A Boy Called Duct Tape by Christopher Cloud Read Free Book Online Page A

said.
    “How bad was it?” Pia asked, slurping her drink.
    Lyda’s forehead wrinkled and she snapped her gum. “Double bad. Changed the course of the Mississippi River, honey. At least a hundred on that Lickter scale thingamajig, that is if that Lickter scale thingamajig had been invented, which it wasn’t. Learned all about it in the Reader’s Digest. ”
    The kitchen bell rang and Lyda rushed off to pick up an order.
    “I think she meant Richter scale,” Kiki said.
    “And they never reach a hundred,” I noted.
    “I think eight or nine is about as bad as they get,” Kiki said.
    I had unrolled the Jesse James treasure map. It was stretched out on the table before us. We sat drinking our cherry limeades, our eyes tracing the route through the cave to the lost treasure.
    After a minute or two, Kiki looked up at me with a flicker of a smile. “Tell me something, primo .”
    “Uh-huh, sure.”
    The excitement flaring in her eyes, Kiki said, “Do you know anything about exploring caves?”
    I shook my head. “Not really.” A grin began as a tiny crease, but broadened across my entire face. “But I know someone who does.”

8
    “Watch those rocks, Pablo!” Pia cried, digging her fingers in my shoulders.
    Pia stood on the six-inch metal pegs I’d installed on the rear axle of my Mongoose dirt bike. She was standing and straddling the rear tire. It had been a smooth ride on pavement, but now we were on a rocky pasture road. We hadn’t seen a single car since leaving County Road HH 20 minutes earlier.
    “Sorry, Pia,” I said, maneuvering my bike around another gnarly patch of rocks. I glanced back at my cousin, who was following on Pia’s bike.
    “I’m right behind you!” Kiki called out, her hair flying.
    “Not far now!” I shouted.
    The morning heat was suffocating—the weatherman predicted the mercury would hit 90 before the day was over and the same for the humidity—and I shook my mop of hair, trying to free myself from the stinging rivulets of sweat that were trekking down my forehead and into my eyes.
    A cottontail rabbit darted from the underbrush and across the road in front of my bike, and I swerved to avoid hitting it.
    “Wow, that was close!” Pia cried.
    We’d said our goodbyes to Mom at the trailer an hour earlier when she left for work, eaten a quick breakfast of cold cereal, and then headed down Highway 7 toward the rugged backwoods south of Jamesville. Highway 7 intersected with County Road HH, which bisected the nameless dirt road we were on. A faded, broken-down sign warned us that the road was a DEAD END.
    “Pablo, are you sure this is the right way?” Kiki asked, pedaling to catch up.
    “Pretty sure,” I said with a turn of my head. “But it’s been awhile since I was out here.”
    The country road was so steep at one spot that we had to push our bikes to the top. Once there, we laid our bikes in the middle of the road.
    “Kiki, see if you can find this road on Google’s Earth Map,” I said, catching my breath. “Let’s see … let’s see if it’s really a dead-end.”
    “Good thinking,” Kiki said, removing her Smart Phone from the pocket of her shorts.
    “Are we on the right road if it’s a dead-end, Pablo?” Pia asked.
    “Yeah,” I replied.
    “That’s stupid,” Pia said. “How can a dead-end road take us to where we want to go?”
    “Chill, Pia! You’ll see when we get there,” I said.
    Kiki pulled up a satellite picture of the Jamesville area on her phone.
    “Move south of town,” I said, peering at the tiny screen.
    Pia leaned in for a closer look as Kiki adjusted the map with her finger.
    “I see the road.” I touched the road on the screen. “Enlarge it.”
    Kiki enlarged the map.
    “This is the road we’re on,” I noted, tracing the outline on the screen with my fingertip. The road ended at what appeared to be a rocky outcropping. “Yeah, it’s a dead-end.”
    “So, we are on the right road?” Kiki said.
    “Yeah, and we’re getting