Fairy (Harbingers Book 15) by Hunt Angela

Author:Hunt, Angela [Hunt, Angela]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Amaris Media International
Published: 2016-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

* * *

“So Tomas is going to take us to the spot,” I told the others, “and we can set up camp there.”

“This is a national park,” Tank pointed out. “Aren’t there rules against camping in a national park?”

“You’re confused,” Chad said, his voice sharp and cynical. “Everybody camps in the national parks. The rules prohibit littering.”

I looked at Brenda, who shrugged. “It’s not like we’re plannin’ to live there,” she pointed out. “We’ll actually only be there a few hours, and we’ll clean up. Nonexistent footprint and all that.”

“Right.” I sighed. “As long as we don’t get arrested.”

Being jailed in Mexico wasn’t my idea of fun, but we hadn’t seen any signs that prohibited camping. In fact, since entering the Parque Nacional El Tepozteco, we hadn’t seen any signs or any forest rangers. In any case, the Rodriguez family lived within the park boundaries, so how strict could the rules be?

A few moments later Tomas appeared, wearing a button-up shirt, jeans, and sneakers. He picked up his bike and smiled. “Ready?”

“Lead the way, Tomas.” I hopped back in the car along with the others. The driver did a three-point turn and we followed Tomas back to the paved two-lane road.

We drove a couple of miles down the serpentine highway, then Thomas turned onto another dirt road, this one much less-traveled that the one that led to his house. Our driver complained again, but he kept driving, moving slowly over the ruts and maneuvering around fallen trees and branches. Finally the shrubbery and trees at the side of the road opened up to reveal a ditch running along a barren field. The boy stopped and swung his leg over his bike.

Our driver braked to a halt.

“Aquí.” Tomas pointed to the ditch. “The fairy was in the ditch.”

We piled out of our vehicle. The ditch was nothing extraordinary—only a foot deep, with weeds growing on the banks and a trickle of muddy brown water at the bottom. The field beyond had probably been planted at some point, but now resembled nothing except dry, brown earth. Trees to the right and left provided a curtain of shade for the rutted road, effectively concealing it from overhead planes or helicopters or Google Earth cameras.

Chad stepped closer. “Has it occurred to you—” he scratched his chin—“that this might be the perfect place to grow wacky tabacky?”

“What?”

“Marijuana.” He lowered his voice. “Secluded spot, mostly covered from above, no traffic or prying eyes—”

“We’re not the DEA,” I told him. “We’re here to investigate a scientific anomaly.”

“But maybe we should consider an illegal drug operation as a reason for the creature,” he said, whispering out of the side of his mouth. “Maybe the family made up the story to scare people away from this part of the forest. Maybe some drug lord paid big bucks for a sophisticated fake fairy, and this is all a cover-up—”

“If they wanted to scare people away, they’ve done a poor job of it,” I reminded him. “Did you check the Internet? I did.

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