Perched on the ladder, Timmy shined his flashlight around, studying the damage. He noticed a few random items at the mouth of the crevice, caught at the tunnel' s bend an issue of Cracked, a plastic SpiderMan cup from 711, an old shotgun shell they'd found in the woods.
A discarded KitKat wrapper.
The map.
"Shine your light down there," Timmy told Barry. He set his own flashlight on the ground and then started down the ladder.
"Are you nuts? What are you doing?"
"I'm going in."
"No you're not. This isn't a comic book, dude. You and I both know what did this. You were right. This is our proof. Let' s get the hell out of here and call the cops."
"You didn't want to call the cops before."
"That was about my old man. And besides, we didn't have any hard proof before. We do now. They can't ignore this."
"I'm going down there," Timmy insisted. "You just stand guard for me."
"Timmy!"
Ignoring his protests, Timmy started down the ladder. Without even thinking about it, Barry pulled the BB pistol out of his waistband with his free hand and pointed it down the hole. Just holding the weapon made him feel better.
When Timmy reached the bottom, he dangled his legs over the hole and glanced around, unsure of what to do next. His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out Barry 's alarmed whispers. Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes and let go of the rungs. Barry gripped the flashlight and BB pistol and watched in terrified amazement. Timmy plummeted downward and landed with a smack, sending a cloud of dirt into the air. Immediately, he began to slide down into the tunnel. He scrabbled, grasping at the soil, trying to arrest his fall. Above him, Barry struggled to see. The swirling dust blocked his flashlight beam. When Timmy reached the curve, he stopped sliding. Inching forward, he grabbed the map and the candy wrapper. Then he crawled back to the ladder. He slipped a few times, and each time he did, his heart leapt into his throat. When his hand closed around the rung, both boys breathed a sigh of relief. Timmy stuffed the rescued items in his waistband and then climbed back up.
"You okay?"
Timmy nodded, out of breath.
"That was really stupid, man."
"I know. But we need the map."
"Let's get the hell out of here now. Okay? This whole thing gives me the creeps. It's too quiet, like in a movie."
"Hang on one second. I just want to make sure the map is okay." Timmy unrolled the map and spread it out on the ground. He paused, his fingers tracing over the topography. Then he looked up at Barry. His eyes were wide.
"What's wrong?"
Timmy pointed. "There's some new stuff on here that wasn't on it before."
"Where?"
Timmy showed him, pointing out the section of woods where they'd found Pat Kemp' s abandoned Nova. The area around the edge, which had been left blank before, was now partially filled in. The illustrations were obviously made by Doug 's hand, and it looked as if he'd stopped drawing midtree.
"So Doug stopped by and worked on it," Barry said. "Good. Now let's get out of here."
"Don't you see? The only time he could have done this was earlier tonight. Look at this thumbprint. That' s chocolate." He scraped at the smudge with his fingernail. "And it 's fresh."
Agitated, Timmy pulled out the candy wrapper and sniffed. "This is fresh, too. There are still crumbs inside."
Barry turned pale. "You don't think… Doug was in there when…?" Timmy swooned. The KitKat wrapper slipped from his hand, fluttering to the ground. He knelt, his face in his hands.
"My mom took him home when the cops were done. He'd spent the night before, so he didn' t have his bike. That was around dinnertime. He would have had to come back here between then and now."
"And he would have rode his bike," Barry said. "I don't see it here. Maybe he'd already left when this happened."
"Maybe." Timmy sounded unsure.
"Look, we need to get out of here, man. This is too close to the cemetery. If that thing is still around, or even if my old man is out here, we're sitting ducks. Let' s at least go down into the pasture or something."
Nodding in agreement, Timmy stood up and brushed himself off. His jeans and Tshirt were filthy.
"My mom is gonna freak out if she sees this."
"Why? It's just dirt. You get dirty all the time."
"Yeah, but if she sees these tomorrow, she'll know I snuck out. I'll have to hide them in the bottom of the hamper."
Timmy turned his flashlight back on, and the two of them started toward the field. Barry's light beam flashed off something white, hidden in the weeds.
"What's that?"
He trained the flashlight on the object and it shined back in his eyes. A reflector.
Both boys ran over to the weeds and pushed them aside. Doug's bike lay on its side, abandoned.
Timmy moaned. "Oh, no."
"This doesn't mean he was here," Barry said. "Not Doug. He wasn't here. He just wasn't."
Timmy's voice was barely a whisper. "Yeah. He was. He was in the Dugout, eating a candy bar and working on the map when that thing came up out of the ground and got him."
"Not Doug. We don't know that for sure."
"Stop it," Timmy cried. "Just stop it, Barry. I know you're scared. I'm scared, too."
"What are we going to do?"
Taking a deep breath, Timmy strode back to the trapdoor.
"You're going to get your old man's keys, get the backhoe out of the shed, and then start digging this whole place up."
"I am?" Barry scoffed. "And what are you going to do?"
"I'm going down there. I'm going after Doug."
"Yeah, right!"
"I'm serious, dude. Go get your dad's keys and start the backhoe up."
"I'm not going back to my house. What if my old man is there?"
"Then make sure he doesn't see you."
"No way. No freaking way, Timmy. Not on your life."
"Barry, we've got no choice."
"If I got the keys and if my old man didn't see me, I still can't start the backhoe. It' s nuts. Running that thing in the middle of the night? Somebody will hear us for sure, and call the cops."
"Good," Timmy argued. "Let them. The more the merrier."
"But a few minutes ago, you didn't want the cops here."
"I don't care anymore. Doug is gone, man. Don't you see? Can't you get it through that thick head of yours? He' s down there, right now, with that thing, and he could be hurt. For all we know, he could be dead. We can't wait any more. We don't have time to make a plan. We can't rely on the grownups. We have to do something now. You promised that you' d help me, so help me goddamn it."
Scowling, Barry kicked the ground. His mouth was a thin, tight line, and his bottom lip had started bleeding again. The red gash on his cheek stood out in stark contrast to his pale, moonlit skin.
"Okay. I'll do it. But you're insane, Graco."
"No, I'm not, and neither are you. We're not the crazy ones."
"Then who is?"
Timmy didn't respond. He simply stared at Barry, impatient. After a moment, Barry understood what he was implying. "Oh, yeah. Them."
"Get going," Timmy said. "Once you get the backhoe running, just start digging everything up between here and the shed. Any place where the ground is sinking that's where you'll want to dig. It's got to be close to four o' clock now, if not a little after that. Sun usually comes up around fivethirty. That gives us like an hour and a half or so."
"Yeah, but the sunlight isn't really shining bright until around sixthirty or seven. What if the light isn't enough?"
Then we'll just have to go with Plan B."
"And what is Plan B?"
"Just get going." Timmy pointed in the direction of Barry's house. Barry stayed put. "You don't have a Plan B, do you?"
"No," Timmy admitted. "I don't."
Timmy stepped to the ladder's edge and peered nervously into the darkness. He took several deep breaths and then said, "Okay. Here I go." He didn't move. Neither did Barry. They stared at each other.