Thumb and the Bad Guys by Ken Roberts Page B

exciting.
    Susan and I knew that one of the few adults who wasn’t at the gym was
Kirk McKenna. We’d walked past his house and heard him inside, muttering. I could
hear him spit a couple of times and wondered if he spat on the floor in his own house
or if he had little containers all over the place so one was always close.
    When we got to the fire truck, Susan and I crouched low inside the cab
and stayed quiet.
    It wasn’t long before we saw the beam of a flashlight coming toward us.
We ducked even lower, until we couldn’t see and couldn’t be seen. We heard soft
footsteps on the sand.
    The person holding the flashlight marched right past us. I lifted my
head and saw the flashlight beam disappear on the other side of the boulder that hid
the path up to our pond.
    Susan and I didn’t even look at each other. We climbed out of the fire
truck and raced across the sand. We could see the flashlight beam twist around rocks
and we quickly followed, being as quiet as we could.
    We were following much more closely this time, confident that Kirk
McKenna wouldn’t suddenly turn around and find us. We knew where he was going. We
just didn’t know why.
    We would. Soon.
    We stopped behind the last boulder before the pond and peeked around
the corner. We saw Kirk McKenna humming a Scottish tune to himself as he scooted
down to the stream. He plunged through the waterfall below the pond and, a few
seconds later, emerged on the other side. His flashlight meandered through the woods
beyond the pond and then disappeared.
    Susan and I scurried down to the waterfall and then behind it to the
other side. We weaved through trees and around rocks, helped by a full moon. We
could see the meadow and shed and could heard Kirk McKenna working a key in the
padlock that held the door shut.
    Kirk McKenna slid the opened padlock out of the clasp and swung the
door open with a rusty screech. He stood in the doorway shining the flashlight beam
onto shelves before pulling down a propane lantern and lighting it. Then he stepped
inside and closed the door behind him.
    Susan and I dropped to the ground and started to crawl slowly toward
the shed.
    Suddenly, we heard a horrible scream. It was coming from inside the
shed. Susan and I stood up, fast, but before I could decide if I was going to run
toward the shed or away from it, somebody grabbed my shirt and my arm and yelled,
“Got ya!”
    I quickly looked over at Susan. Another large shape was holding her.
    We’d been caught.
    â€œMarch,” the voice behind me ordered. I started walking toward the
shed.
    Flashlights suddenly appeared from all directions. Kirk McKenna opened
the door to the shed and stood with his hands on his hips, grinning. He leaned
outside, turned his head and spat down at the ground.
    â€œSo,” he said, “we were pretty sure you were the ones who have been
spying on me.”
    I didn’t say anything. Neither did Susan. I don’t think either one of
us could have said anything. We were too scared.
    I could see inside the shed now. I didn’t see anyone tied up to a
chair. I did see a wall lined with deep shelves like you’d see in a warehouse. On
each shelf sat four or five black boxes. Each box looked like a small pirate’s chest
with the lid kept in place by silver clasps.
    â€œI guess you’re wondering what I’ve been hiding up here?”
    â€œMaybe… a little,” said Susan.
    â€œWell, I’m going to show you,” said Kirk McKenna with a lopsided
sneer.
    â€œDon’t,” pleaded a voice behind me. “They may have been spying but
that doesn’t mean they deserve to be tortured. Nobody deserves to be exposed to your
madness.”
    Kirk McKenna didn’t pay any attention. He reached back into the shed
and picked up one of the black cases. He carried it over to a large flat boulder and
set it on top. Flashlight beams