Frank Hardy leaned back against the tree-trunk behind him and swirled his feet through the slow-moving water.  Licking his lips, he tasted chocolate and smiled, thinking he and Joe had better not tell Auntie what they’d had for lunch.  She wouldn’t approve at all.

The juice and water, cool from the creek, had been shared first.  Most of the juice was gone now, but half the water remained in the bottle.  Frank had suggested that they save some for the walk back and the other three had quickly agreed. 

Once their thirst had been eased, Frank had brought out the slightly squashed donut from his pocket, unwrapped it and carefully broken it in half.  Then he’d broken the halves in half again and each of them had taken a portion.  One quarter of a donut wasn’t much more than three small bites, but it had tasted very good.  Tony had been a bit dubious about the sprinkles, but decided they were okay, to Chet’s disappointment. 

After the donut had taken off some of the hunger pangs, Chet had turned to the serious business of counting out the M&M’s, using the empty donut bag to make four piles.  These had come out almost even; there had been one extra and Chet had claimed it.  As expected, the chocolate interiors had been more liquid than solid, which had made all the boys thirsty again.  The juice had remedied that problem, though.

After this sweet ‘lunch’ revived their energy, the boys had waded and splashed in the creek, then had a brief but intense water-fight.  Now, pleasantly cool in his damp clothes, feeling the water flow past his calves, Frank sighed contentedly.  Looking around, he smiled to see his brother solemnly lifting handfuls of water to pour on his arms and legs- as if Joe wasn’t nearly wet from head to toe already.  Chet was sprawled on a patch of soft green grass, dozing after all the activity, and Tony was several branches up a birch tree, poking interestedly at the bark.

“You can write on it- that’s how the Indians and settlers wrote messages when they didn’t have paper,” Frank remarked quietly.  His words caused Joe to look up from his ablutions with interest.

“Neat.”  Tony peeled off a small fragment of bark.  Joe picked up a twig, broke it to get a sharp point, then got up and moved to the foot of the tree.  Tony reached down and took the twig; as he experimented with it, scratching the birch bark, Joe stepped into the creek again.

“I guess I won’t need a bath tonight.”

“Try telling Mom that.”  Frank let his eyes close; he could hear the waves clearly, breaking at the bottom of the steep cliff.  It was almost as sleepy a sound as the grasshoppers had been.

“We’ll have to go back in a little,” Tony commented, and then there came a scraping sound.  Frank opened his eyes to see his friend sliding down from the tree, the birch bark still in his hand.  “I dunno when Papi wanted to get back to town, but he said it wouldn’t take long to measure.”

“Wouldn’t he honk the horn if he was looking for us?” Joe asked, settling beside the same tree Frank was leaning against.

“Well, yeah, he would do that.”

“Hey, guys?” Chet murmured.

“What?”

“I think I heard something.”

“The truck?”  Joe asked, turning to glance in the direction of the road.

“I don’t think it was a car or anything.  It sounded too deep.”

“Deep?  Like an extra-big wave?  Maybe the tide’s coming in?” Tony suggested

“Maybe.”  Chet sat up and yawned.

“We’d better get our socks and shoes back on,” Frank pointed out, reaching for his own discarded socks.

Chet frowned, then picked up a single sock.  “Where’s the other one?”

“To your right.  No- behind you,” Frank directed, then paused, frowning as a low rumble seemed to shake the air.

“That’s the noise I meant,” Chet said, pausing with an apprehensive look on his face.  “Only it wasn’t that loud.  I hope it’s not an earthquake!”

“It couldn’t be an earthquake, we’d feel that,” Frank told him.  “But it definitely wasn’t a wave, either.  It sounded like-”  He looked up, twisting his neck to get a clear glimpse of the sky, and sucked in his breath at the sight of the thick gray clouds overhead.  “Thunder!” he finished grimly. 

Joe’s fingers froze on his right shoe and he jerked his head up, his face going pale.  He didn’t say anything, but the look he cast Frank was full of fear.  Another low rumble, louder this time, broke the suddenly hushed quiet.  “W-we better get out of here,” the blond boy said anxiously.  “Fast!”

“Yeah.  We’re in the woods!” Chet pointed out unnecessarily.  “Bad place to be-”

“Then stop talking and let’s go!” Joe snapped, grabbing up the juice and water. 

“Cool down, Joe, we don’t all have quick-fasten shoes like you do,” Frank instructed his fearful brother.  “We’re going as fast as we can.”  Another, much louder rumble sounded and for a moment Frank thought Joe might abandon them altogether. 

“That’s an awful fast-moving storm,” Tony remarked nervously, standing.  “And most of the road is in the woods.”

Frank paused, thinking.  “That’s right...”

“Come on, please, come on!” Joe pleaded, tugging on Frank’s arm.  “We’re gonna get hit!”

Frank wrapped his arm around his brother and thought a moment longer.  “We need to get away from the woods and we can’t really do that,” he muttered, thinking aloud.  “That old house!” he declared suddenly, turning towards it.  “It’s out of the woods, and it’s got a porch- we can wait there till the storm’s over.  And we’ll stay dry, too,” he added, smiling at his white-faced brother.

“Well, come on then, don’t just stand there!” Joe nearly yelled.  He broke free of Frank’s grip, then cringed at the sound of a crackling boom almost overhead.  Spooked in spite of himself, Frank scurried for the old house, followed by Tony and Chet.  When he got clear of the woods, Frank slowed long enough to look up and realized the storm was bigger and closer than he’d thought.  The noise of the waves and all our splashing must have kept us from hearing it sooner, he thought, panting as he climbed the steps to the porch.

The old house was in better shape than the ones they’d seen along the road, and Frank wondered if that might be because this house was stone instead of brick and wood.  It was three stories tall with a gray-slate roof, and most of the windows were unbroken.  The porch was wood and it creaked and squeaked under the boys’ weight, but it seemed solid enough.  There was a little white paint still clinging to the front door, around the lion’s-head door knocker. 

“I don’t like that,” Chet muttered, staring at the door knocker.  “It looks like a monster.”

“It’s just a lion,” Tony told him, glancing over his shoulder.  “That really is a fast storm,” he repeated anxiously, looking back at the swirling purple-gray clouds above them.

“I think we didn’t hear it ‘cause of the waves.  And we were splashing a lot,” Frank reminded him.  “I hope your dad isn’t worrying,” he added thoughtfully.

“Well, he’ll get in the truck to keep dry, and he might come looking for us-”

“But he won’t know which road we went down.”  Joe was standing as far back as he could without actually pressing against the house wall, and he still looked quite frightened.  For that matter, Frank was feeling a little worried himself; standing on a porch wasn’t the same as being inside an actual house with solid walls.  True, the lightning would be more likely to hit the trees than the house, but that wasn’t very comforting.  Frank wasn’t eager to be anywhere near a lightning bolt.

On the heels of his thought, a brilliant yellow-white spear raced across the underbelly of the cloud, forking in three different directions.  The thunder that followed had a strange sizzling quality to it, and Frank decided that standing next to the stone wall of the house was an excellent idea.  “It’s okay, Joe,” he said as soothingly as he could manage.  “The house is stone and there’s no power line, so we’ll be fine.”

Joe didn’t answer, just moved closer to him and laid a shaky hand on the rough stone wall.

***

Joe Hardy shivered in the chilly air; the thunderstorm seemed to be sucking all the heat away.  Strong winds whipped at his hair and tugged at his clothes; he cringed as lightning flickered through the dark clouds.  The thunder boomed, echoing off the cliffs, making him start with fear.  Frank’s hand pressed against his shoulder, but that wouldn’t keep a lightning bolt from hitting him and burning him to death! 

Their friends seemed almost as scared as Joe himself was.  Tony was sitting with his arms around his legs, his back against the stone wall.  Chet huddled in the doorway despite the lion-knocker over his head; the door was slightly recessed and Chet probably felt that every inch away from the storm was a good one.  Joe agreed with his friend’s thinking, to the point of wishing he’d thought to stand in the doorway himself.  Frank was trying to be calm, but he looked pale in the growing darkness and his hand wasn’t quite steady on Joe’s shoulder.  Still, he wasn’t leaning against the house, so-

A brilliant cloud-to-ground bolt sizzled through the air and a tremendous roar shook the porch.  A nearby tree seemed to explode in half, chunks of wood flying through the air and landing in the grass.  Joe gasped, too scared to scream, clenched his eyes shut, and felt his brother stumble into him as the older boy recoiled in shock.  A sharp, nose-tingling odor rose up on the wind, and with it came the smell of charred wood.  “I wanna go home,” Joe whispered, his voice shaking as he clung to the scant safety that Frank represented.  There were tears trying to get past his squeezed-shut eyelids, but Joe bit his tongue hard, determined not to let even a hint of a tear show, no matter how scared he got.  Not this time, not in front of Tony and Chet!

“Whoa.”  Frank took a deep breath; Joe could feel it, just as he could feel Frank’s heart racing under his t-shirt.  “That was way too close.  Let’s...let’s see if-” he paused, flinching at another rumble, then finished, “-if that door opens.  It’ll be safer inside.”

Joe reluctantly pulled his eyes open, hoping not to see any more lightning.  He watched, feeling oddly helpless and almost numb, as Chet fumbled with the door.  It wouldn’t work, the door would be locked, they’d have to stay out in the storm and be hit and killed...

The door swung open and Frank’s hand pulled on Joe’s arm, urging him into the dark, musty interior of the old house.  What little light there was came from the one unboarded window and the open door; Tony closed the door and a heavy darkness descended.  Despite that, Joe took a deep breath of relief, then wrinkled his nose at the odor.  It wasn’t all dust, there was something else, something he didn’t like very much.  “What’s that smell?” he wondered in a quivery whisper.

“Smells like...like beer,” Tony replied, sniffing.  The twelve-year-old sounded nervous too, and that was a slight consolation to the younger boy.

“I b-bet some teenagers drove up and had a, a drinking party here,” Chet offered.  “So their parents wouldn’t find out.”

“Bet you’re right,” Frank agreed, sounding subdued.  He hadn’t let go of Joe, maybe because he knew Joe didn’t want him to.  Another crackling roar made everyone jump, but it wasn’t as bad as the last one.  At least it was outside, not right beside them!

“I h-hope there’s no g-ghosts in here,” Chet muttered, looking anxiously around the entry hall. 

“Better ghosts than lightning,” Joe replied softly, feeling fear steal over him despite his words.  He wasn’t any too eager to meet a ghost, but he did think he’d prefer it to being lightning-struck. 

“There’s no such things,” Frank asserted, sounding a little more like his usual confident self.  “And even if there were, they wouldn’t be around in the daytime.”

There was that, Joe admitted to himself.  Glancing around, he finally took in their surroundings: wooden floor; plain, peeling walls; wooden doorframes on either side of the hall.  The hall itself seemed to stretch on and on until it was lost in the blackness of the house, but Joe told himself firmly that it had to end- people wouldn’t live in just a hallway with no living room or kitchen.  Then he wondered what was in the rooms on either side of them.  Probably nothing, he decided; the owners would have taken their furniture if they moved, or it would have been sold if they died.  Besides, he wasn’t feeling adventurous enough to open the doors and find out, and he didn’t think anyone else was, either.

“I hear rain,” Tony murmured after a moment.  Joe nodded, glancing up at the roof as a pattering sound began to be heard over the thunder and wind. 

After that the boys were quiet for what seemed like a long time.  Cool, wet air drifted in from around the door; lightning flared, briefly illuminating the hall; thunder roared and boomed all around.  Joe gave up trying to control his shaking, grateful for Frank’s arm around him but not feeling very comforted by it.  It was better inside the house than outside on the porch, but not by much.  He still wished he was home, in his bedroom, with the curtains shut. 

His brother’s fingers had just squeezed gently on Joe’s arm after a particularly loud roar of thunder, when Chet suddenly gasped.  Both the Hardys and Tony turned quickly to look and saw their friend gesturing fearfully at the dark corridor.  Joe’s eyes widened and his mouth opened at the sight; a small, steady glow was moving towards them.

“G-ghost!”  Chet was so frightened that his voice came out in a whisper.  He was barely audible over the thunder, but as the rumbles died away Joe became aware of something else: footsteps and voices.

“Quick,” Frank hissed, pulling on Joe’s arm.  Joe resisted for a moment, then realized Frank wasn’t pulling him back out onto the porch, but into the nearest room.  He stopped resisting and darted inside.  Tony followed, dragging the petrified Chet.

“It’s a ghost, it’ll come in after us,” the chunky boy whimpered as Frank cautiously eased the door closed.

“Ghosts don’t wear boots that clump or carry flashlights or talk to each other,” Frank hissed back in a scolding whisper.  “But whoever those guys are, we don’t want them to find us in here.  They can’t be doing anything good- maybe they’re the ones who brought the beer in.”

Chet subsided; Joe felt his own pulse return to more or less normal, even feeling a bit silly for letting himself think the light was a ghost.  “What if they do come in, though?” he murmured anxiously to his older brother.

“I don’t think they will,” Frank replied softly, nodding around the room.  “Nothing in here.”

Joe glanced around and decided Frank was probably- hopefully- right.  The room was bare, nothing but dust and a fireplace and a window.  This window wasn’t boarded up and every flicker of lightning made him blink and cringe away.  Luckily, it didn’t seem to be as close as it had been.  Maybe the storm was almost over...

“I hope they don’t stay long,” Tony muttered.

“Shhh...”  Frank leaned closer to the door and Joe, feeling a twinge of curiosity, moved next to him.  “They’re talking,” the older boy breathed.  “And drinking.”

“What’re they saying?” Tony inquired softly.

“They’re talking about-” Frank stopped.  Joe felt his eyes open wide as a man’s voice came to his ears.  “About- Dad!”

***

“I don’t like how long it’s taking,” a man’s voice almost whined.  A high, nasal, unpleasant voice.  “Hardy’s wife oughta’ve contacted the Feds by now.”

“She did,” came a second, much deeper voice.  “They’re stalling.  They think they’ll be able to track us down, rather than release McConnell- they’re only making noise about negotiating to give ‘em more time.  For all the good it’s gonna do them.  They try any smart stuff, we got no deal.  No trade, no witness.”

“Yeah, and we get stuck with mister snoopy big-shot detective on our hands...Here.”

A snap and the sounds of gulping, then: “Ah...  You think Knight’ll let that happen?”  A snort of contempt.  “Knight don’t like loose ends, man.  They push much more stalling game on him and those threats to cut Hardy’s throat won’t be threats, they’ll be fact.  McConnell can’t be convicted without Hardy anyway, so either way they lose.  They’ll deal.  They want him back alive- ‘specially his missus.”  A low, thick laugh. 

“Well, yeah, but it’s making me impatient, man.  Lowrey shoulda grabbed the kid like he said he would.  Then the city wouldn’t be locked up so damn tight, we coulda split days ago.  And you know Hardy’d do anything to get his brat back safe, even if it meant cutting his own throat.”  A snicker from the first man, and a muffled clank as something landed on the floor.

“Lowrey’s an idiot- trying to grab a damn kid in the middle of a mall is not the way to snag ‘em,” the second man grumbled.  “McConnell was not pleased, no sir- that’s why when we do scram, Lowrey stays right where he is, in lockup.  We don’t need his kinda brains in this operation.”

“Brains.”  The first man snickered again.  “The lack of, you mean.  How many more of these we got?”  Another snick, a thin jingle as a bit of metal landed on the floor.

“Three more six-packs.”  A heavy sigh.  “Damn rationing.”

“Hey, you wanna run into town for some more, man, be my guest.”

“Might.  Just might.  It’s not like they know our faces...”

“Too risky!” the first man snapped, his voice rising even higher.  “They’d let you think you’d gotten away unnoticed but they’d trail you right back here-”

“They wouldn’t risk Hardy.  As long as we have him, we’re in control.”

“And if we gotta use him just to get out of this shack, where’s that leave us further down the road?”

Another heavy sigh.  “Yeah, yeah...’sides, orders.  I don’t buck McConnell.  Open up the cooler, let’s have some grub to go with this.”

“Better bring Knight something back too- keep his temper cool.”

“Oh, let him stew.  He takes it out on Mister Snoop, not us, and no one ever said they’d get him back undamaged,” the deeper voice retorted coolly. 

“That’s ‘cause we’re not tied to chairs, but I don’t wanna wake up with him standin’ over me sometime, itchin’ to level out some grudge.  Knight is not a safe man,” the first voice said.

“You mean you noticed!”  A deep chuckle.  “All right, we’ll feed the lion.  Too bad we ain’t got any steak, I guess a turkey sub’ll have to do...” 

There was the sound of footsteps and the voices grew muffled.  Another clang indicated that another beer can had been dropped, and then the voices grew clear again.

“Good thing this shack’s better built than those others on the Shore Road.”

“Remind me to build in stone,” the second man remarked.  “Lasts a hell of a lot longer.  Kick your can out of the way, idiot, you’ll trip over it- or someone will.  No wonder Knight’s so ticked, only enough supplies for two more days.”

“At least we don’t have to feed Mister Snoop.”  A high-pitched laugh.  “The look on his face when we eat and he don’t- you can tell he’s just fightin’ himself not to beg for a bite or two!”

“Give it another day and he’ll be begging, I bet ya.  Hardy’s tough, but he’s not that tough.”

“I’ll take the bet- I say he’ll cave in sooner than that.  He was already askin’ for water.”

“Knight give him any?”  The voices were fading as the footsteps tramped back down the hall.

“No...”  A rumble of thunder drowned out whatever else the first man added.  Silence fell, broken only by the patter of rain on the slate roof.

***

Joe stood glaring at the door for a moment, his mouth set in a scowl, his body tingling with rage and fear.  Then he turned to Frank, who met his gaze, dark eyes narrow with the same anger Joe was feeling.  “Dad!  They have Dad- they’ve had him here all along,” the blond boy whispered, his voice quivering.  “And they- they’re hurting him, and starving him-!”

“Those- fiends!” Frank hissed, then took a deep breath as Chet made a very rude gesture at the door.  “Come on.  Storm or not, we’ve gotta get out of here and tell the agents.  They’ll arrest these guys and help Dad.”

“We better hurry- if Papi comes here looking for us, we could all get caught,” Tony murmured, and Joe sucked in his breath at the thought.  He grabbed the door and carefully pulled it open again, poked his head out cautiously and peered up and down the hall.   

“Watch out, that beer can is right here,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder at his companions.  “Don’t kick it.”  Stepping over the can, he hurried down to the front door, but paused as a roar of thunder echoed through the house.  The storm was ebbing, but it still possessed enough kick to make the ten-year-old hesitate to go out in it.

“We can’t wait,” Frank muttered, and pulled the door open.  Joe gulped, then hurried across the porch and, not allowing himself to think of what he was doing, ran down the steps.  Squinting his eyes half-closed against the rain, he followed Frank away from the house, towards the forest- and the road.

The rain was still coming down hard and Joe was drenched in no time at all.  Water stuck his t-shirt and shorts to his body, plastered his hair to his head and squished into his sneakers as he dashed through puddles.  The tall, wet grass slapped against his bare legs and he whimpered aloud as thunder crackled.  Then a warm hand grabbed his and held it as he ran; blinking, Joe got one watery glimpse of his brother’s dark hair.  Frank was running beside him, pacing him, and the thought warmed the younger boy.  Glancing back, he saw Tony and Chet running behind him, then turned his gaze forwards again.  He wondered if either of the men, or Knight, the third man, had seen them from a window.  Probably not.  If they had, they’d be chasing us now. 

The boys slowed when they reached the woods and Joe let go of his brother’s hand in order to keep his balance as they struggled through the thick undergrowth.  The torrential rain made everything slick and all of the boys slipped several times on wet stones and grass.  There was a momentary pause at the sight of the lazy stream; all four of them were shocked to see how swollen and swift the flow was running now.  Frank gazed a moment, then grimly plunged in; the water was just below his hips, but he doggedly plowed through. 

Joe determinedly followed his brother, grimacing at the icy chill that had seemed so pleasant an hour ago.  Currents swirled around his knees and ankles and the muddy torrent seemed to be trying to push him over, but Joe resisted, spreading his arms for balance and watching his step as best he could.

Joe was almost halfway across when he glanced up to see how much farther he had to go.  His left foot landed on a rock that shifted under him; Joe lost his balance and fell face-first.  Panic-stricken, he grabbed out in all directions, searching for something solid, and his hand cracked against a solid boulder.  Clutching it, Joe managed to get his feet under him and then Tony was helping him stand up.  The water here was shallower, if faster-moving, which made it easier to wade to the bank where Frank waited, looking frightened.  “You okay?” the older Hardy asked worriedly, helping Joe clamber up the steep bank.

“C-cold,” Joe offered in a gasp, trying not to show how badly the churning, sucking water had frightened him.  For a moment, he’d been positive he’d be swept down the creek, over a waterfall, fall down the cliffs and land in the ocean.

“Sorry I didn’t wait for you,” his brother apologized as Chet helped Tony out of the water. 

“L-let’s just g-get outta the w-woods,” Joe panted, wiping futilely at the rain trickling into his eyes. 

“Easier said than done, but at least the road’s only got trees on the sides, not stuff like this.”  Chet stomped on a fallen log. 

Chet was right; once they got out of the woods and back on the narrow road, the going was much easier.  No tangled weeds and vines, no clutching sharp tree branches, no stones or logs half-covered in moss and grass to trip over.  And the overhanging branches blocked some of the heavy rain, so it wasn’t as difficult to see.  Joe was more relieved, though, by the fact that the lightning and thunder had almost completely abated.  There were still a few rumbles here and there, but they were distant and not nearly as threatening as the previous roars and booms.

Now if he could just get the cold fear for his father out of his head...  Joe glanced at his brother and saw the same fear-anger-urgency in Frank’s expression as he himself was feeling.  Dad...

“Truck coming,” Tony said suddenly, after nearly fifteen minutes of silent, fast walking.  Joe stopped and listened; above the patter of the rain and wind- and the boys’ fast breathing- came the distinct sound of an engine.

“Your dad?” Frank guessed, taking Joe’s arm and guiding him to the side of the road. 

“I h-hope so,” Chet panted.  Headlights pierced the gloom, reflected off the wet mud, and the white truck eased to a stop several yards away.

“Papi!” Tony called as the driver’s door opened, and then let out a stream of Italian in which Joe distinguished ‘Hardy’ and nothing else.  Mr. Prito frowned and asked several questions in the same tongue, to which Tony replied briefly.  The Hardy boys glanced anxiously at each other, wondering if the man would believe their story.  It wasn’t common knowledge in Bayport that Dad was missing; the police and government people had said it would be best to keep it out of the news, for fear of scaring off the criminals.

Mr. Prito asked one more question of Tony, who answered with a few quick words; then the contractor turned to the boys.  “Get in,” he directed, gesturing at the truck.  “Two of you- Frank and Joe, you’re smallest- squeeze behind the seat.  Can’t ride in the truck bed in this weather.”  He didn’t say anything more as he got back into the truck, and Joe- after trading a glance with Frank- decided not to ask silly questions.  It didn’t really matter if Mr. Prito believed them or not.  The Federal agents were they ones to convince, and that meant getting home- fast.  He hurried up to the truck, his brother right behind him.

The area behind the front seat was constrictingly narrow, but clean and uncluttered.  Joe slipped in first and knelt; Frank followed his example and settled beside him.  Tony and Chet squashed into the front seat with Mr. Prito, who then expertly turned the truck around and drove back the way he’d come.  Joe had half-expected a bunch more questions, this time in English, but the only sound in the truck was the swishing of the windshield wipers.  Shivering a little, he held on to the back of the seat and tried not to think what those horrible men might be doing to Dad.