Raft of Stars Andrew Graff (free biff chip and kipper ebooks txt) 📖

Bread grinned in the starlight, nodding. “We’re gonna make beds from cedar branches,” he said. “And we’re going to be cocaptains, equal pay and duties.” He patted the trunk of the cedar tree. “I’m gonna cut this one down first thing tomorrow.”

The two boys looked up at the cedar tree, at the warm blanket of stars. They’d never built a raft before. Not like this one. Fish allowed himself the beginnings of a smile. Something sparked to life in his gut. They didn’t have fathers. But they had each other. They had a plan. Fish tried to put his finger on the spark rising inside him.

“Can we name our raft Hope?” said Fish, and the stars shone.

“That’s a good name for a raft,” said Bread.

“The Hope of Lantern Rock,” said Fish.

“That’s even better,” said Bread.

The boys exhaled and watched the sky awhile. It was stunning, the way it hung and spun.

“Thank you, Bread,” said Fish.

“For what?”

Fish didn’t answer. He was already twisting root ropes in his mind, already diving from their raft into the deep black river, drying himself in sunlight, eating catfish caught with cane poles. He was no longer afraid, the terror of the night washed away in river sounds.

“Well,” said Bread, making himself comfortable against his backpack, “I got more Slim Jims, if you want another one.”

Five

SHERIFF CAL PULLED HIMSELF INTO HIS TRUCK. HIS DOG, JACKS, moved over on the bench seat, circled, and settled onto his haunches, panting and grinning. Jacks was a young blue heeler Cal picked up from a barn litter for thirty-five dollars. Thirty dollars is how much the worm shots cost me, said the old woman, wiping her hands on her apron as Cal lifted the puppy up by its armpits to examine him more closely. The pup had one blue eye and one brown, a white patch of fur on his belly. Cal asked if the puppy had a name, and also why the extra five dollars. That one’s name is Jacks, and he’s been a pain in my ass, that’s why—he escapes—and you ain’t from here, are you, I can tell from how you talk. She said it all without pause, which made Cal smile and the puppy squirm. Cal decided to rescue the dog—he imagined the woman cussing after it with a broom—paid the woman, and placed the puppy in his truck on top of an old sweatshirt. Where you from, the woman asked him. Texas, Cal told her, I’m the new sheriff, pleasure to meet you. The woman widened her eyes at him, shook his hand like a man does. Uh-huh is all she said. On the drive home, the puppy chewed through a seat belt and put teeth marks in the armrest but didn’t try to escape. He seemed pleased to be sitting somewhere other than that woman’s garage. Cal never could train Jacks to do very much, and frankly, he didn’t want to. Jacks had an independent mind, considered himself an equal. Cal didn’t argue.

“All right, Jacks,” said Cal, sliding his key into the ignition.

The dog panted and swallowed.

“We’re in it now,” said Cal. “We are in it.”

The truck’s motor came to life and the heater fans blew cold air into the cab. The digital clock said it was a quarter past three in the morning. Teddy and Cal planned to leave at first light. Cal closed his eyes a moment, rubbed his face with his hands, and put the truck in gear. He needed to get to the station, pack up some gear and two or three days’ worth of food. He needed a place for Jacks to stay too, and he needed sleep but knew there wasn’t time. The boys hadn’t shown up at Teddy’s like Cal hoped, or at least not in the way he had hoped. They had been there all right. They just didn’t stay. Cal and Teddy had spent a good two hours turning the farm upside down—the machine sheds and barn, the silos, the ditches by the pasture—and then they met back in Teddy’s kitchen. Cal unfolded a plat of the county on the table. Teddy worked on making a pot of black coffee, then phoned his daughter.

“Miranda,” he said in a quiet voice, “you ain’t heard from Fischer, have you?” It was prayerful, the way Teddy seemed to speak those words. There was fear and hope in his voice. Cal had always known Teddy as a capable man, quiet, who kept to himself. But he had fire in him too, beneath the surface. Teddy once helped Cal pull a farmer’s body out of a tiller. The man had fallen backward while dragging a field, and the tractor raked up its driver and found its way into a marsh, stuck on its oil pan with its tires churning the mud like a riverboat. Cal was no farmer, never drove a tractor in his life, and ended up flagging down Teddy from the road to help him shut down the machine. Cal played it cool like a sheriff should but was amazed at the way Ted gathered up the pieces as calmly as if he were lifting sacks of grain. That’s all of him, Ted said, stooping to wash his hands in the marsh water. And then something seemed to rise in him, an anger so instant and shaking and hot it was more surprising than frightening. Cal had no time to react. Ted stood from the marsh and poked a trembling finger into Cal’s chest, told him to do his own work from then on, called him something awful, cursed the fields and the morning and drove away. The next day Ted called Cal’s office and apologized, cool as could be. It was a mystery, the thing that ignited him so. It wasn’t just the sight of the body. Something seemed to scare Teddy out there. Something in himself after partaking of the recovery.

Tonight, Ted’s hands shook