Island of Fog (Book 1) (4 page)

“And don’t forget we’ve been a family short for the last six years,” Robbie said. “They planned for nine, but Thomas died and his parents disappeared, so we would have run out of toothpaste earlier if they’d still been around.”

“Maybe we weren’t supposed be here this long,” Hal said, staring into space. “I mean, my dad said this barn was once filled with rolls and rolls of toilet paper, but it all went long ago, like back when we were little.”

Robbie nodded. “Yeah, my mom said people used to have toilets in the house that flushed everything out through pipes below the floor to some underground tanks. Can you imagine? A lot easier than the porta-john around the back.”

They came to an aisle containing nothing but cans of food. “Dad says most of this canned stuff is past its use-by date,” Hal said. “What a waste. He said they filled this rack full from top to bottom just in case we ever ran short on farm produce, but the farming has gone so well that not much of this canned stuff has been needed, so it’s been forgotten.”

“Here we go,” Robbie said, walking past a large, painted sign pinned to the end of a rack. “Construction stuff. Look, some nice planks of wood. Think we could lash some together and make them float?”

Hal stared at the planks. They were eight feet long and a foot wide, and looked heavy. They’d need at least five or six to make a platform wide enough to sit on with room to maneuver. How were they going to get five or six heavy planks down to the docks? It was a long walk, and they’d have to scramble through the fields to avoid being seen.

He sighed. “Now I’m wondering if we should just pilfer something from one of the old houses, the ones near to the docks. Maybe we could just use a door or something?” He spotted a row of gray plastic tubs on the lowest level and bent to read the label. “Primer paint. Five-gallon buckets of the stuff. I wonder . . .”

“We don’t need to paint the raft,” Robbie said.

“No, I’m wondering if we can use these buckets as floats. If we emptied them and put the lids back on, they should work well enough—say one on each corner of the platform, or more if needed.” Hal stood up, growing excited. “We could maybe run a couple of planks crossways to the door, one at the top and one at the bottom, and fix the buckets to the ends. That’ll make the raft wider, so it might not rock so much and turn over.”

With a plan forming in his mind, Hal began calling out a list of things to take. “Two long planks—we can manage those all right if we each carry an end, and make two trips. Let’s take four buckets. There are maybe fifteen here—think four will be missed?”

The five-gallon buckets were far heavier than Hal could have imagined possible. He and Robbie struggled with one and got it all the way to the back door before realizing how awkward it would be to lift it through the window, so they fiddled with the rusted lock until it came loose. The door was jammed solid, but it burst open in a shower of dust when they put their shoulders to it.

After they’d hauled four heavy buckets outside, they removed the lids and poured the thick, creamy white liquid into a rut. They left the buckets upside down to drain and went back inside to fetch a couple of planks and a long length of rope.

About fifteen minutes later they worked on closing the door again, then spent some time refitting the glass and frame. They brushed off their hands and got ready to transport their raft materials to the docks, after first replacing the lids on the buckets. “The paint will dry around the rim and help stick the lids on,” Hal explained. “Help me with this plank.”

They set off across the fields toward the docks, walking parallel to the main road but some distance from it so as to remain out of sight.

“I’m starving,” Hal said as they threaded their way through a small clump of trees. “When we get to the docks, let’s have our lunch before going back for the other plank.”

When they were well past the occupied houses, they left the cover of trees and rejoined the main road. After several hundred yards it sloped downwards and the boys knew the docks were close. The screaming of seagulls came to them out of the fog, and then the gentle sound of water washing up the pebble beach. The wind picked up, and brought with it the strong, fresh scent of the ocean.

On the coast the fog always seemed thicker. Hal and Robbie hurried down the road with their plank, a wall of gloom ahead of them, but then the docks appeared and the road leveled out. It ended at the water’s edge, but a sturdy wooden pier continued out over the swirling green water. Huge black tires hung all along the sides, and a number of narrow wooden ladders were fixed here and there. The tires and ladders had perplexed Hal for years until his dad had told him that boats once moored there, long ago before the island was cut off from the outside world.

A low wooden jetty ran alongside a grassy bank off to one side. The boys descended a short flight of stone steps and walked all the way to the end. “This’ll do,” Hal said, dropping his end of the plank. “We’ll dump everything here, then come back tomorrow and start building.”

Robbie dropped his end too, and the jetty reverberated under their feet as the heavy plank fell with a bang. They took off their backpacks and sat down to eat their lunch.

It was calm and peaceful sitting with their legs dangling over the side of the jetty above the choppy green water, munching on sandwiches and sipping water from plastic bottles. Hal started into an apple but found it too soft for his liking, so he hurled it out to sea. Excited gulls swooped in to see what it was, but they didn’t seem too interested and flapped away again.

“Think there’s a monster out there?” asked Hal after a while. “A sea serpent, I mean?”

Robbie snorted. “Yeah, right. It’s just a bedtime story, to keep us from swimming out too far. Maybe our parents are afraid we’ll swim right out into the fog and through to the other side, where the sky is blue.”

“Or maybe they’re afraid we’ll get lost in the fog,” Hal said. “If only we could have plugged up that hole in the woods. Then we might be able to see Out There.”

Well,” Robbie said, getting to his feet, “we’ll see Out There pretty soon. Come on, let’s go get the other plank. Then the buckets, and then we’ll have to find a door we can use, and then get some tools and nails and things.”

Saturday was a busy day. Hal borrowed a hammer, a box of nails, a three-pack of duct tape, and some more rope from his dad’s garage and crammed it all into his backpack along with his packed lunch. He set off on his bike to the docks, where he’d planned to meet Robbie. He caught up with his friend halfway along the road; Robbie was wobbling all over the place, trying to steer and pedal while hefting two heavy wood-handled shovels.

Hal grabbed one from him. “Are these our paddles?”

Robbie nodded. “You got the hammer and nails? How are we going to fix the buckets to the planks?”

“We’ll figure something out. I brought duct tape and lots of thin rope. We’ll lash them on somehow.”

The fog was so thick this morning that the houses at the sides of the road were invisible until the boys passed by the front lawns. It was cold too, and Hal wore a thick sweater for a change. Robbie, as usual, seemed unaffected by the cold and wore a thin shirt and jeans that were too short.

They stood their bikes by the stone steps leading down to the jetty. The water looked cold and uninviting as they set to work.

They’d spent the previous afternoon bringing the two planks, four empty buckets, and long rope down to the docks, and then had set off to find a door. With plenty of empty houses and old shops nearby, it hadn’t been a difficult task; they’d walked in and lifted one from its hinges, a good sturdy door with a small diamond-shaped window set in the center at eye-level. Getting it to the docks had been a chore though, for it was much heavier than they’d imagined, and seemed to get heavier the farther they carried it.

They crouched on the jetty and arranged the door and planks. They planned to build the raft upside down, so they first nailed the heavy planks crossways along the top and bottom of the door, and then spent a long time lashing the plastic buckets to them. With a combination of rope and heavy-duty waterproof duct tape, the four drums seemed secure enough at last. When they finished, they stood and stared at the underside of their raft with great satisfaction.

Now it was time to turn it right side up and put it in the water.

“Let’s eat first,” Hal said. “It must be lunchtime by now.”

“Yeah, I’m starving,” Robbie agreed, holding his stomach.

As soon as they were finished, they got to work turning the raft over. It was heavier than expected. With two heavy planks fixed to an even heavier door, and what seemed like miles of rope holding the buckets in place, the thing seemed to weigh a ton. They strained, but could not lift the raft up to a vertical position so it could fall over onto the other side. Robbie grew more and more red-faced as he struggled, all set to blow a fuse. Hal felt about the same. His face was hot and sweat dribbled from his forehead.

They tried once more, both gripping one end and lifting with all their might. They got it up to knee level, then straightened their backs, bringing it up as high as their waists . . . but again their strength failed them and they just couldn’t get their tired arms to hoist it any higher. “Drop it,” Hal gasped.

But suddenly Robbie gave a yell of frustration, and Hal found the raft lifting out of his hands. The structure rose to a vertical position, teetered there, and then toppled all the way over. It hit the jetty with a tremendous bang that made the whole platform shudder. Nearby seagulls screeched in fright.

Hal stared open-mouthed at his friend. Robbie stood there, breathing hard, his fists clenched and his eyes blazing. Somehow he seemed bigger, taller, his shoulders wider and filling out his shirt more than usual. “Robbie, what—”

Robbie looked at him, puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

And in that moment he shrank down a few sizes, a slow, subtle change that might have been missed by anyone not paying attention. He lost a few inches in height, and his shirt drooped and sagged. In seconds Robbie was his usual beanpole self, blinking and confused.

Hal stood there, speechless.

“You . . . you saw that, didn’t you?” Robbie asked, flushing red. He ran a hand nervously through his hair. “Something happened to me again. I felt it—like I got big and strong for a second.”

“You did.” Hal shook his head. “I think I’m going nuts. That’s just not possible. You grew—got a few inches taller—and wider at the shoulders. I thought you were going to bust out of your shirt again.”

“It was even worse back in the woods,” Robbie said. “I
totally
lost it then, got angry and frustrated. This time I just wanted to turn the stupid raft over, so I tried harder.”

“And it worked. Hey, if you can do that at will, you’ve got nothing to fear from Fenton.”

Robbie’s mouth dropped open. Then a smile spread across his face. “That would be cool. I could pick him up and throw him halfway across the island!”

Hal’s arm started itching at that moment, and he scratched at it with annoyance. “Not this again. It’s been itching on and off for days now, like I’ve been bitten, only there’s never anything to see.”

They got back to work and struggled to get the raft into the water. It meant sliding it sideways, which at least was easier than lifting it up on end. They tied a rope to it first, and then heaved with all their might. The big empty tubs tied to the underside of the planks had squashed a little under the weight of the raft, but they seemed intact; however, dragging the raft caused them to pull at the nails and rope, so the boys tried to lift the heavy structure as much as they could. When it finally toppled off the jetty into the water, for a horrible moment they thought it would plunge straight down underwater and sink forever.

But it bounced and bobbed, then settled low in the water. Hal pulled on the rope so it didn’t float away. “The door’s got a few inches of clearance below it,” he said, pleased. “That’s all that matters. The lower it is, the less it will bob around. As long as it doesn’t sink too much lower when we get on, it should be okay.”

“Let’s give it a try,” Robbie said, rubbing his hands. He sat on the edge of the jetty and lowered himself onto the raft as Hal pulled it closer. Once it was in position, knocking against one of the jetty supports, Robbie tied it up. Then Hal handed him the shovels and climbed down to join his friend.

“This is going to work fine,” Robbie said, peering through the diamond-shaped window to the water below. “If we were a little lower and the door was actually touching the surface, we’d be able to see underwater.”

Hal laughed. “If we were any lower, we’d get wet. And anyway, the water’s too murky to see more than a few feet. Okay, I’m going to untie us. Ready to start paddling?”

“We’re going now?”

“Why not? We’ve got all afternoon.”

Together, without another word, they dipped their heavy shovels into the water on opposite sides and began to paddle. It took a moment to get synchronized, but soon the raft started to move away from the pier. The waves slopped against the underside of the door.

The raft seemed to handle well. As the boys bobbed over the water, paddling with their shovels, Hal glanced back at the jetty and was surprised to note it was already fading into the fog thirty or forty feet away.

Then he spotted someone standing like a statue by the roadside at the top of the stone steps, a girl with long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her hands were stuffed into the pockets of a knee-length black coat. A red scarf covered her mouth and stood out bright and colorful in the gray gloom of the fog.

“Oh no,” Hal whispered, his heart sinking. “It’s Abigail.”

Robbie’s head snapped around. He scowled. “She’ll tell on us!”

“Where are you going?” the girl called, her voice echoing off the swirling green water.

The raft bobbed and drifted. Hal knew Robbie was wondering the same thing as he: Should they ignore her and go on, or try to include her in their scheme and hope she’ll keep her mouth shut about it?

Hal sighed, deciding he’d better say something. “We’re going Out There,” he called back, trying to keep his voice low so the whole island wouldn’t hear.

Abigail didn’t appear surprised. She pulled the scarf from her mouth. “What about the sea serpent?”

“There
is
no sea serpent,” Robbie retorted.

The raft kept drifting and the fog grew thicker between them and Abigail. Hal tried his best to seem like he was confiding in her, as if she were their best friend. Maybe if she were on their side, she’d keep quiet, at least until they were back. “We need you to keep this secret,” he called. “You know how much trouble we’ll be in if we’re found out. Can we trust you?”

Abigail was now just a faint silhouette. “Obviously not, or you would have let me in on this earlier.” She sounded distant now, and at that moment the fog swallowed her up and her disembodied voice floated out of the gloom. “Don’t get lost out there. You should have brought loads of string.”

“String?” Hal muttered, puzzled. “What does she mean?”

Robbie slapped himself on the forehead. “She’s right. We could have tied the string to the jetty and unraveled it as we went. Then there wouldn’t be any danger of getting lost.”

“I’ll be right here when you get back,” Abigail’s voice called from far away. “And if you’re not back by, say, next week, I’ll go and get help.”

“Oh, you’re so funny,” Hal murmured through gritted teeth. He stabbed at the water with his shovel, paddling hard. But Robbie fumbled, trying but failing to get the timing right, and the raft ended up in a slow spin. It was a good thing Abigail couldn’t see them, Hal thought; she’d have been laughing her head off.

Once they got synchronized again, the raft surged onwards, heading farther into the murky grayness. It was a different kind of fog to what they were used to on land: thicker, colder, somehow menacing. Smoky fingers reached out to touch them, tentative and curious, and Hal had the eerie sensation it was sniffing at them the way Emily Stanton’s old dog sniffed at fences as it scampered along the road.

They paddled in silence. A damp, freezing chill seeped through Hal’s thick sweater and into his skin. Even the wooden handle of the shovel felt like a shaft of ice. Robbie’s teeth were chattering.

Hal glanced back the way they had come and couldn’t help but gasp. The jetty, the road, even the pier had vanished from sight, swallowed up in the gloom. The island had disappeared, and all around was silent, rolling mist, and cold water that lapped against the raft. Suddenly Hal’s nerves went haywire and his breath came in short, ragged bursts. His arm began to itch.

Robbie stopped paddling and turned to him with a frown. “Are you all right?”

“We . . . we’re quite a ways out,” Hal gasped, fighting to stay calm. He jabbed a finger back toward the island. “How are we ever going to find our way back? Robbie, this is nuts—”

Robbie’s eyebrows shot up. “It was
your
idea.”

“I know,” Hal said, “but it was a stupid one, all right? We need to think this through better. Abigail’s right, we should have brought some string to help guide us back. We could get
completely lost
out here. There’s nothing to see but fog. How do we know we’re not going around in circles right now?”

Robbie looked around, silent.

At that moment, Hal’s left forearm itched like a hundred ants were biting him, and he almost dropped the shovel in his urgency to scratch it. What a disaster
that
would be! They’d really end up going in circles with only one paddle.

“So . . . should we give up?” Robbie asked, continuing to stare into the fog. A hint of disappointment had crept into his voice.

Hal pondered. It would seem a great waste of effort if they just paddled back and never tried again, but there was nothing wrong with thinking things through better and returning later. Apart from bringing some string for guidance, they could tie lines around the shovels in case they got dropped in the water. So it wouldn’t be a complete failure if they returned now, as long as they planned to come back out better prepared.

“I think,” Hal began, “that if we go back and get some string, then—”

Something bumped the underside of the raft.

Hal and Robbie looked down in unison, then at each other.

“What was that?” Robbie asked nervously. “A rock? Is the water shallow here?”

Hal peered anxiously into the water, but saw no rocks sticking up. The surface of the ocean undulated like a sheet blowing on a clothes line, eerie and silent except where it slopped against the raft’s plastic drums. It didn’t
seem
shallow . . . but rocks could be lurking just below the surface. What if one ripped the floats apart? “We should head back,” Hal said. “Let’s plan this thing a little better and come out again.”

“Okay,” Robbie said, and now Hal detected a hint of relief in his voice.

They switched their grips on the shovels and paddled in the opposite direction. Again it took a second to get synchronized, and the raft began to turn.

“Stop!” Hal exclaimed. “I mean, don’t
stop
, but—we’ve got to keep this thing straight, otherwise we won’t know which direction to go in. Wait while I turn us back a little . . .”

“That’s too much,” Robbie said, dipping his shovel into the water and paddling against Hal’s strokes.

Hal ground his teeth together and tried to hold down his temper. “Let’s just row together and go straight. We must be turned about right by now. As long as we get back to the island we’ll be okay—anywhere will do. Then we can follow the shore until we get back to the docks.”

“Right,” Robbie said, nodding. “As long as we don’t row away from the island and miss it completely.”

Something bumped the underside of the raft again, and this time they felt the deck rise for a second. Hal glanced down and glimpsed a flash of white through the glass panel. But then something to the side caught his attention and he searched the water just beyond his paddle.

He gasped and pointed.

A gigantic milky white serpentine body slipped by just beneath the surface, fast and silent, dwarfing the feeble little raft Hal and Robbie cowered on.

“Th-the sea s-ser-pent,” Hal stammered.

Robbie brandished his shovel over his head as if batting at the monster might help. “We’re dead,” he moaned.