Lost Cargo by Hollister Ann Grant, Gene Thomson Read Free Book Online Page A

dwindled, for the longest time still recognizable as a doorway, until it turned into a tiny blue speck bobbing between the tree trunks. Then the little light blinked out. They’d reached the other side of the camouflage force field. Moments later, the gorge yawned before their feet. They stumbled down the rocky hillside, over the cold creek, and through a nightmare of briars back to the path.
    Travis looked back. “We’ll never find this place again.”
    “We can leave a marker, a pile of rocks or something.”
    “The leaves will just cover it up.” He sat down and began to pull off his shoes and socks. “Take off your socks.”
    She stared at him. “My
socks
?”
    “That’s right. We’ll tie them to the trees.”
    She sat down beside him and took off her shoes and socks. When the socks turned out to be too short to tie together, he ripped the fabric and hung them like flags in the underbrush. Then they retraced their steps down the twisting path. Black trees and black rocks rose out of the black hills. Lexie stumbled. When he caught her arm, their eyes met for a magical moment, and then she broke the spell to brush herself off.
    They set out side by side in silence into the next valley. The moon finally shone through the clouds, a golden lamp moving in a great arc across the vast black sky. Its radiance fell over the dark creek and lit up the overgrown path. They went on in the cold for so long that Travis wondered if they would ever reach the end of the woods. He began to long for simple things, hot coffee and a room with lamps and heat.
    “We must be near Connecticut Avenue,” she said. “I can hear traffic.”
    “And I can see lights,” he told her. “I see streetlights.”
    More lights shone through the branches. The lights grew larger, longer, and changed in front of their eyes to dozens of windows. They ran over the top of the hill and down the last leg of the path behind the sprawling stone walls of Buchanan House. Lamplight from the lower windows streamed over the dark grass.
    “We made it,” Lexie cried, but he caught her arm and pulled her behind a shaggy fir tree. Despite the cold, someone stood on one of the balconies two floors down from the roof. Soft light from the open door cast the figure in shadow, but it was impossible to mistake her huge silhouette.
    “It’s her,” Lexie whispered.
    “That has to be her place,” he said, fascinated. He could see paintings, too distant to make out, a lamp with a black shade, the back of a contemporary sofa, and a distinctive oriental wall hanging with three elephants.
    “What’s she doing?” Lexie said.
    “I don’t know. Watching the woods, I think. We have to go another way.”
    They crept through the trees, over a small wrought-iron fence, and onto the lawn of the condominium next door, where they kept to the wall. Wisps of fog were beginning to creep over the ground. Once they reached the public sidewalk, they were back on Connecticut Avenue with its streetlights and traffic.
    “A phone,” he said.
    She stared at him. “The pub has one.”
    They ran toward Sullivan’s, which was packed with people, and squeezed into the old-fashioned, dark wood phone booth by the bar. Travis leaned in to listen. Lexie called 911 and was transferred to fire and rescue.
    “My brother’s trapped in Rock Creek Park,” she began. “He fell in some rocks and he hurt himself… his foot... no, it’s not life-threatening… what do you mean, you can’t send somebody right now?” She twisted around. “Look, just listen to me. He’s trapped inside this…
aircraft
that crashed in the woods.” Her words rushed out as she broke down. “I know I said rocks, but it’s an aircraft… because I didn’t know how to explain it.”
    She was blowing everything. Travis reached for the phone, but she turned away.
    “I’m near the Cleveland Park Metro, so I can meet you here. I have to go with you because you won’t be able to find it… because it’s