I feel for Dad’s camera in my pocket. The reassuring square box is there. And the two rolls of film . . .
The film!
I stop dead in my tracks. Both rolls of film are in my pack—at Camp Beowulf. I forgot the film.
“Oh no.”
My voice sounds funny, as if I’m hearing myself from far off.
How far back was camp? A half mile?
I turn around.
There’s no choice now but to go back for it. I might miss being there when the next discovery is made, maybe the one that leads us to a trail of still more fantastic pieces—a long, glittering trail of twisted metal leading us straight to the wreck itself.
I could kick myself for my foolishness. But there’s no other way. We’ve got to have pictures. We need pictures of Pete standing triumphantly alongside the plane, pointing, smiling. The newspapers need those pictures of Pete.
I’m close to Apple Creek, can hear its sweet babbling, when I realize that my clothes are clinging to my body like a second skin and I’m sweating all over, trembling all over. It seems my shoes are filled with sand, heavy, dragging.
Dimly, I realize the fever has laid hold of me.
And the trees . . . all those tall gray trees, so close, so near. Before, they looked like a cage for some wild animal. Now I realize they are my cage.
I stagger forward a few more leaden steps and stop when a shape appears in the trees before me. It’s white and moving toward me. Shadows cover the head and face. No. Not shadows—a hat. A black felt hat.
In some back corner of my mind, maybe the last part of my brain that ain’t burning up with fever-fire, a single clear thought rises: call for help.
With the last of my breath I give the greatest cry I can, and then the world rocks like a seesaw under me and then everything goes dark.
It’s a dream, that much I know. I am somewhere very high, hanging over the ocean. And far, far below I see waves gently rolling. They’re singing to me, singing my name, over and over. Their song is beautiful, like a lullaby.
But I know if I go, I will never wake up again.
“Stop that hammering.”
The sudden sound of my own voice startles me. But still that hammer keeps coming, sending streaks of white-hot lightning crackling through my skull.
“Ain’t nobody hammering, you fool.” That’s Will. But he’s afraid. That makes me afraid.
“He’s awake!” Frankie’s voice is very close, very loud.
Cool metal touches my lips. “Drink, Jack.” And there’s Pete, low and stern.
That lightning comes again, searing my brain, but I sip at the canteen like my brother tells me just the same.
“That’s a good boy.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“It was your darn fever,” Will says. “Why didn’t you tell us you were burning up?”
I open my eyes, but even the weak sunlight under those trees is too much for me. It stabs into my brain like a knife. I shut my eyes quick, but not so quick I don’t see someone else there with my brothers and my cousin, someone in a white cloth shirt and a black felt hat . . . Caleb Madliner!
“What in the world is he doing here!”
I sit up but it’s like a bomb goes off inside my head, and it hurts so bad I cry out.
“Sit back, Jack!” Pete commands. His hands on my chest, pushing me down. There’s nothing I can do now but lie there with my eyes shut tight and tears leaking down my cheeks.
“You should be thanking Caleb,” Pete’s voice goes on. “He found you and then he found us.”
I’m whimpering from my headache, but my mind races. Caleb Madliner has caught up to us. Has he found the wreck yet? And then a more horrifying thought: Where is Butch?
My heart knocks against my ribs.
“Where’s Butch?” I ask, and now I really am crying.
“He’s right here,” Frankie says.
I sniff at that.
“Jack.” Pete’s voice is still stern. “You tell Caleb thank you for finding you.”
I swallow. “Thank you, Caleb.”
If Caleb makes a reply, I don’t hear it. And with my eyes squeezed shut, I can’t see him. I’m fine with that.
“What’s wrong with me?” I ask. “It hurts to see.”
I feel Pete and Will turn to each other. Their gaze meets somewhere above me. Then I become even more afraid: they don’t know.
“We ain’t sure. You’ve got a bad fever,” Pete says. “We’ve brought it down some. But we’ve got to get you back to Stairways and the doctor right away—”