Read Online Scenes from the Secret History (The Secret History of the World) by F. Paul Wilson - Free Book Online
Authors: F. Paul Wilson
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up to Weezy as they neared the spong.
“They just look like dead branches someone’s stuck in the sand.”
“But why?” Weezy said.
“For nothing better to do?”
She looked at him with that tolerant smile – the smile she showed a world that just didn’t get it. At least not in her terms.
“Everything that happens out here happens for a reason,” she said in the ooh-spooky tone she used whenever she talked about the Barrens.
He knew Weezy loved the Barrens. She studied them, knew everything about them, and had been delighted back in 1979, at the tender age of eleven, when the state passed a conservation act to preserve them.
She gestured at the sticks, not a dozen feet away now. “Can you imagine anyone coming out here just to poke sticks into the ground for no reason at all? I don’t–” She stopped, grabbed Jack’s arm, and pointed. “Look! What’d I tell you?”
Jack kind of liked the feel of her fingers gripping his forearm, but he followed her point. When he saw what she was talking about, he broke free and hurried forward.
“Traps! A whole mess of traps.”
“Yeah,” Weezy said, coming up behind him. “The nasty leg-hold type. Some dirty, rotten…”
As her voice trailed off Jack glanced at her and flinched at her enraged expression. She looked a little scary.
“But they’ve all been sprung.” He started walking around the spong. “Every single one of them.”
“Whoever did this is my hero,” she said, following close behind. “Didn’t I tell you that everything that happens out here–”
“–happens for a reason,” Jack said, finishing for her.
Clear as day that someone had set up a slew of traps around the perimeter of the spong, planning to trap any animals that stopped by to drink from the water in its basin.
And just as clear, someone else had come by with a bunch of dead branches and used them to tap the trigger plates, springing the traps and making them harmless. In some cases the steel jaws had snapped right through the dead wood; in others it had only dented it, leaving the branch upright.
“Got to be at least a couple dozen along here,” Jack said.
“Not anymore.”
She bent, grabbed one of the trap chains, and started working its anchor loose from the sand.
“What are you doing?”
“Watch.”
As the coiled anchor came free, Weezy grabbed it and the trap itself, then hurled the whole assembly into the spong. The two ends swung around on their chain like a boomerang before splashing into the shallow water and disappearing beneath the surface.
She turned to him, brushing the sand from her hands.
“Come on, Jack. We’ve got work to do.”
He stared at her, surprised by the wild look in her eyes…
“But–”
“These rats don’t check their traps for three or four days at a time.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I read, Jack.”
“So do I.”
“Yeah, but you read fifty-year-old magazines. I read about what’s really going on in the world.” She pointed to a trap. “Three days in one of those. Think about it.”
He did, imagining himself a fox or possum or raccoon with a broken leg caught in the steel jaws, hungry and thirsty, with water just a couple of dozen feet away but unable to get to it. It made his gut crawl.
Without a word, he bent and worked an anchor free of the ground, then followed Weezy’s example and tossed the trap into the water.
“Two down. How many more to go?”
He found her staring at him with a strange light in her eyes.
“About thirty.”
“Then we’re gonna need help.” He turned and waved to Eddie. “Over here! You gotta see this!”
As Eddie made his way toward them, Jack and Weezy bent again to the task of ripping out the traps and hurling them into the drink.
Eddie arrived and gawked at what they were doing. “Are you guys crazy ? You can’t do that!”
Jack held up a trap. “Really? Watch.”
He tossed it
“They just look like dead branches someone’s stuck in the sand.”
“But why?” Weezy said.
“For nothing better to do?”
She looked at him with that tolerant smile – the smile she showed a world that just didn’t get it. At least not in her terms.
“Everything that happens out here happens for a reason,” she said in the ooh-spooky tone she used whenever she talked about the Barrens.
He knew Weezy loved the Barrens. She studied them, knew everything about them, and had been delighted back in 1979, at the tender age of eleven, when the state passed a conservation act to preserve them.
She gestured at the sticks, not a dozen feet away now. “Can you imagine anyone coming out here just to poke sticks into the ground for no reason at all? I don’t–” She stopped, grabbed Jack’s arm, and pointed. “Look! What’d I tell you?”
Jack kind of liked the feel of her fingers gripping his forearm, but he followed her point. When he saw what she was talking about, he broke free and hurried forward.
“Traps! A whole mess of traps.”
“Yeah,” Weezy said, coming up behind him. “The nasty leg-hold type. Some dirty, rotten…”
As her voice trailed off Jack glanced at her and flinched at her enraged expression. She looked a little scary.
“But they’ve all been sprung.” He started walking around the spong. “Every single one of them.”
“Whoever did this is my hero,” she said, following close behind. “Didn’t I tell you that everything that happens out here–”
“–happens for a reason,” Jack said, finishing for her.
Clear as day that someone had set up a slew of traps around the perimeter of the spong, planning to trap any animals that stopped by to drink from the water in its basin.
And just as clear, someone else had come by with a bunch of dead branches and used them to tap the trigger plates, springing the traps and making them harmless. In some cases the steel jaws had snapped right through the dead wood; in others it had only dented it, leaving the branch upright.
“Got to be at least a couple dozen along here,” Jack said.
“Not anymore.”
She bent, grabbed one of the trap chains, and started working its anchor loose from the sand.
“What are you doing?”
“Watch.”
As the coiled anchor came free, Weezy grabbed it and the trap itself, then hurled the whole assembly into the spong. The two ends swung around on their chain like a boomerang before splashing into the shallow water and disappearing beneath the surface.
She turned to him, brushing the sand from her hands.
“Come on, Jack. We’ve got work to do.”
He stared at her, surprised by the wild look in her eyes…
“But–”
“These rats don’t check their traps for three or four days at a time.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I read, Jack.”
“So do I.”
“Yeah, but you read fifty-year-old magazines. I read about what’s really going on in the world.” She pointed to a trap. “Three days in one of those. Think about it.”
He did, imagining himself a fox or possum or raccoon with a broken leg caught in the steel jaws, hungry and thirsty, with water just a couple of dozen feet away but unable to get to it. It made his gut crawl.
Without a word, he bent and worked an anchor free of the ground, then followed Weezy’s example and tossed the trap into the water.
“Two down. How many more to go?”
He found her staring at him with a strange light in her eyes.
“About thirty.”
“Then we’re gonna need help.” He turned and waved to Eddie. “Over here! You gotta see this!”
As Eddie made his way toward them, Jack and Weezy bent again to the task of ripping out the traps and hurling them into the drink.
Eddie arrived and gawked at what they were doing. “Are you guys crazy ? You can’t do that!”
Jack held up a trap. “Really? Watch.”
He tossed it
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