The Accidental Siren

8.2 The Zombie-Ferrets Strike Back

Saturday. Two days after my editing date with Whit and six days after Mara learned about her parents' death, life was returning to the status quo: Dad was in the tower, Mom was in the kitchen, and I was alone in my woods.

A yawn pried at my cheeks but I tightened my lips and swallowed it. The midnight editing sessions were taking their toll.

Whit was gone, stuck at a last-minute sleepover with his computer camp friends. For a split second I wondered what those dweebs had that I didn’t... suspenders and tape on their glasses? I always imagined an army of white Steve Urkels with Whitney as their captain.

I wedged my camcorder in the elbow of a branch, then wiggled my shoe beneath the blanket of leaves to rustle up a log. I swiped a trio of rollie-pollies from the bark and rapped the fat stick with my knuckles; it was soft, damp, and hollow. Perfect.

I worked quickly without losing sight of the castle wall. I didn't have time for another encounter with the bullies.

I aimed the microphone at the trunk of the nearest Maple, pushed record, twisted my waist with Ken Griffey Jr. precision, and wailed the soft log into the tree with a satisfying thud. I hit it again, then again, then placed the mic on the ground and beat the shredded stump against the leaves.

In the distance, a twig snapped. It was probably a squirrel, but I moved my work a few steps closer to the castle just in case.

The house was calmer without Bobby and Jake barreling through the corridors. After the “goober incident,” Mom called the agency and had the twins transferred to a family dedicated to difficult children. “Parent therapists” they're called. I was sad to see them go, but with all the commotion around the house, it was probably for the best.

When the log was demolished, I scanned the brush for another instrument and discovered a broken chunk of cinderblock half-buried in the dirt beside the house. The dull clank of stone-on-stone would be a great sound effect for the battle sequence, so I turned the mic toward the castle wall, heaved the brick above my head--

--and music ruined the take. Ten feet up, Livy's bedroom spewed the catchy yammer of I Saw the Sign by Ace of Base. I stepped back, furrowed my brow, and stared at the second-story window.

I cupped my hands like a megaphone, but just before I could shout my sister's name, I remembered that Livy was at Haley's after a sleepover.

It was Mara's music. I stood on tip-toes to better hear the song.

The view was no better from three steps back, nor ten. The window only reflected the apparitions of tree branches and sky.

Twelve steps back and my shoulder blades kissed a tree. I inspected the branches for climb-ability, but even André the Giant wouldn't be able reach the lowest limb without a step-stool.

An abnormal protrusion caught my eye at the back of the trunk. It was lighter than the bark, the size of my hand with square edges... a piece of two-by-four. A nail in the center confirmed my fear and I looked up. Five more pieces of wood were ascending the trunk. They were rungs.

“Woohoo!” My father's voice seemed miles away, yet loud enough to hear over Mara's radio. “Beth!” he squealed. “Grab the kids and get up here!”

I didn't realize that Mara's light was on until it flicked off. I snatched my camera, forgot about the makeshift ladder, and bolted inside.

*  *  *

Mara and I scampered side-by-side up the spiral staircase. Mom waddled across the ballroom, apron around her waist, with a ladle in her right hand and Fantasia in her left. Her sliver of smile said, “I love my husband, but thank the birds it's over!”