LEITH AND THE LURKING EVIL

PROFESSOR ADAM PYTHON was gone.

He hadn’t dared wait. He’d been too scared.

Of whom?

“Leith!” It was Ant. “Come on, boat-buddy. Hey, what are you doing up there?”

Ant sat up front with his back to me, guiding the canoe into the middle of the river with awesome oarstrokes. Although I had an oar, I didn’t do much more than give it a dip every once in a while. Ant was the powerhouse. Let him show off; I could rest until after lunch. I sat there and studied his massive back, thick neck and bulging biceps. We must have looked like some kind of comedy team.

The contrast was as extreme as the one between Broody and Ray. Pippa and Jane seemed to have more in common. Maybe they’d wind up being friends. Provided Pippa didn’t get into any more boating accidents and Jane stayed away from the “dangerous” rope. On that subject, Mut had been right. If you lost your grip on the rope before you got out over the water, there’d be a long drop to solid ground.

There was danger here. However much fun it might be to imagine strange possibilities, it wasn’t necessary. Camp Damble had something for everyone. In a way, it had someone for everyone. But not in a good way.

“So, boat-buddy, what were you doing up there?”

Ant did not turn around. I didn’t need to see his face to know he was serious.

“Pardon me?”

“You heard.” His strong arms stroked.

“Hey - where are we going?” We were heading seriously downriver.

“I asked you a question.”

“What?”

“Who were you talking to?”

“No one.”

“Are you lying?”

“No.” I swallowed.

“You are lying.”

“Not really.”

“Not really? What does that even mean? That you’re lying a bit – or a lot?”

“I’m not.”

“Don’t lie!”

“I wasn’t talking to anyone - except my sister. Well, before that, Broody and Ray - then you---”

“Are you afraid of water?”

“No.” I didn’t sound too sure. The current was stronger here. Ant wasn’t rowing nearly as hard, yet we continued to travel at a rate of knots. I wasn’t normally afraid of water. But as I was fast finding out, nothing at camp was normal.

“So ... you can swim?”

“You saw my sister - a great swimmer!”

“She can handle herself in the water.”

“Well, there you go.”

“I’m talking about you.”

“I can swim. Of course I can.”

“Good.” Without warning, he jammed the right-hand blade of his oar into the rushing current. The boat shuddered. “I’ll ask you one more time, and this time I want the truth - who was it you were talking to?”

“Ant, I already told you. No one.”

“And now I’m telling you ...” He threw the oar away. Swivelled his torso partway around. Started to stand. He might not be tall, but at that moment he appeared massive.

“Ant, hey - what are you doing?”

“Ant, hey - what are you doing?” he repeated, mocking me.

“What’s going on?”

“That’s what I’d like to know. That’s what I’m about to find out.” Turning, placing his feet wide apart, he leaned over me in a half-crouch, then started to straighten his back. He moved stiffly, as if out of condition. Which was silly - the man was a physical marvel. “Now, little boat buddy, there’s an easy way to do this and a hard way. Give me your hand.”

“I …don’t think I should.”

“Come on.”

“No.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

I started to paddle hard right, trying to steer us to shore.

Ant reached down, took the oar out of my hands, and swung it back behind his head. Like an axe. Imagining a dozen Dean Koontz scenarios, I pushed myself back as far as I could. But there was nowhere to go.

“Ant, please ...”

“So ... are you going to tell me what’s inside that freckle-faced brain of yours, boy, or am I going to have to bash your sneaky little skull in and see for myself?”

“Don’t.”

“Last chance, Leith.” The blade of the oar was above me, poised to strike. Ant drew a deep breath.

“All right, I’ll tell you. It was Leigh. I was talking to Leigh Nichols.”

Ant looked at me a moment, then said: “Liar!”

“It’s true - she’s really nice - you’d like her ...”

His eyes flashed angry-red as I cringed and he slammed the oar down with brutal force.

“Aaaeughhh!”

Without even thinking about it, I rolled onto my side; then, on my back again, I took my weight on my elbows and struck out with both feet, hitting him square in the belly. It was like kicking a brick wall. His expression barely changed. But he missed me, smashing the oar as he brought it down against the gunwale. The boat rocked, tilted, and with a tremendous splash, we were suddenly both in the water.

The current was strong. I felt it tugging at my waterlogged shoes like the hands of some drowned ghost. Panic-stricken, I started to thrash toward shore. I’m not a graceful swimmer like Pippa, but I’m pretty strong, and in less than a minute, I’d reached the muddy bank.

I’d left Ant behind, and wasn’t one bit sorry. As I watched the capsized canoe being whisked downriver, I stood on the bank, shivering, wondering where we were. Which way was it to camp? And how were we supposed to get back without a boat? I supposed I could try to find my way through the woods, eat some berries for nourishment, and maybe stagger back into camp before dark. Or maybe I’d find the road, hitch a ride, and … But that would mean leaving Pip. And having to explain what had happened to Ant.

Not that I much cared, but ... where was Ant? Had he, like the boat, been carried away? Was he drowning?

Even if I’d wanted to, there was no way a skinny kid like me could rescue a big lug like Ant, especially if he was dead weight.

I stood there wondering, watching the dark muddy surface of the river. What if he didn’t come up? Could I really just leave him? Without even trying? By the time I found my way back and raised the alarm, it really would be too late. Maybe I should go back in, I thought. Just up to my knees. See if I can find him.

Maybe that’s what he’s hoping for - he’s out there, waiting, like the stalker in Dean Koontz’s Shattered ... waiting to drag me down!

He hadn’t succeeded in braining me with the oar. But if he got me in the river, he’d hold my head down until I was sputtering for breath and couldn’t wait to tell him about poor Professor Python. At which point, Ant would finish me off. My body would be washed away. It would all look like an accident. Very convenient. The perfect murder.

No way was I putting so much as one toe back in that river! Ant had tried to take my life. He could fight for his own. Again, I thought about running away. I could send the authorities to rescue Pip and the others, who weren’t in any immediate danger. A few hours, even a day, wouldn’t make much difference.

But one thing stopped me. Not nobility. Not a sense of guilt at abandoning an Ant in trouble. The thing that stopped me was fear - of what might be out there, lurking in the trees---creatures. That’s what Mr Jekyll had called them. Creatures that would eat a kid all the way down to his sweaty socks. And if they didn’t find me ... Henry might.

Henry. Adam’s replacement. But Adam hadn’t been replaced. Adam had sent Henry packing. And now he was surrounded by dangerous people.

Clearly, Ant was one - a crackpot who’d kill a kid for the crime of not answering a question. Ant was not someone I fancied being stuck with way out here. I looked up at the sky. It must be two o’clock. My stomach rumbled. I was cold, wet and hungry.

Adam had urged me to run. Maybe I should follow the river. The canoe might have run aground someplace. I could hop in and paddle away to wherever. The water might be muddy, but it was fresh, so I could drink it. Looking around at the trees, I felt not just hopeful but confident I could find something to eat---

---unless, of course, something ate me---

---something like the huge water rat that was breaking the surface---

---only it wasn’t a rat, it was the top of Ant’s head---

---as he, like Mut, walked slowly and deliberately out of the water, his eyes becoming visible, then his nose, mouth, bull neck, barrel chest, and the rest ... making his way toward me, a blank look on his face ... lumbering up the bank, one foot, other foot.

I took a step back.

He grinned. “Friends again, boat buddy?”