The Troop by Nick Cutter Read Free Book Online

boat, yes,” Tim said for now. “oliver mcCanty’s, by the look of it. You know how big it is. We can’t all ride back in it.”
“A few of us could,” said Kent. “We could tell my dad what happened.”
Kent’s father was lower montague’s chief of police, “Big” Jeff Jenks: a towering six feet seven inches and two hundred and fifty pounds of prime law enforcement beef. most afternoons he could be spotted behind the wheel of his police cruiser (looking, Tim thought, like an orangutan stuffed into a kitchen cupboard), circuiting the town. If anything, his face reflected sadness—perhaps at the fact God had given him a body so big and strong that he considered it a cosmic injustice that he couldn’t put it to use on deserving criminals. But he’d picked the wrong jurisdiction: the closest thing to a felonious mastermind in montague County was Slick rogers, the local moonshiner whose hillside stills occasionally exploded, burning down an acre of scrubland.
“You guys are going on your wilderness trek as scheduled. You were going to be trekking solo, anyway, as part of your merit requirement. So just fend for yourselves and navigate your way back. no help from me.”
“That’s crazy, Tim!” Kent stabbed one thick finger at the stranger. “We need to neutralize the threat”—one of his father’s pet phrases—“or else . . . or else . . .”
Kent trailed off, the words locking up in his throat. Tim dropped a hand on Kent’s shoulder. The boy’s eyes narrowed—in that instant Tim was certain he’d brush his hand off. When that didn’t happen, he said, “What we need is to remain calm and proceed with the established plan.”
“But it’s all different now. The plan is . . . it’s fucked. ”
A shocked gasp from newton. nobody ought to speak that way in front of an adult—in front of their Scoutmaster. Tim’s eyes took on a hard sheen. His hand tensed on Kent’s shoulder, fingernails dimpling the fabric—close to but not quite a claw.
“Scout law number seven, Kent. repeat it.”
Kent wormed in Tim’s grip. His eyes held a bruised, hangdog cast.
“A Scout . . .” Tim said softly. “Go on, tell me. A Scout . . .”
newt said, “A Scout obeys his—”
“Quiet, newt,” said Tim. “Kent knows this.”
“A . . . Scout . . . obeys . . .” Kent said, each word wrenched painfully from his mouth.
“Who does he obey?”
“He obeys his Scoutmaster without . . .”
“Without what, Kent?”
“. . . without question. even if he gets an order he does not like, he must do as soldiers and policemen do; he must carry it out all the same because it is his duty.”
“And after he has done it,” Tim continued, “he can come and state any reasons against it. But he must carry out the order at once. That is discipline.”
Tim forfeited his grip; Kent stepped back, rubbing his shoulder. Tim pointed to a pair of walkie-talkies on the table.
“You get into a jam, radio me. We’ve done plenty of orienteering together, right? This won’t be anything new. It’s a nice morning, no foul weather in today’s forecast.”
no other boy spoke against the Scoutmaster’s plan. nobody wanted to be here, in this cabin, with . . . that . They were all too happy to invoke that particular license of boyhood, the one that stated: Let the grown-ups handle it . events that seemed overwhelming and terrifying to their boyish brains were dispelled like so much smoke when the adults took over. Adults were Fixers; they were Solvers. The boys still trusted Tim, even Kent. So they would depart into the crisp autumn sunshine, their lungs filling with clean air; they would wrestle and run and laugh and enjoy their freedom from this strange responsibility, whatever it entailed. And when they returned everything would be fine. They sincerely believed this because, up until that very point in their existence, it was a fact that had always held true.
It had been Tim’s intention to go with them.