The Hunted by Gloria Skurzynski

Author:Gloria Skurzynski
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: National Geographic Society
Published: 2000-09-10T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ashley in front, Jack in back, with Miguel in the middle, they hiked down a lane with two dirt tire tracks running in dusty parallel strips. The road through Quartz Creek Campground was shaped like a lasso, a straight stretch topped by a gigantic loop. The Landon camper was parked on the left side of the lasso; the sound seemed to have come from the farthest edge of the right side of the loop. Whoever they found would be too far back to know anyone else was in the campground.

Stopping abruptly, Ashley asked, “Ooooh, do you smell that awful smell?” Wrinkling her nose, she said, “It’s like something really rotten.”

Jack hadn’t noticed it before, but once Ashley mentioned it, he could smell it, too, especially when a small breeze wafted toward them. “I don’t know what it is,” he answered, “but this whole thing is getting strange.” Maybe the mystery would be solved when they got a look at who or what was back there in the trees. Or maybe it wouldn’t turn out to be much of a mystery: Probably hikers had come in from the back country, not needing to unlock the chain at the entrance.

The farther they walked, the worse the smell became. With every breeze, a fresh wave of stench would curl up Jack’s nostrils, as if death itself were riding the wind.

It didn’t seem to bother Miguel, though. Nothing, it seemed, bothered him, not the rough ride in the camper, not the lack of food, not his dirty clothes, not anything except the police, whom he had good reason to fear, and even that danger he was prepared to face. With his frayed shoes and borrowed clothes, Miguel was at ease in his own skin. That kid, Jack mused, could teach him a lot.

Suddenly Miguel grabbed at Ashley’s arm and motioned for Jack to stop. “Por allí,” he whispered, pointing. “There.”

“What?” Jack hadn’t noticed anything, not the slightest movement or flash of color.

Miguel pointed, then repeated, “Por allí.”

“OK, I’ll go first. You guys follow,” Jack instructed.

“No,” Miguel said. “I go first.”

He must want to see if the police are there, Jack thought, as Miguel cut off the path and moved into the woods. After a hundred more feet, he started ducking behind tree trunks, one at a time, slowly and softly moving forward, nothing more than a shadow. Ashley and Jack followed, doing exactly what Miguel did. Underbrush thickened, scraping Jack’s skin. Twigs snapped underfoot. The mysterious smell grew nauseating.

When they reached an opening, Miguel dropped to his belly and pointed. At first Jack could see nothing, but as he strained forward he made out the shape of a delivery van—dark green and inconspicuous in the midst of all the foliage. Jack motioned for his sister to stay down. Ashley made herself small, her eyes barely clearing the tall grass.

“That’s not the police,” Jack whispered to Miguel. “Look at the license plate. They’re from Washington State, where Seattle is. No policía.”

“Sí.” Miguel nodded, growing tense.

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