pine needles.
The
