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aban-don it?"
"We co-uld bu-ild a new one. A bet-ter fort." Do-ug se-gu-ed in-to the
int-ro-duc-ti-on from The Six Mil-li-on Dol-lar Man.
"We can re-bu-ild it. We can ma-ke it bet-ter than it was be-fo-re.
Bet-ter. Stron-ger. Fas -"
"Shut up," Barry sa-id, rol-ling his eyes. "Re-tard."
Doug po-uted. "Then how abo-ut a tree ho-use?"
Timmy scof-fed. "A tree ho-use? Get re-al, man. Tho-se are for pus-si-es.
It' s too easy for ot-her kids to ra-id. You guys want Ronny, Jason, and
Ste-ve ste-aling our stuff when we 're not aro-und?"
Ronny Na-ce, Jason Glat-fel-ter, and Ste-ve La-ugh-man, each a ye-ar
ol-der and a gra-de hig-her than the boys, we-re the town bul-li-es-and the-ir
sworn ene-mi-es. They li-ved be-yond the Jones farm, along Ro-ute 116, but
of-ten ro-ad the-ir bi-kes up the hill and in-to Timmy, Do-ug, and Barry ' s
ter-ri-tory. Pre-sently, an une-asy tru-ce exis-ted bet-we-en the two tri-os,
but all of them knew that be-fo-re the sum-mer was over, be-ca-use of slights
re-al or ima-gi-ned, a new war wo-uld bre-ak out. The last ti-me, it had be-en
be-ca-use Ronny and Jason had thrown rocks at Do-ug and cal-led him fat boy
when he ro-de by the-ir ho-mes on his way to the Co-lo-ni-al Val-ley Flea
Mar-ket.
The ti-me be-fo-re that, it had star-ted be-ca-use Barry shot Ste-ve in
the butt with his BB gun.
Although no-ne of the boys wo-uld ha-ve ad-mit-ted it out lo-ud, they
lo-oked for-ward to the ye-arly wars. The fa-mi-li-arity was com-for-ting.
Barry wi-ped his swe-aty brow with the back of his hand. "Lo-ok. If we're
in-si-de the Du-go-ut, then my dad can't see us, any-way. He'll ne-ver even
know that we' re over he-re. I don 't see the po-int in mo-ving. And
be-si-des, when we sne-ak out at night, it ain't li-ke no-body knows. We can
play over he-re then."
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All three of them we-re ex-perts at sne-aking out, craw-ling thro-ugh
the-ir bed-ro-om win-dows af-ter the-ir pa-rents had go-ne to sle-ep and
get-ting in-to mid-night misc-hi-ef; or at le-ast Barry and Timmy we-re. Do-ug
of-ten used the front do-or rat-her than the win-dow, sin-ce his mot-her
ne-ver se-emed to ca-re if he was ho-me or not.
Agreeing that Barry was right, they tur-ned to-ward mo-re pres-sing
mat-ters. Timmy de-ci-ded to ke-ep qu-i-et abo-ut the fact that his
grand-fat-her was awa-re of the Du-go-ut 's exis-ten-ce. He wasn't su-re how
the guys wo-uld re-act.
"Is that the map?" Barry as-ked, po-in-ting at the tu-be in Do-ug's hands.
"You do-ne with it?
Grinning pro-udly, Do-ug nod-ded.
"Let's see it."
Doug glan-ced aro-und fur-ti-vely, as if ex-pec-ting Barry's fat-her, or
per-haps one of the-ir arc-he-ne-mi-es, to be lur-king be-hind a tombs-to-ne.
"Let's ta-ke it to the Du-go-ut first. Sa-fer the-re."
With Barry perc-hed atop Timmy' s hand-le-bars, they ro-de over to the
fort, and sto-wed the-ir bi-kes in the tall we-eds, obs-cu-ring them from
vi-ew. They ma-de su-re no one was in sight, and then pul-led up the
trap-do-or, qu-ickly clim-bing down the lad-der and di-sap-pe-aring in-to the
ho-le. On-ce they we-re set-tled, Timmy pul-led the trap-do-or shut, plun-ging
them in-to dark-ness. Barry clic-ked on the flash-light and shi-ned the be-am
aro-und un-til Timmy struck a match and lit the rusty ke-ro-se-ne lamp they '
d sal-va-ged from the dump. The soft glow fil-led the un-derg-ro-und spa-ce,
flic-ke-ring off the mol-de-ring cen-ter-folds of na-ked wo-men and pos-ters
torn from the pa-ges of Fan-go-ria and He-avy Me-tal han-ging from the
tan-co-lo-red wo-od pa-ne-ling, which had be-en res-cu-ed from the dump and
pin-ned to the so-il with twel-ve-pen-ny na-ils, clot-hes-li-ne, and
ge-ne-ro-us amo-unts of duct ta-pe. (The most im-por-tant thing that Timmy's
fat-her had ever ta-ught him was that duct ta-pe co-uld be used for
anyt-hing-from bat-tle-fi-eld tri-age to plum-bing to han-ging pic-tu-res.)
Do-ug mo-ved a stack of co-mic bo-oks, Hust-ler, and Crac-ked ma-ga-zi-nes off
the card tab-le and pul-led the cap off the plas-tic tu-be, whi-le Timmy and
Barry fis-hed cans of Pep-si out of an old Styro-fo-am co-oler. With
so-met-hing bor-de-ring on re-ve-ren-ce, Do-ug to-ok out the map, un-rol-led
it, and spre-ad it ac-ross the tab-le.
"Wow," Timmy exc-la-imed af-ter a mo-ment's pa-use.
Barry whist-led in ap-pre-ci-ati-on.
"You guys li-ke it?"
"Totally." Barry's at-ten-ti-on was glu-ed to the map.
"You did go-od, man." Timmy clap-ped Do-ug on the back. "It's ama-zing."
Spread out be-fo-re them was a sca-le de-pic-ti-on of the-ir world, the-ir
do-ma-in. Do-ug had cap-tu-red everyt-hing in lo-ving de-ta-il: the-ir ho-mes
and the ro-ads bet-we-en them, the sur-ro-un-ding fo-rests, the ce-me-tery,
the ho-mes of the-ir ene-mi-es, and the lo-ca-ti-on of the Du-go-ut. The area
de-vo-ted to Bow-man's Wo-ods was fil-led with hand-drawn tre-es, each one
me-ti-cu-lo-usly ren-de-red. The gra-ve-yard had hund-reds of tiny
tombs-to-nes. Catc-her's dri-ve-way had an il-lust-ra-ti-on of a grow-ling dog
along with the words, He-re The-re Be Mons-ters.
"How long did this ta-ke you?" Barry as-ked. "You must ha-ve wor-ked on
it, li-ke, fo-re-ver."
Smiling, Do-ug shrug-ged. "It was easy. I did a lot at night, af-ter my
mom had go-ne to sle-ep or was watc-hing TV. I sta-yed up la-te. It was fun.
Used a who-le box of co-lo-red pen-cils."
Timmy's eyes sho-ne. "This is so co-ol. We can mark off stuff as we
dis-co-ver it. And you even left ro-om aro-und the ed-ges."
"Yeah. I fi-gu-red when we exp-lo-re tho-se pla-ces, we can add it to the
map."
Timmy's in-dex fin-ger tra-ced the ro-ads. "Co-ol. You even ad-ded Ronny,
Jason, and Ste-ve's forts."
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"The one's we know abo-ut, at le-ast."
"We can use this to plan our stra-tegy be-fo-re we ra-id them. Ma-ke su-re
we ha-ve es-ca-pe ro-utes and stuff li-ke that."
"That's what I fi-gu-red," Do-ug ag-re-ed. "We can hang it up, and you can
mark stuff on it, just li-ke a re-al ge-ne-ral wo-uld."
Timmy smi-led. "Ge-ne-ral Gra-co. I li-ke the so-und of that."
"How co-me you get to be the ge-ne-ral?" Barry flic-ked Timmy's ear with
his thumb and in-dex fin-ger. "I didn't vo-te for you."
"You don't vo-te for ge-ne-rals," Do-ug sa-id.
"Yeah, well, I out-rank you, even if Timmy's the ge-ne-ral."
"No way."
Timmy tur-ned the-ir at-ten-ti-on back to the map. "Hey, we co-uld even-"
"Listen," Barry whis-pe-red, in-ter-rup-ting. "You guys he-ar that?"
"What?" Do-ug as-ked.
They til-ted the-ir he-ads up-ward, stra-ining to lis-ten.
"Timmmmmyyyyyyy!"
The vo-ice was fa-int, but dra-wing clo-ser. It was his mot-her.
"Timmy? Whe-re are you?"
"Oh, man," Timmy mo-aned, "if she finds out abo-ut this pla-ce, she'll
ne-ver let me play he-re aga-in."
Barry rol-led up the map. "Why not?"
"Because she'll fre-ak out and worry that it will col-lap-se on us or
so-met-hing."
"What do you think she wants?" Barry stuf-fed the map back in its
pro-tec-ti-ve tu-be.
"It ain't lunch ti-me."
"Probably wants me to help my dad. Let's just stay down he-re till she's
go-ne."
"Timmmmyyyy? Timmy, ans-wer me!"
Barry slap-ped his fo-re-he-ad. "Oh shit. The bi-kes are up the-re, man.
If she se-es them, she'll know we're aro-und he-re so-mew-he-re."
"So? We're un-derg-ro-und. She can't find us." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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