He’d have to send Fox for help, yeah, that’s what he’d do-send Fox for help while he stayed with Gage and treated the wounds, got him to drink something so he didn’t-what was it?-dehydrate.

Of course, all their butts would be in the sling when his dad had to come get them, but Gage would get better.

Maybe they’d put Gage’s father in jail. Then what would happen? Would Gage have to go to an orphanage?

It was almost as scary to think about as the woman in the pond.

They stopped to rest, then sat in the shade to share one of Gage’s stolen Marlboros. They always made Cal dizzy, but it was kind of nice to sit there in the trees with the water sliding over rocks behind them and a bunch of crazy birds calling out to each other.

“We could camp right here,” Cal said half to himself.

“No way.” Fox punched his shoulder. “We’re turning ten at the Pagan Stone. No changing the plan. We’ll be there in under an hour. Right, Gage?”

Gage stared up through the trees. “Yeah. We’d be moving faster if you guys hadn’t brought so much shit with you.”

“Didn’t see you turn down a Little Debbie,” Fox reminded him.

“Nobody turns down Little Debbies. Well…” He crushed out the cigarette, then planted a rock over the butt. “Saddle up, troops.”

Nobody came here. Cal knew it wasn’t true, knew when deer was in season these woods were hunted.

But it felt like nobody came here. The two other times he’d been talked into hiking all the way to the Pagan Stone he’d felt exactly the same. And both those times they’d started out early in the morning instead of afternoon. They’d been back out before two.

Now, according to his Timex, it was nearly four. Despite the snack cake, his stomach wanted to rumble. He wanted to stop again, to dig into what his mother had packed in the stupid basket.

But Gage was pushing on, anxious to get to the Pagan Stone.