Chapter 12: Pine Hollow

  Scene 1: Trail to the Red X

  They set out just after dawn, before the air turned thick and mean, and before the sun had its full say in the day. The swamp was quiet—too quiet for that hour—like even the frogs knew somethin’ important was about to happen and chose to keep their mouths shut.

  Josie led the way, boots stompin’ sure along the marsh trail, her red hair pulled back in a bandana soaked with sweat and purpose. She held the map like it was scripture, the red X circled three times and scrawled in Lester Duval’s scratchy hand: “FOR COURTHOUSE – FINAL EVIDENCE.”

  A message not meant for kids.

  But maybe meant for them.

  Tadpole followed close behind, jaw tight, eyes dartin’ left and right like the trees were whisperin’ warnings he could hear but the others couldn’t. He hadn’t said much that morning. Not a single one of his usual nods or knowing glances. Just silence.

  Kenji carried the hum machine, its wires and coils bundled like swamp ivy, bouncing against his back with every step. Lila Rae had her notebook open, tracking each twist and turn of the trail like she was writin’ it into history herself. Cricket, ever the lookout, brought up the rear, straw hat low over her eyes and her trusty slingshot hangin’ from her belt.

  Bo, as usual, complained.

  “This place got more mud than land,” he muttered, hopscotchin’ between dry spots and grumblin’ every time his boot squelched. “Why is it always the creepiest parts of the swamp that get the most important clues?”

  “’Cause that’s where the liars hide their footprints,” Josie called over her shoulder.

  Bo blinked. “Wait… was that deep or just Southern nonsense?”

  “Both,” Cricket said, smirking.

  They reached a fork in the trail where the moss hung lower and the trees leaned like they were tryin’ to eavesdrop. Josie stopped and checked the map again, fingers stained with sweat and dirt.

  “Left,” she said. “That gator spine tree on the ridge matches Lester’s mark.”

  The gator spine tree wasn’t much to look at, unless you were used to the swamp’s way of decoratin’. Dead and bleached, its bare limbs jutted like crooked ribs into the mist. Beneath it, the trail narrowed, hedged in with sawgrass and nettle.

  Lila Rae frowned. “That’s not a trail. That’s a dare.”

  Josie just grinned. “Good thing we’re brave.”

  And forward they went.

  Every step felt like it had weight. Not just from the mud and heat, but from knowin’ this was it. The end of the map. The place Lester had trusted no one else with. The last piece of a story buried by silence.

  And if that X meant what they thought it did…

  Well.

  Then they were walkin’ straight into history’s front porch—armed with nothin’ but courage, bug spray, and the kind of friendship that don’t break easy.

  Scene 2: Don’t Cross the Line

  The path thinned ‘til it wasn’t much more than a deer run—roots like knuckles, vines reachin’ low to snag hair and sleeves, and the air thick with old heat and old secrets. They were deeper in now, way past any place folks bothered to name. Pine Hollow, Lester had called it, though there weren’t no pines to speak of—just crooked water oaks and ghost-gray cypress, all leanin’ in like they’d heard too much to stand straight.

  Tadpole stopped first.

  He planted his feet right in the middle of the trail and didn’t budge.

  Josie nearly ran into him, but she caught herself, slidin’ to a muddy stop. “What are you doin’?”

  Tadpole didn’t answer right away. Just stared down the trail, jaw set like a man twice his age. Finally, he said, real low: “We gone far enough.”

  Josie blinked. “Excuse me?”

  He turned to her, eyes serious. “We got the journal. The shimmer. The tapes. This red X? Maybe it’s just more danger. Maybe it’s meant to keep people out.”

  “We are people,” she snapped.

  He didn’t flinch.

  “We got proof,” he said. “More than anyone’s had in forty years. That should be enough.”

  Josie’s fists balled at her sides. “Enough for who? For the grown-ups who already didn’t listen? For the folks who buried Lester and never looked back?”

  She took a step closer. “You read what he wrote, Tad. He trusted someone would finish what he started.”

  He looked down. “I don’t wanna find a body.”

  The words hit like a hammer swung soft but sure.

  The others stayed quiet. Kenji shifted nervously beside the hum machine. Lila Rae kept scribblin’, but slower now. Cricket’s straw hat dipped low, shadowin’ her face.

  Josie swallowed hard.

  “You think I do?” she said, softer now. “You think I wanna dig up bones and ruin our summer and go back home with somethin’ that’ll live in my chest forever?”

  Tadpole didn’t speak.

  “But we’re here,” she went on. “We followed every clue. Every sound. Lester didn’t run from this. He fought to leave it behind for someone who’d care enough to come lookin’. I’m that someone. We all are.”

  She took another step, till they were standin’ nearly chest to chest—twelve-year-olds but feelin’ every bit of grown.

  “I ain’t leavin’ a red X behind.”

  Tadpole looked up at her then, his expression softenin’ just a hair.

  “You’re just like him,” he said.

  Josie raised an eyebrow. “Lester?”

  “No,” Tadpole said, mouth twitchin’. “Stubborn.”

  She grinned despite herself.

  “Good. Stubborn gets things done.”

  He stepped aside, not with defeat—but with respect.

  And together, they moved on—deeper into Pine Hollow, past the point of no return, hearts thumpin’ in time with the hush of the swamp, followin’ the trail that Lester had blazed for them long before they were born.

  Scene 3: The Red X in the Roots

  They found it where the trees grew so tight the sun had to squeeze in sideways. Roots overlapped like a braid of knobby fingers clutchin’ at the earth, and the air smelled like time—wet, green, and full of rot and memory.

  Josie’s boots sank a little as she knelt beneath a crooked dogwood, right where Lester’s map said it’d be. The bark was carved with a shallow spiral—his mark. Faint, nearly swallowed by moss, but still there.

  “Here,” she said, brushing away leaves.

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  Tadpole joined her, wordless now but not withdrawn. He pulled a trowel from his pack—’cause of course he’d brought one—and started diggin’. Slow at first, careful not to crack what they might find. Bo joined with a stick. Kenji lit the way with the flashlight, the hum machine at his feet like a watchful dog.

  They didn’t speak. Even Bo didn’t joke.

  Then came the hollow clink.

  Lila Rae dropped to her knees beside them. “That’s metal.”

  They cleared the dirt away with their hands—eager now—and uncovered a weather-worn green case, the kind you’d see tucked under a soldier’s cot or ridin’ in the back of a work truck. It was dented at the corners and rusted ‘round the latches, but still shut tight.

  Cricket knelt opposite Josie and ran a finger over the stamped letters on the lid.

  LD-COURT

  Josie glanced at the others, heart poundin’. “This is it.”

  She flipped the latches.

  Inside, packed with care and wrapped in wax paper like treasure, were reels of audio tape—four, maybe five. Labeled in Lester’s blocky print:

  BRM – INTERVIEWS.

  MEETING – AUG 1968.

  TOWER DESIGN.

  MAYOR’S RESPONSE.

  PERSONAL – DO NOT PLAY.

  Beneath the reels lay folders, each yellowed with age and tied with red string. Letters, hand-typed and signed in blue ink. Copies of land surveys. Zoning permits. Photos.

  Lila Rae picked one up—an aerial shot of the bayou, with black ink X’s and arrows. At the bottom, in thick marker:

  WATER TABLE FAILURE ZONE – SUPPRESSED

  Kenji’s breath caught in his throat. “He had proof.”

  Cricket unfolded a letter and read aloud, slow:

  To: B. Keller – BRM Land Acquisitions

  Subject: Re: Pine Hollow Development Plan

  Proceed as discussed. Duval’s objections have been neutralized.

  Ensure no copies of his reports reach the parish office.

  If he persists, escalate.

  They all froze.

  Bo whistled. “Neutralized? That’s a fancy way of sayin’ they made him disappear.”

  Lila Rae’s hands trembled as she flipped through a second folder. “He mailed these. Certified letters to the state. None of ‘em got a response.”

  Josie reached into the bottom of the case and pulled out a smaller envelope. On the front, in simple ink:

  For the courthouse.

  For the kids who wouldn’t quit.

  She smiled.

  “I guess that’s us.”

  And just then, the wind shifted.

  Branches creaked.

  And in the hush that followed, they heard a sound that didn’t belong.

  A footstep.

  Not theirs.

  Not nearby.

  But close enough to freeze the blood.

  Someone else was in Pine Hollow.

  Watchin’.

  Scene 4: The Name on the Letter

  The swamp, for all its rustle and buzz and chirr, can turn dead silent when it wants to. And in that breath between moments—after the step, after the shift in the wind—the silence came down like a lid.

  Tadpole stood up real slow, eyes scanning the tree line. Josie reached into the case and shut it quick, as gentle as she could manage, and slid it behind the twisted roots of the dogwood.

  Kenji lowered the flashlight’s beam.

  Bo whispered, “Somebody’s out there.”

  “No,” Cricket murmured. “Somebody’s been out there.”

  Lila Rae crouched beside Josie, cradling one of the folders. “There’s a name in here,” she whispered, like the trees themselves might be listenin’. “A real one. I—I think it’s the one Lester was scared of.”

  Josie glanced down. The page was on thick letterhead—fancy-like, with a seal at the top. And there, printed in black ink just below the approval stamp, was a name they all recognized, plain as porch light:

  Signed, Mayor James R. Keller

  Bo sucked in a breath. “The mayor?”

  Lila Rae nodded. “Lester wasn’t just talkin’ about the company. The mayor was in on it—coverin’ up permits, pushin’ the land deal through, keepin’ him quiet.”

  Josie felt her jaw clench tight. “He’s the one Reggie said was too friendly with BRM.”

  Tadpole’s voice was sharp, for once. “He didn’t just know. He helped.”

  Kenji flipped to another document—an old typed memo with uneven spacing.

  Per Lester Duval’s repeated objections, cease communication with subject.

  Redirect media inquiries to Mayor Keller’s office.

  All Duval reports are to be refiled under “noncompliance.”

  It was like the page was burnin’ up in his hands.

  “He tried to go through the system,” Josie said, “and they slammed every door shut.”

  Cricket grabbed another photo from the case—grainy, taken from a distance, but clear enough: Lester standin’ beside the dredge with a clipboard, arguin’ with two men in suits. One of them wore a badge. The other?

  A round, familiar face.

  Mayor Keller.

  Bo shook his head. “He’s still in office.”

  “Not for long,” Josie said, standin’ tall. “Not after this.”

  She pulled the envelope labeled For the Courthouse from her pack and slid the new documents inside, careful to press it flat.

  “This was never about ghosts or magic,” she said. “This was a man tryin’ to stop the swamp from bein’ sold off one secret at a time.”

  Kenji added the tapes to the case. “And we’re the ones who heard him.”

  Tadpole glanced once more toward the trees. “We’re not alone.”

  Josie didn’t flinch. “Then let ‘em hear, too.”

  The wind picked up again, this time from the north, rustlin’ leaves that hadn’t moved all day. And from somewhere out past the water line, a shadow flickered through the brush.

  Time to go was comin’.

  But not before they took the truth with ‘em.

  Scene 5: Shadows in the Hollow

  It started with a cough.

  Soft. Sharp. Unmistakable.

  Not a gator. Not a bird. Not wind.

  A human cough.

  And it came from just beyond the brush line, where the shadows were thicker than they oughta be, even with the sun driftin’ low through the moss.

  Tadpole whipped around first, eyes already on the trees. Josie didn’t hesitate—she grabbed the metal case and slammed the lid, hugging it to her chest. “Go. Now.”

  Cricket spun toward the trail, slingshot already in hand. “We’re bein’ hunted.”

  Kenji yanked the hum machine into his arms, not even takin’ time to coil the wires. Bo shoved the last folder into his backpack and muttered, “Knew it. Always ends in a chase.”

  Behind them, a branch snapped.

  Then another.

  Heavy footfalls. Not runnin’ yet—but fast walkin’. Confident. Closing.

  “Move!” Josie shouted.

  They tore through the brush, elbows up, duckin’ under branches, splashin’ through shallow water and kickin’ up mud like a pack of frightened raccoons. Josie led with Tadpole close behind, the others fannin’ out as best they could.

  The trail they’d come in on was gone now—swallowed up by undergrowth and panic. They didn’t have time to double-check the map. This wasn’t exploration. This was escape.

  From behind came another crash—someone big, someone not carin’ about noise, bashin’ through the brush like they had somethin’ to prove.

  “Who is it?” Lila Rae gasped between breaths.

  “Too quiet to be a ranger,” Tadpole muttered. “Too loud to be lost.”

  Josie gritted her teeth, her boots slappin’ wet stone. “Doesn’t matter. Keep runnin’.”

  Kenji tripped, stumbled—Bo caught his arm, yanked him back upright. “No fallin’ behind, genius!”

  The ground dipped—then rose—then narrowed into a half-dried streambed, shaded by moss-covered oaks. They followed it like a hallway carved by time, twistin’ and turnin’, until—

  “There!” Cricket pointed. “Split! That way!”

  They veered left, off the main streambed and into an old trapper’s trail Josie remembered from last summer. It was narrow, overgrown, and just barely wide enough to squeeze through single-file.

  Behind them, the footsteps slowed.

  Whoever it was, they’d lost their bearings.

  Bo huffed, bendin’ over to catch his breath. “You think we lost ‘em?”

  Josie crouched by the edge of the water, clutchin’ the case like it was her own heartbeat. “No. But we bought ourselves a minute.”

  Cricket climbed up on a log and scanned the horizon. “Didn’t see a face. Just a shape. Big. Tall.”

  Kenji’s voice was quiet now. “You think... Keller sent someone?”

  Josie didn’t answer.

  But in her gut, she already knew.

  This wasn’t just about secrets anymore.

  It was about keepin’ them buried.

  And somebody out there in the swamp still had a shovel.

  Scene 6: The Last Light in the Clubhouse

  By the time the Mudpuppy Patrol stumbled back into the clubhouse, the sun was barely holdin’ on to the horizon—just a smear of orange across the cypress tops, bleedin’ slow into the swamp. The air was heavy, thick with sweat and secrets, and the only sound was the wet slosh of boots and the high whine of summer skeeters settlin’ in for their evening meal.

  No one spoke.

  Not at first.

  They climbed into their hideout one by one, pantin’, muddy, scratched up, and wild-eyed. Josie was last through the trapdoor, haulin’ the metal case like a prize-winnin’ catfish. She shut it with a click and leaned against the wall, catchin’ her breath.

  Kenji dropped the hum machine onto a folded tarp. “We made it.”

  Bo collapsed into the hammock, which groaned under his weight. “I knew this whole thing was gonna end with someone chasin’ us.”

  Lila Rae was already lightin’ the lantern, hands still tremblin’ but steady enough to get a flame goin’. She turned it low, just enough to cast a warm circle around them.

  Tadpole sat cross-legged by the far wall, his knife already out, carvin’ tiny notches into the wood by the window—same as he did every time they came back from somethin’ big. He didn’t say a word.

  Josie stepped into the center of the room, lifted the case, and set it down on the table like it was the crown jewels.

  She looked around at her friends—her crew—faces flushed and bruised and smilin’ through the shock of what they’d done.

  “Lester was right,” she said, voice rough. “The truth was buried. And we dug it up.”

  Cricket pulled off her hat and fanned herself. “Y’all... we got enough in that box to bring down a mayor.”

  Kenji nodded. “Evidence, witnesses, tapes, dates... even that letter about neutralizin’ Lester. This ain’t just a mystery anymore. It’s a case.”

  “Too bad we ain’t got a lawyer,” Bo muttered, then added, “...yet.”

  Lila Rae sat cross-legged near the wall, already sketchin’ out a timeline in her notebook. “We’ll go to the local paper. Reggie at the bait shop. Maybe even that Buddy guy.”

  “We send copies to the courthouse. To the state. Heck, we’ll give ‘em to the dang librarian if we have to,” Josie said.

  Tadpole looked up. “Long as it gets out.”

  Josie smiled at him, soft-like. “It will.”

  They fell quiet again, not because there was nothin’ left to say—but because they were finally feelin’ what they’d done. All the chasin’ and wonderin’ and shimmer-watchin’ had led them here. To the truth.

  And the truth was heavy.

  But it belonged to them now.

  Outside, fireflies rose like sparks from the marsh. Crickets tuned up their nightly symphony. Somewhere out in the distance, the hum came again—faint, low, familiar.

  Not from Kenji’s machine.

  From the earth.

  Josie stepped to the porch, leaned on the railing, and watched the sky darken over the trees. She could still see the shimmer in her mind—still feel the weight of that moment when the world bent sideways and said, look closer.

  Behind her, the others laughed—soft, tired, real.

  She smiled.

  The summer wasn’t over yet.

  But the hunt was.

  And whatever came next... they were ready for it.