Puddlejumpers by Mark Jean Christopher Carlson

Author:Mark Jean, Christopher Carlson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook
Publisher: Disney Publishing Worldwide
Published: 2008-04-03T04:00:00+00:00

At the open shaft, a tiny Puddlejumper clambered to the surface, followed by another holding a boy’s dirty sock in his hand. Runnel and Root looked weary and tattered and parched. They’d been in search of water and were near the abandoned outpost at Red Moss Point when they’d heard the unexpected “Hooty-hoo.” Sniffing the air beneath the noisy pump, they watched, mystified, as the intruders fled across the field.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Rattled

IT WAS DARK when Joey and Ernie emerged from the wheat field to find a sheriff’s sedan, three pickups, two cars, and a Jeep parked in the Frazier yard. They dismounted and put Sassy in the corral. Crouching low, they snuck between the vehicles, carrying their chest of unknown treasure. From inside the house, they could hear the sounds of heated adult voices.

“What’s going on? Who are all these people?” asked Ernie.

“Neighbors,” answered Joey. “Probably more trouble with the Holsapples.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“He’s buyin’ up all the land for his oil operation,” she explained.

Joey led past the porch to a storm-cellar door that angled almost flat against the ground on the side of the house. She flipped the latch and pulled back the door. They hurried down the cement stairs, silently closing the door behind them.

Joey flicked on a switch that provided a dim light from an overhead fixture. Against one wall was a workbench with a set of wrenches, assorted screwdrivers, and woodworking tools hanging on a Peg-Board. Glass jars containing screws and nails of various sizes were attached to the ceiling. There were shelves of canned pickles, beets, peaches, and plums in mason jars. Stored along the adjacent wall were a cake mixer, a high chair, a baby stroller, and cardboard boxes with the name Dolores written on the outside. There was even an old baseball glove, a bat, and an open box of dusty trophies in the corner. Ernie thought it smelled a little like the basement at Lakeside, only sweeter, more like old wood and fallen leaves.

They hurried to the workbench, where Joey tugged on a string to light a bare bulb dangling over the work area. Ernie placed their treasure on the coarse tabletop. Like two expert archaeologists, they studied their discovery with intense concentration. Though they could hear the rumble of adult voices overhead, they were too involved with the chest to care. The baby’s face was carved in intricate detail, and under the light his mischievous expression came alive. Ernie tried to open the lid, but it was locked. He ran his fingers over the curves of the baby’s face, searching for a hidden lock. He peered into its mouth.

“Wax,” he said at last.

“What?” whispered Joey.

Ernie opened the bench drawer and rummaged around until he found a pack of matches. He ripped out a match and lit it. Joey helped him tilt the chest upside down while he held the flame to the baby’s lips. Wax dribbled down its chin.

“Quilt Baby’s lips were sealed,” he whispered, then blew out the match. He wriggled a small screwdriver inside the baby’s mouth until he heard a clicking sound.

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