Rawpocalypse

15 - Scouts

Beneath dense tree cover deep in the West Virginia Mountains, six Adventure Scouts hiked single-file along a narrow trail. Sharp nettles pricked at their exposed calves as they trod uniformly in hunter-green shorts and hiking boots, thick wool socks bunched at their ankles.

The leader stopped abruptly to survey their route. "A'right, scouts," said Brock, the oldest at aged sixteen. "Anyone not man enough to cross Dead Man's Gulch can hike the red trail back to camp. The rest of you can follow me."

Nobody broke rank.

"A'right. Keep your eyes out for copperheads. Let's move."

Jellybean whispered over his shoulder to his buddy, the two youngsters of the crew. "He's just trying to scare us. There's no copperheads in these woods."

Weasel, the hefty second-in-command shook the boy from behind. "Yeah, just rattlers. Sssss."

Jellybean extended a crooked branch he'd been carrying throughout the hike. "I'll crush 'em with the Staff of Gandalf."

Weasel rolled his eyes and shoved the boy onward. "Enough with the frickin staff."

Their fearless leader strayed from the beaten trail into thick underbrush. Silence quickly overtook the chatty youngsters as they high-stepped through thorns and sharp blades of grass.

Before long, the forest floor opened to moss-covered stones and ferns the size of hedges. A warm dampness took over the air like a tropical rainforest. The sound of streaming water piqued already tense nerves.

"Here we are, boys," said Brock.

Just ahead, a massive tree trunk lay sprawled across a shallow ravine twenty feet across. Six feet below, a deep pool of murky water lay beneath the natural bridge. A high, rocky overhang fed the pool with a trickling waterfall.

Jellybean burst into laughter. "Dead Man's Gulch? Oooo, I'm so scared."

"Yeah," chided his little buddy nervously, covering the well-known fact that neither of them could swim.

Brock built a running start and leapt onto the fat log. With long confident strides, he bounded over the trunk and off the opposite end. He turned to watch a couple of his peers race after him in similar fashion.

Jellybean stepped forward to face the log as high as his chin. He leaned his prized walking stick against the trunk, then groped for a hand-hold, his fingers sliding uselessly over the slick bark-less surface.

"Get a run for it!" shouted Brock.

Weasel scaled the log with a pounce and stood balancing himself like a surfer. He lowered a hand, and easily hoisted Jellybean up next to him. The smaller boy sidestepped cautiously across and jumped proudly next to the older boys for high-fives.

Weasel offered the smallest boy a similar boost, and scuttled along the log after him.

With proud shoulder slaps, the older boys welcomed the young initiates to the other side of Dead Man's Gulch. As lame as it were, the ceremony had become a camp tradition.

"The yellow trail is up this hill," said Brock. "We should head back to camp for dinner."

"Wait!" Jellybean cried. "I forgot my Gandalf stick."

"Good," said Brock. "I'm tired of hearing about it."

Without warning, Jellybean rushed the log and bounded onto it. Two steps later, his feet slipped on the wet moss plaguing the near end of the log. He bounced once on his ass and toppled into the murky water with an abysmal splash, disappearing completely below the surface.

When he popped up safely, the entire troop burst into laughter.

Jellybean slapped at the waist-high water. "It's not funny!"

The boys laughed all the harder.

"Hey look!" shouted the youngest boy. "Jellyfish."

That doubled Brock over, howling uncontrollably. "He's got a new nickname. Jellyfish!"

"No," shouted the boy. "There's jellyfish in the water."

Stirred by the tumult, light-blue spheres bobbed to the surface, then slowly plunged from sight.

Jellybean danced frantically, swishing them away when they appeared next to him, moaning incoherently. "Uh . . . uh."

"Calm down." said Weasel. "This is freshwater. You're the only jellyfish in there."

The boy waded to the bank, his hands stretched high. "What are they then?"

"I don't know. Toadstools or something."

The boy clawed at the high muddy bank. "Guys! Help me out!"

Brock flopped onto his belly and extended a long arm. Jellybean's outstretched fingers wiggled just beyond his reach.

A blue sphere the size of a softball dropped over the waterfall and splashed into the pool with a heavy plunk.

Jellybean squealed at the sight and leapt from the water to snag Brock's hand as if his life depended on it. Kicking and thrashing, he grabbed for footholds as Brock hauled him up the bank.

The troop rushed from the pool's edge, beating a new trail up the steep embankment to see the source of the strange blue balls rolling down from upstream. Weasel arrived at the crest first and scanned over the shallow creek bed. Peppered for hundreds of yards, blue globes rolled to and fro, stirred randomly by the stream's varying current.

In the near distance a blue-tinted mound breached the water's surface like the hump of a whale. Judging by the exposed arch, the underwater creature must have been the size of a cow.

"It's the momma!" Weasel shouted. "Let's get the frick out of here."