For the next half-hour, they scrambled, crawled, snaked, and wriggled through a section of the forest few adults would have attempted. Exactly why the children had selected the area.
“Holy crap,” Fergus said when Willadean finally gave him the all-clear sign. “Was that quicksand?”
“Not quicksand, silly, but it is a bit swampy next to that stream we crossed.”
“Children, please promise me you’ll not attempt this passage during the rainy season or the spring thaw. I have a feeling that Quicksand Creek transforms into Raging River.”
Willadean nodded. “You’re probably right about that. We’ve blazed this trail recently. It’s our new favorite, especially since it leads to this meadow.” Like a game show model, she made a sweeping gesture toward a clearing ten yards ahead.
Patches of blue sky and fleecy clouds peeked between gnarled branches. From the edge of the tree line, the foursome peered into the meadow at a plastic-wrapped bundle of boxes positioned there.
“Let me get it,” Fergus said with a glance up at the sky. Before anyone could argue, he darted into the clearing and scooped up the bundle. The children waited at the edge of the forest, knives drawn, ready to attack the plastic sheathing upon his return.
“It’s different this time,” Willadean said with a frown.
“Pop-Tarts again, Willa!” Cricket squealed.
“Yeah, but not many. And there’s other stuff, too. Damn, he took up valuable cargo space. Nobody is sick or hurt. Why do we need Cephalexin and Band-Aids?”
“Your drone pilot doesn’t know you’re not sick or hurt. Hmmm, a bottle of peroxide, nice. Water-purifying tablets, excellent. Vitamin C supplements, a tarp, matches. Your Good Samaritan has resources. Fascinating...”
Suddenly Harlan began signing. Whatever he said compelled his sister to dash into the clearing, unfolding a sheet of drawing paper as she ran.
“Willadean, get back over here this instant!” Fergus said.
The child ignored him, quickly placing an oversized note between two bowling-ball sized rocks. Just as she scrambled back into the marginal safety of the forest, a flying object whizzed into the blue patch of sky.
Instinctively, they crouched low, watching the drone hover above the clearing, then slowly descend. It sounded like a swarm of angry bees and it looked like a flying plus sign with four rotating blades. With graceful movements, it lowered itself to a position a few feet above Willadean’s note, like a dragonfly poised above an insect-covered pond.
“What did you write?” Fergus asked.
“I didn’t have much room because I figured I should make the letters extra-large. I just said, PLEASE SEND CANDY NEXT TIME. If he doesn’t have any, maybe he’ll get the idea and send age-appropriate stuff instead of more of this crap.”
Fergus rolled his eyes, started to reply, but was cut off by an irritated sshhh!
The mechanical creature seemed to be reading the note. Of course that wasn’t happening — the drone operator was viewing it through the lens of the camera — but visually it was impossible not to attribute human, or insectile, qualities to the thing. Finally, it had its fill, and lifted up into the blue patch of sky, then zoomed off to the north.
That’s what Fergus had been waiting for. He noted the trajectory.
“Only two boxes of Pop-Tarts and no mac and cheese,” Willadean lamented. “Maybe next time will be better. Okay, boys, let’s take this stuff to the cache.”
“You have a cache?”
“Of course. We can’t eat everything all at once. And we can’t take any of it back home.”
“Right. Then Serena Jo would know what you’ve been up to and put an end to this risky behavior.”
“It’s only risky if we’re not careful.”
“I have to admit, I feel a bit better after seeing the medical supplies, but it’s not enough. I need to find out who is behind this, and more importantly, what his end game is.”
“I hope you don’t make that guy mad, Mister Fergus,” Cricket said between bites of strawberry pastry. “I’d sure hate for him to stop sending this stuff.”
Willadean ignored Cricket, homing in on Fergus. “How will you do it? If you don’t come back to the village, Mama will know you breached the perimeter. That won’t end well for you.”
“Right. That’s why you’re going to ask your grandfather to cover for me. I’m leaving now. Based on the limited range of these things, I expect to find its base no farther than a few miles to the north. I think I know where to start looking. Your job, Agent Willadean, is to convince your grandfather to tell everyone I’m ill. Tell him to embellish the cover story with lurid details of noxious-smelling vomit and liquid bowel movements. That should keep everyone away for at least a day.”
Harlan signed to his sister.
“Harlan wants to know how you’re going to get back through the perimeter without being caught.”
“It won’t be easy navigating that arboreal obstacle course, but I’m sure I can manage. I’m rather resourceful for a scholarly type. Don’t let my professorial façade fool you.”
“I like you, but I don’t buy the professor thing.”
“Clearly you have impeccable taste.”
“Clearly I’m not easily hoodwinked.”
“But are you bamboozled?”
“Nope.”
“Hornswoggled?”
Willadean snorted. “Nope. And neither am I deceived, deluded, nor duped.”
“But are you cozened?”
There was the sudden keen interest again. He had gifted another gem to her glossarial repository and she hadn’t noticed the pivot from the matter of his background.
“How do you spell it?”
“Do we have a deal? You’ll make sure my absence is convincingly explained? No need for an exchange of hemoglobin. Just a promise.”
“You have it.”
After spelling the new word and a brief lecture from Cricket on navigating the forest, he took off in the direction of the drone.
Chapter 8
Ray
Ray had no idea how long someone had been banging on his door. He’d been listening
