From his perch high in a twisted black oak, he scanned the dry forest floor out to the gorge a hundred yards away.
The homemade wooden crossbow on his twitching leg slipped off and clunked against a branch.
He hauled it back up by its cloth sling, making sure the green paintball was still in the groove and the clothespin held the stretched rubber tubing in place. Peering through the blurry scope past the scrub oak and manzanita, he inched the crosshairs over the cluster of charred foundations.
The spring breeze picking up from the gorge carried a hint of burned wood and plastic.
Beads of sweat trickled down his neck.
He pinched his nose to keep from sneezing and focused on the sounds all around him—crows cawing, horseflies buzzing, starlings warbling, wasps droning.
A shiver shot up his spine.
He flopped toward the nearest branch, but he was too late.
The incoming paintball drilled him in the left side of his ribs, splattering more splotches of bright-red paint over the battered chest protector.
He groaned, dropped the crossbow in his lap, and crashed onto his side.
His eyes bulged, and his tongue lolled out of his mouth.
“Bull’s-eye!” The gravelly voice twenty feet below shifted from proud to pitiful. “Nate hides in a tree…surprise, surprise.”
He pulled himself upright. “You got lucky, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh. So what about that sixth sense you’re always bragging about?”
He scoffed. “Just one tick behind. Besides, this is your game, not mine.”
“Let’s go double or nothing this next round, and I’ll wear Pop’s eye patch again.”
“Shut up. I gotta get home.” Gazing down in the direction of the voice, he noticed movement near a scorched brick wall.
The young woman in camo fatigues and neon-orange running shoes appeared, pretending to stifle a yawn. She cradled a duplicate crossbow in one arm while tightening a shoulder strap on her tan nylon backpack.
Nate plucked the paintball from the groove of his crossbow and put it into a pocket of his gray recon pants.
She blurted out, “Remember not to dry fire anything that—”
He squeezed the makeshift trigger.
She cringed at the thud of the tubing. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”
He shoved the crossbow into a blue canvas backpack that he secured on his shoulders. Falling forward, he grabbed a branch with both hands, swinging out and dropping to a lower one that sagged instantly. After three more monkey swings, he landed in an awkward superhero crouch. He took out the green paintball and flicked it above her head.
She snagged it out of the air. “So how long you figure on getting grounded this time?”
“Ha-ha. Still trying to be funny like—”
“Sh…” She held up her open palm toward him.
A sharp drumming gave way to a high-pitched birdcall.
She tracked the sounds. “Downy woodpecker. Let’s go take a look.”
He scowled. “Done chasing your lousy birds.”
She took a swig from an orange stainless steel water bottle. “You done throwing your lousy tantrums too? ’Cause after your star performance today I decided Drama Club’s a better fit for you than soccer. I’m sure they got some great parts for troubled souls.”
The edginess in his own voice startled him. “You’re hanging around my mom too much, Tally. Sounding more like her every day.”
She flinched and closed her eyes.
They turned away from each other before peeling off their outer layers and stuffing everything into the packs.
He swooped up his gear, put on a green snapback hat, and straightened his baggy blue T-shirt covered with multicolored dragons twisted into letters spelling “Savoy.”
She waited until he started tramping through the clumps of purple fireweed reclaiming the ruins. “Taking the long way home, huh?”
He gawked around.
She stifled a laugh. “Can’t believe you’re actually lost again.”
“No, I’m not. I just got a little confused when I—”
“So much for Scott’s survival training. Maybe we’ll get GPS and satphones back by the time you start driving—if he ever lets you. Come on, Pathfinder, I’ll take point, like usual.”
He swore under his breath while he watched her step across a dry creek bed in the opposite direction, then followed her toward the edge of a clear-cut. He stopped alongside a thick patch of poison oak to kick a jagged slab of steel.
Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Find some more treasure, Calico Jack?”
“Nope. Just another piece of cell tower.” He pointed toward the far side of the clearing.
Three hooded figures struggled to drag a long panel of tarnished metal through the trees. One toppled over a pine stump.
Nate turned to face them. “Wanna go help those Zama-zombies?”
“Only if you get a kiss from one of ’em.”
“Sure, right after you sniff his armpits.” He mimicked lifting an imaginary hood over his head and flipping it back down before letting loose with an outlandish air kiss.
The closest figure staggered their way defiantly, roaring a challenge and slamming his real hood back.
Nate and Tally spun away at the last second, hurdled a fallen madrone, and zigzagged through a stand of burned alders.
The man’s vile swearing and hideous cough died away behind them.
By the time they rushed across the footbridge leading to a deserted park, they were almost out of breath. They dropped their packs in the shade of a run-down gazebo near a swing set.
He lunged at a swing, planted both feet on the seat, and clasped the chains. Leaning far back, he swung higher and higher, studying the small, dark object soaring below wispy clouds.
Tally twirled gently on the other swing. “I love watching red-tails catch thermals.”
“Bet I can catch a thermal too.” He launched himself off the swing, flapped his arms, and crash-landed, somersaulting a few times before sprawling face up on the ground.
She kept her focus skyward. “Hope I’m not around when you hurt yourself bad.”
He sprang to his feet and strutted like a triumphant pro wrestler. “Nothing can harm Mighty Nateman—parkour master, cyborg warrior, slayer of demons, righter of wrongs, protector of innocents.”
She rolled her eyes, hopped off the swing, and grabbed her gear.
He tied the lace of his tattered left running shoe, then poked a finger into a rip above the sole. “But even Mighty Nateman can’t keep his own shoes from falling apart. Stupid hole’s getting bigger.”
“So scrounge another pair and quit complaining.”
“Yeah, right. All I’ll get is old duct tape and more of Dad’s homemade glue.”
He scooped up his pack and trudged beside her through the tall grass toward the quiet, tree-lined neighborhood street drenched in afternoon sunlight.
A screen door slammed shut on the brown, one-story house next to the park.
A wiry man carried two rolled-up flags on wooden poles toward a light-blue classic pickup in the driveway. He eased one flagpole into a steel tube welded near the tailgate and unfurled a US flag. He called out, “You two been tracking down those bad guys?”
Nate shook his head. “Not this time, Max. Got enough trouble already.”
“Well, nothing worse than a bunch of nitpicky crooks, if you ask me. Hijacking an armored car full of cash and only swiping the diamonds.”
Tally leaned against the pickup. “Pop says they probably figured the money was tagged ’cause of all the robberies.”
“No doubt.” Max slipped a blue-and-gold Oregon flag into another steel tube. “So is our first pick still on for babysitting tonight? Need to leave for the gathering a little before seven.”
She smiled. “Looking forward to it, like always. Be back down at a quarter till.”
“Perfect. And Leatherstocking, any chance of helping me split the rest of that kindling tomorrow? I’ll even sharpen my hand axes for a change.”
Nate smirked. “Got a game in the morning—if I get to play—but I’m free after that.”
Max nodded. “Cool. Just come on over whenever you’re ready. Well now, there’s a first. The wife and kid made it home early from the shopping wars.”
Nate and Tally waved at the red minivan coasting to a stop along the curb. They crossed the street at a diagonal and headed toward the dark-green stucco house beside a vacant lot overrun with blackberry vines.
She brushed her hand across the peeling bark of an enormous sycamore towering over a withered beech tree in the front yard. “What’s the plan?”
“Usual. You play something to distract ’em, and—”
“Not in the mood for piano.”
He opened a creaky gate and shuffled into the backyard. “Whatever. I’ll just let ’em run with their lectures and work ’em on my own.”
“You’re such a weasel sometimes, Nate.”
He bounded up the back porch steps. “Me? What do you call snagging your dad’s crazy toy crossbows so we can play your favorite game of one-shot without him—?”
“You know better than anybody they’re not toys, and I just borrow ’em, that’s all.”
“Oh, so that makes it all right, huh?” He slid the glass door open, tiptoed into the utility room, and crammed his pack under a table near the washing machine.
She wedged hers behind an overflowing plastic container on top of the freezer. “Pop never notices unless you don’t bring something back. He looked all over for his flak jacket the other day, so make sure you—”
“Sh…” He flashed his open palm in her direction and froze.