The First Adventure (8 page)

G
riffin and Savannah gawked in amazement at the bizarre metal object — creature? — that had appeared out of nowhere from the depths of the lake.

To Malachi, the strange machine represented something far more urgent than any old legend. It was an enormous obstacle several times the size of the motorboat. And it was
directly in his path!

He twirled the wheel in a desperate attempt to avoid the contraption. Yet, unlike a car, a watercraft does not respond instantly to steering. He veered to port too late. There was a loud bang as the starboard side of the motorboat smashed into the much larger object. It ricocheted off like a Ping-Pong ball, flipped over, and landed in the water upside down. A moment later, Malachi Moore popped up to the surface a few feet away from his capsized vessel, floundering and calling for help.

A very unlikely hero came to his aid. Luthor leaped out of the rowboat and hit the water with a titanic splash. Paddling confidently, the big Doberman swam over to the man who'd been hired to abduct him. Malachi latched on to Luthor's collar and allowed himself to be towed to the dory. Griffin and Savannah worked together to haul rescuer and castaway aboard.

Darren was beside himself. “You can't save him! He's the enemy!”

Griffin was disgusted. “What do you want us to do — let him drown?”

Savannah beamed at Luthor. “I've never been so proud of you as I am right now, sweetie. He didn't deserve your compassion, but you gave it to him anyway — because it was the
human
thing to do.”

Luthor shook himself, drenching everybody who wasn't already drenched.

“But the
monster
—” Darren could not wrest his attention from the gleaming behemoth that had appeared from the depths of the lake and knocked out Malachi's powerboat.

“There's no such thing —
yikes!
” Griffin swallowed his own words as the bobbing machine swung around in the water to reveal a huge, translucent eye.

Savannah gasped in disbelief. Even Malachi recoiled with shock. Luthor let out a low growl, but it was a cautious growl. He was no longer the alpha dog in the presence of this larger metallic newcomer.

Griffin peered into the terrifying eyeball and saw —

“A person?” he blurted in amazement.

Griffin stared into the thick glass. A woman wearing a headset was looking out at him. And there was someone beside her — a man, working at an instrument panel.

“The mechanical monster of Ebony Lake is — a
submarine
?” managed Savannah.

“But who needs a submarine in a lake?” Darren demanded.

“Researchers do,” Malachi supplied in a weary voice.

That was when Griffin caught sight of the markings on the “monster's” side:
INLAND FRESHWATER RESEARCH INSTITUTE
.

“It's the scientists across the lake!” he exclaimed in wonder.

“All these years, people have been spotting the mechanical monster from that crazy story,” Savannah marveled. “And
this
is what it really was.”

“Yeah,” Darren snorted. “How dumb can you get? I wasn't fooled for a second.”

“Not for a second,” Griffin agreed sarcastically. “That's why you practically laid an egg when that thing appeared.”

“I did not!”

The door of the sub hissed open, and the woman stepped out onto the running board. “Everybody okay here?” she called in concern. Her gaze fixed on Malachi, who was hunched over, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe we should get you to a doctor. That was quite a collision.”

“I'm not hurting from the collision,” Malachi tried to explain. “I'm hurting from when
she
tried to smash my head in with a —” He turned to Savannah. “What
was
that?”

“A pump handle,” she told him. “And I'll do it again if you go anywhere near my dog.”

“Kid, I wouldn't touch your dog now,” Malachi said sincerely. “He saved my life.” He reached over to pet Luthor, and just barely escaped with all his fingers attached.

The other scientist appeared behind his partner. “Catch.” He heaved a coil of rope across the water. Griffin caught it deftly. “Tie yourself on, and we'll tow you home. We'd bring you aboard with us, but there's not enough room in the submersible.”

“I assume you're from the camp over there,” the woman added. She glared disapprovingly at Malachi. “I hope you're not the counselor in charge of boating safety.”

“He's not a counselor,” said Savannah through clenched teeth. “He's a hired goon.”

“Retired,” amended Malachi. “I'm harmless now. Scout's honor.”

There was a brief discussion about what to do with the powerboat. That question answered itself, though, when the overturned craft tipped up and slipped beneath the surface of Ebony Lake without so much as a gurgle.

“Mr. Palomino's not going to like that,” Malachi commented, still rubbing his neck. “The rental was on his credit card.”

In the face of a plan gone awry, it was the one piece of news that could have brought a smile to Griffin's lips. To Swindle, the only thing worse than failure was a failure that cost him money.

“There's one thing I can't understand,” Griffin wondered. “How did Swindle figure out what camp we'd be going to?”

Malachi shrugged. “He knew where the dog lived. All he had to do was search the mailbox until he saw a notice from Ebony Lake. Not the nicest guy in the world, but he's pretty sharp. I'd hate to have him as an enemy.”

“Tell me about it,” groaned Griffin.

They were a bizarre spectacle as they moved slowly toward shore — a gleaming high-tech submersible towing an ancient wooden rowboat at a speed that barely created a wake. After the wild, crazed action of the past hour, it felt to Griffin like being put into suspended animation.

A distant ringing jolted everyone back to reality.

“It's mine.” Malachi reached into his jacket pocket and produced a cell phone in a waterproof pouch. “It's my boss — my
ex
-boss.” He slipped the handset out of its protector. “Hi, Mr. Palomino . . . yeah, the dog's right here. Hey, Luthor — say woof.”

The Doberman growled as if he knew who was on the other end of the line.

“No, I definitely won't be bringing him today . . . When? How about never? The big fellow saved my life. So I owe him.”

Malachi held the phone away from his ear. The other occupants of the craft could hear enraged ranting coming from the other end of the line.

Griffin stifled an impulse to call out something nasty. For all he knew, Swindle might be recording the conversation. The guy had already figured out who took the dog. No sense giving him proof he could pre-sent to the judge. Then they'd be the ones who'd have to go into hiding, not just Luthor.

“Malachi quit, but that doesn't mean
we
can't do business!” Darren shouted at the phone. “My name is Darren Va —”

The Doberman silenced him with an eardrum-cracking bark at point-blank range. Darren recoiled abruptly and very nearly toppled out of the rowboat and into the lake.

“Anyway,” Malachi continued into the handset, “I wish I could say it was a pleasure doing business with you, but it wasn't. Oh — and sorry about the rent-a-boat. It sleeps with the fishes.” He clicked off.

By this time, they could make out the camp dock and the frenzied activity in the compound. The search was probably still in full swing — for three campers now, not just one.

It was clear to Griffin that this part of the plan had been taken as far as it could go. He caught Savannah's eye and mouthed the words: “Code Z.”

It brought instant understanding. Every operation had a Code Z built into it. It was the escape clause — the moment when all that remained was to get the heck out of there, regroup, and try to save the pieces, if there were any.

Savannah returned a barely noticeable nod of agreement. She curled her fingers under Luthor's collar, and she and Griffin counted silently:

One . . . two . . .
three!

Griffin, Savannah, and the Doberman bounded overboard and hit the surface of the lake swimming.

C
ome back, you guys!” Malachi shouted after them.

The cold of the water knifed through them, energizing tired arms and legs. They stroked for shore in a path that would land them well away from the camp beach.

“Honest, I quit!” Swindle's man persisted. “And I lost the dart gun anyway!”

Griffin and Savannah had already moved on to the next challenge. Maybe they no longer had anything to fear from Malachi, but what about Cyrus and the counselors? If Camp Ebony Lake were to discover that a fugitive dog was being harbored there, Griffin and Savannah would be sent home, and Luthor with them — straight into Swindle's ruthless, money-grubbing clutches.

“You stink, Bing!” Darren bellowed. “I'm not going to take the heat for this alone! I'm going to rat you out — you and your stupid dog!”

“He'll do it, too,” Savannah moaned, freestyling next to Luthor.

“Keep swimming,” Griffin panted back. “I can only plan when I'm on dry land!”

Within minutes of grueling effort, Griffin was wishing he'd declared the Code Z a little closer to shore. The Doberman could easily have been on the beach already, but he never left Savannah's side, paddling tirelessly.

At last, the three staggered onto the sand, gasping.

Savannah would not let her exhaustion interfere with the urgent need for action. “What now?”

“We re-hide the dog,” Griffin decided. “Then back to camp for damage control.”

“Damage control?” she echoed. “Darren's going to tell them about Luthor!”

“Maybe no one will believe him. He's in pretty deep trouble right now. Who knows? He might even keep his mouth shut. There's a first time for everything. Remember, this doesn't make him look so great, either.”

They found a temporary spot for Luthor in the woods — a natural half alcove formed by a low ledge of rock. Savannah slipped the end of the leash around a narrow birch trunk.

“We'll be back for you soon, sweetie,” Savannah promised. “
Real
soon.”

The normally antsy Doberman seemed satisfied with that. He curled up in his niche, grateful for the chance to rest. Already that day, he'd busted out of an old cabin, dislodged the handle from an iron pump, treed Darren, rescued Malachi, and dog-paddled a million miles of lake. That had to count as a big morning, even for Luthor.

* * *

It was a miserable walk back to camp. Griffin and Savannah's wet clothes were heavy and uncomfortable, and their sneakers squished with every step. The forest bugs found their condition especially appealing.

Savannah swatted at a swarm of gnats. “How are we supposed to explain the fact that we're soaked to the skin?”

“We'll have to sneak into our cabins and change before the counselors see us,” Griffin replied. “I hope Marty hooked me up with some new Care Bears gear. Maybe I'll get lucky, and it'll be Teletubbies this time.”

“Big joke,” she mumbled, and was instantly sorry. What would she and Luthor have done without Griffin's brave heart and level head? He was The Man With The Plan, even in the face of disaster. But this looked like the end of the road — and not just for her poor dog. That horrible S. Wendell Palomino was out to get all of them eventually.

They broke through the trees and ran out into the large clearing that held the buildings and playing fields of Camp Ebony Lake. The hope of getting to their cabins unobserved popped like a bubble. Darren stood with Cyrus and Marty in the center of the compound, shooting his mouth off — a long story, complete with hand gestures, obviously in great detail. The Oscar-winning performance concluded with Darren's finger pointed directly at Griffin and Savannah.

Griffin groaned. “If you look up ‘tattletale' on Wikipedia, there should be a video clip of that.”

Savannah wasn't laughing. “This is no time for jokes! How are we going to protect Luthor
now
?”

The Man With The Plan took a deep breath. “We'll say Vader's lying. He's always lying — why should today be any different?”

“But the counselors are going to know he's telling the truth when they see how wet we are!” she shrilled.

“We could tell them we got all sweaty . . .” he offered lamely.

“Oh, come on, Griffin! We don't need dumb excuses; we need a miracle!”

There was a loud clap of thunder and the heavens opened up with the storm that had been brewing all morning. The downpour was so intense that they could barely see each other, much less Darren and the counselors a hundred yards away.

“Ha!” Griffin was triumphant. “That's why we're wet — we got caught in the rain like everybody else! I hate to admit it, but there are times when no plan is a substitute for plain dumb luck!”