"The Dispersing Agent" (a story) Part 1

The Watchers were back again.  I saw them standing on both sides of the back lane at dusk when I went to shut the garden gate.  Silver Bell was roosting in the apple tree again.  I threw stones at her till she flew down squawking, then hurried her into the coop and shut the door.

One more chore to do.  I ran to the greenhouse and looked inside.  Two black swallowtails and three or four of the small orange and brown butterflies were fluttering against the glass.  I caught them carefully, released them and closed the door.

It was almost dark now.  I flattened myself against the barn wall and stuck my head around the corner.  The Watchers had faded into the shadows but I knew they were still there.  They were coming closer and closer every day.  I sprinted across the yard at top speed, taking the porch steps two at a time, slamming and locking the door behind me.

"Cam", my mother called, "did you turn the sprinklers off?"

"Yeah", I said.  Actually I'd forgotten the sprinklers, but no way was I going back out there in the dark with them prowling around.  The garden would flood.  Dad would throw a fit but I didn't care.

I went upstairs and got the sheets and pillow off my bed, poking my head into Glen's room to check on him.  He was asleep, his fuzzy bald head pressed up against the bars of his crib.  I propped his green rabbit where he could see it when he woke up, then hauled my gear down to the back porch.

"I'm sleeping out here tonight," I told Mom.

"Don't disappear in the morning," my dad said.  "I'll need help picking peas."

I fixed my bed on the glider and called the Old Man in, making him lie in front of the screen door.  He had a fondness for rolling on the dead mice that the barn cats left laying around and smelled pretty bad, but I wanted him there.

Next I activated my alarm system: a single strand of dental floss stretched around three sides of the porch, across the exact middle of all the screens including the screen door, with small bells hung from it every two feet.  I debated about putting a pail of water in front of the door, but decided against it.  The Old Man might knock it over and then I'd have to clean it up.  I wished I'd thought to put one outside on the top step, but it was too late now.

Later I lay in the dark, listening to my parents talk in the kitchen.

"Don't work him too hard, Tom.  He's only ten.  Let him have his summer."

"Ten is plenty old enough to learn some responsibility, Marge.  He's off by himself too much anyway.  I don't know what the heck he does all day."

I blew the hair off my forehead and rolled over on my stomach.  There was so much to do.  I could barely keep up.  But no matter what, I had to keep my family safe.  They didn't know what was out there.

Deep in the night the Old Man growled, and I shot out of bed like a thrown dart, kneeling beside the glider.  I thought I saw a shadow move beyond the screen door.  The Old Man growled again and stood up, sniffing the air.  My heart was slamming against my chest so hard I thought I might be having a heart attack.

I crept to the door that led into the kitchen and eased it open, slipping through as quietly as possible.  I felt my way down the hall to the closet and got Dad's shotgun.  The shells were on the shelf above the coat rack.  I turned on the light and loaded the gun, my fingers shaking.  I wanted to stay in the closet and shut the door, but I made myself go back to the porch.  The Old Man whined when he saw me and lay back down.

I sat in the wicker chair with the gun across my lap, listening.  Somewhere a twig snapped.  Probably a deer, I told myself, or a coon.  I thought about other things.  Swimming with my snorkel and fins, fishing with Dad, riding my bike fast over the bumps on the dirt path to the creek.  Finally I fell asleep.  I'd planned to get up before Dad did and put the gun back, but I overslept.

"What the hell's going on?  Cam, what are you doing with the gun?"

"I heard noises in the night," I said.

"What kind of noises?"

"I don't know," I said lamely.  "The Old Man growled."

Dad snorted.  "He growls at field mice, for God's sake."

He took the gun from me.  "It's loaded!  Cam, you know you're not to load this gun unless I'm with you.  My God, you could have shot yourself.  Promise me you won't ever do this again."

I didn't want to.  I might have to use it one day.  I gave a tiny bob of my head, but Dad wasn't buying it.

"Cam?"

"Okay," I said.  Lying was better than losing your family.

to be continued Wednesday....