Small as an Elephant - Jennifer Richard Jacobson [39]
Unfortunately, as he pedaled closer, he could see that in the middle of the road, there was a booth at the fort entrance, with several cars in line, waiting to pass through. He glanced up at the sign towering beside him: it was a state park; admission was required. For a moment, he thought of giving up and going back to Bucksport to find a place out of the heat, but the fort had looked so amazing from a distance, and he figured he’d be much safer there, since most vistors would be tourists — people who were less likely to be watching the local news.
There wasn’t a fence around the park, he noticed as he looked around. And there seemed to be only one person manning the small booth. Perhaps you only had to pay if you needed parking. Maybe walkers and bicyclists could go right in.
As much as he wanted to believe that might be true, Jack knew it wasn’t likely. He knew if he walked his bike up to the booth, he’d be asked to pay, but he couldn’t: even if he had had the money, he couldn’t have risked being recognized. He would have to sneak in.
Jack left his bike and his backpack leaning against a tree along the side of the park, grabbed his water bottle (boy, he couldn’t get enough water today), and zigzagged across the lawn, trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible. He reached the back of the fort and then, keeping close to the cement wall, slipped around to the front entrance.
A rush of cool air welcomed him as he ducked inside. It was dimmer inside, too, but he could make out cannon-gun ports, large open chambers, spiral staircases, and long, dark hallways. Too bad he didn’t have his flashlight. He would have loved to explore all the nooks and crannies of this place.
Jack wandered the halls, taking it all in. For the first time since he’d left the campground, he actually forgot that he was hungry. That he had a broken finger and a sunburn. That his mother was missing and that he’d been left in a campground two states away from home. For a while, he was nothing more than a soldier protecting the valuable Maine coast. He raced up one corridor and down the next. He positioned himself behind real cannons and pretended to fire away. It was nice to be the only kid here; he didn’t have to feel like he was too old to play games like this. But oh, how he wished Nina were here to see it!
Then he remembered what Nina had done and took it back.
The lower rooms in the fort were even darker and cooler, and water dripped down some of the walls. Although they were initially dark and creepy, it was in these dank cellar rooms that his burned back felt most comfortable.
At one point, he dragged his hand against an outer wall to keep from getting lost in the darkness. The granite felt at times smooth and dry, at other times rough and damp. Jack was picturing worms and mold coating these walls, when wham! he bumped right into another, much larger person in the dark.
The man laughed a deep, howling laugh. Jack’s heart skipped a beat, and he took off running.
“Hey, kid!” the man yelled. “Come back! I didn’t mean to scare you.”
But Jack didn’t stop, which might or might not have been a good decision. Speaking to strangers could get him recognized; not speaking could raise their concern — or at least their curiosity.
Once around a couple of bends, Jack slowed down. He continued exploring but was careful to watch where he was going. Eventually, he heard the voices of other kids and knew that school must be out. Sure enough, he passed a troop of Cub Scouts, screeching as they entered a dark powder room at the base of the fort. Since these were locals and more apt to know about him, he figured it was time to get his stuff and be off.
Exiting the same way he’d come in, Jack raced toward the clump of trees where he’d hidden his bike. But it wasn’t there — nor was his backpack. Was he in the wrong place? He searched in different directions, looking around the entrance from increasing distances. He kept coming back to the same place, where he was fairly certain he’d left his