The Last Polar Bear

By Achim Zahren

The earth appears to be getting warmer and the polar ice cap is melting. The ozone layer is receding. The sky is about to tear wide open and the results will be devastating. This is the story of Lucy, Whitey and Thomas the Inuit, three teenage orphans who run away from home in a beat up school bus named the Pequod, then take off to find The Far North and hopefully prevent a worldwide environmental catastrophe.

Saving the world however, may prove to be far easier than saving their best friend as Lucy struggles to understand the loss of her family, and wonders about the meaning of her own very complicated life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 31, 2011
• ISBN: 9781450267236

Achim Zahren

Achim (Kim) Zahren and his wife Roddie live in Charlotte North Carolina with their black and white border collie, Andie. Other books by the author include: A Very Large Rock, My Two Big Cats and Person of the Year (A Wilder Reule Mystery). Kim is a ministry partner of Lake Forest Church in Huntersville, North Carolina. You can reach him at [e-mail]

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The sky was growing dark and I didn’t have a raincoat. I looked up at the big dark clouds and I wondered. My mother would have worried. Something just didn’t feel right. We hurried home from school and each of us tried not to step into one of the deep puddles that line the side of the road. This place has no paved streets and the roads are nothing but dirt. In the winter they’re great for Snow Cats and jacked up pickups but during the rest of the year it’s all large puddles and everything turns into thick black mud.

The three of us were discussing the white lady who’s recently come to teach at the Government School. I really like her, said Whitey, and I think she’s pretty.

Thomas tore the candy bar open with his teeth. He spit the wrapper into the muddy street. Yeah man…. she is so very hot! I turned and punched him in the stomach.

Shut up, I said, You talk like such a moron!

Yeah…. a moron, repeated Whitey, but fortunately for you… a very large moron. Thomas just grinned. The boy likes to stir things up.

Miss Applegate is actually pretty cool. We call her Miss Apple. She once lived in England where she married a guy with tons of money. My dad used to say that’s what I should do. When you grow up, he would say in his dad voice, marry someone with lots of money, and then you can leave this place. He left one night after drinking way too much and then driving his old truck off the only bridge on this stupid island. My mom and my sister were sitting beside him. I try not to think about it.

Miss Apple says life is like a field of clams at low tide and that every shell is full of surprises. It is often the simple things that make life special, she says. Always pay close attention to the small things that are at your feet. At the moment each of us were paying close attention to where we put our high mud covered rubber boots because no one wanted to get their feet wet.

So, what do you guys think? asked Whitey. Thomas had his mouth full of nuts and chocolate. He stopped chewing for a moment and looked over at Whitey.

You mean about the extinction stuff?

It does seem pretty sad, I answered. It doesn’t seem right that for a million years a whale or a bird or something else could live and there would be lots of them, and then one day there would be none of them, and if you wanted to find one you couldn’t, no matter how far you would go or no matter how hard you would look.

Like polar bears, said Whitey.

Yeah… like polar bears, added Thomas, and grandfathers. We all stopped and looked at him. You know, he continued, I used to visit my grandfather every day after school. He would tell me about old days and ancient legends… talking animals…lots of cool stuff like that. He taught me to read the stories in totem poles and how to catch ptarmigan with just an old wooden coke box and a piece of string. Now he’s gone… and I really miss him.

We all stood there for a moment and no one really knew what to say. Finally I spoke up. You know what Thomas, I said. I think you’re right. When things become extinct, it feels a lot like that.

CHAPTER 2

Thomas and Lucy waved goodbye, then watched as Whitey ambled down the gravel road that led to the back side of the mobile home park. The boy whistled as he kicked the loose rock beneath his feet. Whitey could just make out the outline of the mottled white trailer he shared with his uncle when he left the roadway and pushed his way into the very dense brush. A cloud of tiny black flies swarmed around his face. He moved cautiously down the face of the slippery slope. The boy stopped, closed his eyes and listened carefully to the spraying mist and tumbling sounds of rushing water. A sparrow hawk screamed high above his head. Whitey brushed the sweat from his face. He looked up and grinned as he watched the bird rise effortlessly into the gusting wind.

He climbed over dusty brown-yellow boulders then followed the creek as it fell noisily beneath the shadows of a long and narrow pool. Thick white tip stands of pussy willow spread along the moss covered banks. Whitey saw brightly colored salmon nose effortlessly through gray-dark water, their black backs glistening like silver in the broken forest light. The boy continued downstream until he found the large polar bear lying on his back and napping on the grassy bank. Whitey called him. Hey…Wapi… I’ve got something for you!

Wapi rolled over and then stumbled eagerly through the ice-cold water. He tried to jump onto Whitey like an excited puppy, but the boy dodged the flying bear and narrowly avoided a spill into the fast moving stream. Hey… you overgrown fur ball! he shouted. You’re getting a bit large for that. The bear appeared to smile as he nuzzled his large wet nose into Whitey’s outstretched hand.

You hungry little guy? asked Whitey. Yeah, I know…. I’m the little guy now. Besides, that was a dumb question….you’re always hungry! Whitey pulled off his pack and began to root through assorted books and papers while looking for the bear’s after school snack. I’ve got something really special, he said. Wapi looked on curiously as Whitey continued to rummage through the brightly colored backpack. I know it’s in here somewhere.

It didn’t take long before the bear grew impatient and pushed the boy aside. He attacked the bag and tossed it high into the air. The animal’s long black nose became stuck, and he wagged his large head from side to side. Books and papers began to spill out across the grass as Whitey took a running start and then tackled the lumbering mammal. The two of them fell headlong into the deep brush, each playfully pushing and pulling the other while fighting for the loose bag that tumbled down the slope toward the rushing creek. Whitey yelled at the unruly bear. If my stuff gets wet, you’re going to be in some serious trouble!

Wapi hesitated. The boy rushed in, scooped up his bag and then dashed toward the top if the hill. A moment later he was tackled from behind by four hundred pounds of rushing white fur and muscle. Whitey was flipped onto his back and found himself pinned with the contested book bag lying beside his head. The hungry bear alternately licked the boy’s face and methodically removed the contents of the bag till he found the peanut butter sandwich.

I was going to give it to you! called Whitey. Sometimes you can be such a pain. Wapi expertly pulled the sandwich from the lunch bag and swallowed it whole. He then hovered over the boy, rubbed his big wet nose across his face and belched. Whitey turned his head. Yuck, he said. Your breath is awful! Wapi let the boy get up who then playfully whacked the bear across his big head.

You’re such a bully! he said. The bear grunted. All right, added Whitey, I better go and do my homework…maybe the two of us can go fishing after dinner.

Whitey affectionately rubbed the bear’s head, then turned and began to walk back toward the trailer. He stopped at the edge of the clearing and waved. Wapi sat back on his haunches and growled. OK, called Whitey. I’ll hurry!

The old trailer rested on cement blocks which were visible only during the late spring and summer. Three wooden steps lead up to the back door, and it was Whitey’s job to keep them free of snow and ice. A dull gray awning sagged above the doorway. Whitey stepped through the storm door and into a small closet-like space.

He knew immediately his uncle had company. Just inside the door stood a pair of hand-made seal skin muk luks. Whitey noticed their careful workmanship and intricate stitching. The wet gray boots were thoughtfully decorated in bright white seals, bears and whales. He stopped and studied them with envy. You couldn’t buy something like this, he thought. Their visitor was definitely someone important.

Whitey removed his rubber boots, opened the back door and stepped into the kitchen. The bright yellow walls were covered in framed watercolors and brightly colored sketches. An old round refrigerator stood in the corner; a faded photograph was taped to the door. Whitey and his family stood in front of a small white seaside bungalow. His Inuit father was a large man with thick dark hair, a strong, brooding face and large hands that rested on the small boy’s white cotton shirt. In the photo, Whitey looked directly at the camera; a shock of chestnut-colored hair fell across the broad smile on his freckled face.

Walking Jim sat by the kitchen table, his two hands wrapped tightly around the stained white coffee cup. Whitey saw the troubled look on the man’s weathered face. Jim motioned toward the living room. He spoke in a hushed tone.

You have a visitor.

CHAPTER 3

The lights were dimmed. The stranger didn’t look up but instead sat perfectly still and stared off into the distance.Whitey stood in the doorway of the living room. He waited respectfully and when the old man finally spoke the boy thought his smoky voice seemed tired. Please…come in, he said, I’ve been waiting for you. Whitey noticed his very large hands and how they rested easily on his long bony knees. The man seemed poised for action, like an animal ready to pounce, yet his posture appeared stiff, almost painful. The man cleared his throat. I’ve been looking at your pictures.

Whitey stood silently before the visitor. His eyes slowly became accustomed to the light, and he began to appreciate his unnatural appearance. Beneath his worn black felt hat was a face that was lined, dark and warlike. The visitor appeared to be uncomfortable. He was bundled in a well worn winter coat despite the warm temperature inside the trailer. Whitey noticed deep vertical scars that ran from the top of the man’s high forehead and down his face and neck. One of his ears appeared to be missing. He looked up at the boy and smiled.

Don’t be afraid, he said. It was an old grizzly. I never did like the bear. I tried to avoid her. One day however, she came looking for me. It was a year of little rain and the old sow was hungry… evidently thought I would make a nice meal. I didn’t have much choice.

Whitey continued to stare. With a knife, answered the man. Whitey let out a long slow breath. You knew what I was thinking. The man reached down and carefully lifted a framed picture from the low table at his feet. A boy and a girl stood outside a set of large white doors. The snow at their feet was white, but the sky above them was dark and foreboding. Lightning flashed in the distance.

Your uncle was kind enough to let me look at some of your art work, he said.

Please tell me. What were you thinking when you painted this? Whitey slowly shook his head. I’m not really sure. The stranger pointed at the picture. Is that you? Whitey nodded.

And the girl?

Lucy.

Lucy, repeated the stranger. You’ve seen this place? he asked.

Sort of.

Do you know where it is? Whitey shrugged. No sir.

What do you suppose is behind those doors?

I’m not sure, answered Whitey. Danger… I think. Whitey hesitated. A dangerous man. The old Inuit stared deep into his eyes. Whitey nervously flicked the hair from his face.

Dangerous…You really don’t know, do you? The man’s voice was fragile. He spoke as though he had only a few words left, and he had to use them sparingly. Whitey shook his head. The man turned to his right and pulled something from the sofa, a portrait of an unusually handsome young man. Long jet black hair was tucked neatly inside a red and white cap. He was laughing with perfect teeth, his head tossed causally to the side. His flashing eyes were the color of dark chocolate. The stranger turned the picture toward Whitey. You don’t know this person do you? Whitey didn’t reply. He nodded slightly. The man looked intently at the small boy and then back at the drawing in his hand. I didn’t think so…he has extremely intelligent eyes. What do you know about him?

He flies.

The stranger raised his eyebrows. Really? The man continued. You see things…the pictures on the walls of your uncle’s kitchen; you aren’t even sure what some of them are. His voice dropped as he glanced toward the kitchen. Sometimes you see people… before you meet them. Whitey looked down at the floor. The man hesitated. He closed then opened his eyes. It frightens you doesn’t it? You know that you possess an unusual gift but you’re not sure what to do with it. He waited for Whitey to look up. The boy looked puzzled. A gift? The stranger took a deep breath. I think that maybe we can help each other. Please do sit down.

Allow me to introduce myself, the man said. I am called Robert. My native name, however, is Ishmael, and I come from the tribe of Inuit-tan, the people of the Valley of the Bright Moon. Some have called us ‘the lost tribe.’ My father was a village elder, as was his father and my great grandfather before him. I am the Keeper of our village. Whitey bowed his head slightly. I have risked a great deal, the man continued, and I am afraid I may have placed both you and your uncle in considerable danger. The man was silent as if carefully evaluating what he might say next.

You said I could help, answered Whitey. You are a warrior, a Keeper….how can I help you? I’m just a boy. He lifted his arm slightly, …and I have a withered arm.

The old Inuit tried to smile. He gently shook his head. These are dangerous times, he said. A terrible thing is about to happen. The man took a deep breath. He leaned back into the sofa. I’m sorry, he said, but I believe that I’m getting ahead of myself. First, I must tell you a story…not a story actually, but a bit of ancient history.

CHAPTER 4

"Long ago in a land far from this tiny island there lived a great man by the name of Abram. Abram was said to be a friend of God, and eventually he became a nation. His people spoke a language foreign to all but their own, and they worshipped this God without an image. Many generations lived and died, and eventually the people found themselves in a land far from home as slaves to a cruel and ruthless people. These were the people of Egypt, and they spoke a different language and worshipped gods of the moon, stars and various animals. The descendants of Abram were no longer allowed to worship the God of their ancestors. They lived in this manner for hundreds of years.

During this time a legend arose among them… a saying that God would send someone….a deliverer, and that he would deliver the people from slavery and lead them to a land their God had once promised his friend Abram. The stranger stopped his narrative. He placed his large hands on his knees. Do you understand what I’ve said this far?"

I believe I do, answered Whitey. Did a deliverer come? The stranger grimaced as he leaned forward. It took four hundred years, he said, but yes, to answer your question…he came. The man possessed a powerful magic. He sent great plagues of frogs and locusts against the land of their oppressors. He turned their rivers to blood. Still the king was stubborn, and he refused to allow the descendants of Abram to leave. Then one day the deliverer killed the first born of every Egyptian household, even to the animals. The people rose up and begged the king to send these foreigners away. He finally relented, and the people were glad to see them go. The Egyptians showered the departing slaves with gifts hoping it would bring them luck. They gave them gold, silver, rubies, diamonds, brightly colored cloths and many other things. Whitey listened intently as the man continued.

The great man led his people, and for forty years they lived in tents and wandered through the wilderness. The man called the Deliverer would spend long days and nights alone in the desert. He would often go without food. He would have visions and sometimes he would see into the invisible worlds. He taught the people to build instruments of worship, and they built a house for their God made of wood, silver, gold and brightly colored cloths. They built a chest of solid gold. The people traveled and battled their way through a new and strange country. The deliverer wielded a great power, and the items he instructed the people to build contained a magic from realms unseen by mortal men. They were carried into battle and allowed their warriors to achieve great victories. These items were powerful in worship, and they pleased their God. Whitey’s eyes grew big, and the stranger broke off his narrative.

This all sounds strangely familiar to you doesn’t it? Whitey nodded, and the man continued. These were, however, a restless and impatient people. They had been in the desert for some years, and many complained and threatened to return to the land of their captivity. One day several of their warrior leaders led the people in a rebellion against the Deliverer and his God. Whitey slowly shook his head.

What happened next, continued the stranger, is the anger of their God broke out against the people. First the earth opened and swallowed the leaders of the rebellion, and then a great plague began to spread throughout the camp. Terrible sores appeared on the men, their wives and children. Screams filled the valley, and the people began to fall dead by the thousands.

This is really scary, interrupted Whitey. The stranger smiled. I’m sorry, he said, but it gets worse. So… continued the visitor, the plague moved through the great camp until it appeared the entire nation would be destroyed. The Deliverer cried out to his God, but it seemed that nothing would stop the destruction.

The stranger stopped, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes and appeared to focus on something off in the distance. He blinked several times before looking back at the young man waiting patiently at his feet. What happened next? asked Whitey, Did everyone die?

Fortunately not, continued the visitor. The great man ran to the tent of worship where he picked up the most sacred and powerful object of all. It had never before seen the light of day, and no one but his brother the priest had touched it. The Deliverer then waded into the midst of the dying people. He lifted the sacred object high above his head, looked up at the swirling wind of death that circled over the camp and just like that, (the stranger abruptly snapped his fingers and startled Whitey)… the plague of death stopped.

Whitey exhaled slowly. Wow! he said, That’s quite an amazing story, but please tell me what any of this could possibly have to do with me. Like you said, all that happened a very long time ago and in a place I’ve never even heard of."

Wow, yes, laughed the stranger and he smiled once again. He rubbed his hands together like a person trying hard to stay warm in front of a blazing fire.

Eventually, he continued, these people came into the very land promised to Abram by his God. The descendants of Abram did indeed become a mighty nation. They were, however, still a very strong and a willful people. Generations came and went, and finally mighty kings came from other lands and conquered them. Many were taken captive and carried off as slaves. Others were driven to distant lands… to the four corners of the world.

What happened to their magic? asked Whitey. What happened to the powerful things they made in the wilderness? The visitor clapped his hands. You are a delightful boy, he said. You have a way of asking questions that go to the very heart of the matter! Well… he continued, that brings us to what is called ‘the matter at hand.’ You, see…we do not know what happened to most of the people. As I said just a moment ago, they were scattered to the wind like so many seeds in the hands of the Great Spirit. It is a mystery that will likely never be solved. We think some of them made it as far as the coastlands that lie to the east of us, and I am one of those who believe that a few even came to live on this very island. The man’s face grew sober. He leaned forward. I am going somewhere with this my very young friend.

The old Inuit ran his hand across the sofa. He picked up a small water color which he then placed carefully on the center of the coffee table. The picture was of an intricately braided gold chain and on the end hung a bright golden ball that looked as though it were full of light. Thick dark smoke and flashes of brilliant lightening appeared to emanate from within the unusual looking object. The stranger then reached into the side pocket of his hunting jacket and pulled out a small rectangular box. He pointed to the picture. I found this on the wall of your uncle’s kitchen. The man shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Can you tell me, he continued, what this object could possibly be? Whitey stammered. I…I don’t know. The boy gestured toward the drawings scattered across the table and then at the kitchen. I don’t know what most of those things are, he said, I just see them.

You just see them, repeated the stranger. Whitey motioned toward the small ornate wooden box. What’s that? he asked. What’s in the box? The visitor smiled patiently. That my young friend, he answered, is a mystery. As the Keeper of my village I have been entrusted with its sacred objects. This box is made from the wood of the acacia tree, the wood used by the ancient Egyptians. The box and its contents have been in the care of my tribe for many generations, and it is believed they have come to us from the scattered tribe of Abram. It is further believed the contents of this box contain the m’etoulin…the most powerful magic made by the deliverer himself.

Magic! repeated Whitey. The stranger nodded. Yes… great magic. The visitor closed his eyes. He took a long deep breath. Whitey stared at the small wooden box. A faint light seemed to emanate from within the object, and it illuminated the stranger’s large hands. So, asked Whitey, What do you think is in that box? The stranger looked intently at Whitey and then at the painting. No way, said Whitey. The stranger smiled broadly. That is what I believe is in the box.

Whitey sat quietly, wondering what all of this could possibly mean. He looked over at the box. So, he said, you’re telling me people have carried this around for thousands of years and no one has bothered to look inside? The stranger laughed, gently picked up the small wooden box and turned it reverently in his hands. Look carefully, he said, and you will notice the box has six sides. However, if you examine it closely, you will see that each side is made up of many squares, and each of these is controlled by four discs. The squares each turn in a total of eight different directions, and there are squares within the squares. We believe that all of them need to be in perfect alignment before the box can be opened and reveal its contents.

You mean, said Whitey, that no one has been able to open it for thousands of years? The man raised his eyebrows. You might say that…there are those who tried. Tribal lore speaks of those who thought they could open the box.

And… interrupted Whitey, what happened? The stranger glanced at the small wooden box. As you can see, he answered, it’s still intact.

What happened, asked Whitey, to those who tried to open it? The stranger gestured dismissively. Legends…stories…you can’t believe everything you hear.

Whitey sat up upright. I’d like to hear it. The visitor ignored him and continued.

Some Keepers believed the contents of the box are reserved for the end of the ages. In the hands of the right person and in the right place at exactly the right time, they will reveal themselves and once again deliver their people from the gravest danger the world has ever known.

Whitey’s eyes grew wide. What kind of danger? The stranger coughed, then cleared his throat. This, he said, does indeed bring us to the heart of the matter. You see…when the Great Spirit created the visible worlds, he covered the earth in a very thick blanket. He saw that it was good and he called it Sky. The sky protects the land and water that lie beneath. Now, something has happened.

Something has happened to the sky? asked Whitey. The sky has grown weak, answered the stranger, and it appears that it may collapse altogether. Suddenly Whitey tried not to grin. The sky is falling?

The stranger smiled and continued patiently. The sky, he said, appears to be tearing. The earth is very strong. Its foundations are of unimaginable strength. It is also surprisingly delicate. The same Spirit who raised the snow-capped mountain carefully formed the wings of a butterfly. All creation is a balance of light and darkness, strength and weakness…the hard, unyielding rock and the soft water that gives way to the touch of an infant.

Whitey was silent. He rubbed his forehead. Why me? he asked. The stranger’s warm smile suddenly reminded Whitey of his father. The man leaned back and laughed. Well, he said, That was bound to come up wasn’t it? The answer to your question is never an easy one. No one fully understands their own destiny. Trying to answer can be like following a trail in the deep forest after a heavy snow. Why you? Perhaps it’s just that you opened the door when others did not. Perhaps it was because I was lost and knocked on the wrong door. The stranger smiled broadly. On the other hand, he continued, perhaps it is the path chosen for you… even before you were born.

The man gently placed the small box on the low table at his feet. He reached into the pocket of his winter parka and pulled out a small bound packet, then methodically untied the leather bands and pulled out a faded yellow map.

I am afraid, he said, There is not a great deal more I can tell you. You will learn much as you go. This map will help you find the way.

The way, answered Whitey. Where am I going? The stranger glanced suspiciously around the room as though someone might be listening. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. The Far North…the gateway to The Top of the World.

The Top of the World! repeated Whitey. The man put his hands together and leaned forward. That, he said, is what I know… I’m afraid that it’s not much… but it might be enough to set you in the right direction. The map is not complete, he continued. Follow it carefully, but always pay attention to the pictures that are in your spirit. They are your gift. Whitey rubbed his eyes. My gift, said the stranger, is that I can follow the signs. That is how I found you. The last sign was the bear. Whitey realized he had been holding his breath. He exhaled sharply.

You know about Wapi? The man smiled. He’s a friendly fellow….when I found him I knew that you would be close.

Suddenly they heard a commotion coming from the kitchen. Whitey and the stranger both looked up as Walking Jim came around the corner. The man had a determined look on his face and he carried a rifle in each hand. Jim tossed one to their guest and the old man caught it with cat-like reflexes. The stranger instinctively pulled back the receiver and chambered a bullet. Jim looked toward the living room window. His was voice was surprisingly calm. We have company.

Whitey noticed a large black SUV as it pulled up to front of the trailer. A moment later its doors spilled open, and several heavily armed men jumped from the back seat. Suddenly, gunfire erupted and Whitey heard the sound of breaking glass.

Get down! shouted his uncle. Jim raised his rifle and returned fire from behind the window. Whitey thought he saw one of the men outside fall just as the stranger pulled him roughly to the floor. He could hear bullets flying into the trailer. His mother’s china cabinet exploded above his head. Wood and broken glass flew across the room. The stranger rolled up beside Whitey as they lay beneath the shattered window. Jim continued to fire. Whitey could hear the men outside shouting. The old Inuit pressed the map and the small box into Whitey’s hands. He looked fiercely into the young man’s frightened face. There isn’t much time! he shouted. It was difficult for me to find you. After midnight tonight, he continued, there will be seventy seven days. You have little time to waste!

Bullets continued to punch the side of the trailer. It will be the seventh hour, the man continued. You will recognize the place when you find it……. open the box and remove its contents.

Open the box! shouted Whitey. That’s easy for you to say. No one has ever opened the box! The stranger lay on the floor with the rifle at his side. The man seemed strangely calm as he adjusted his broad brimmed hat and grinned mischievously at the young man beside him. No, he said, at least not yet.

And then what? shouted Whitey. A vase crashed onto the floor and water began to flow across the linoleum floor. The stranger smiled. That, I do not know, he said, but I suspect ….when the time comes…you will. Whitey rolled his eyes. The stranger’s bright eyes twinkled. The man gestured toward the back door.

There’s no more time, he shouted, you need to go now!

Uncle Jim looked back at the stranger and signaled for help. The man picked up his rifle and took a position on the opposite side of the living room. Suddenly there was an enormous explosion as something slammed into what was left of the front door and then continued out the wall behind them. Whitey could hear the wind whistle through the open trailer. He smelled something burning. Uncle Jim shrugged and looked at their guest. What was that?

Gunfire erupted once again as Whitey stuffed the box and the map into his coat pocket and then crawled across the floor and into the kitchen. He took one last look and saw both men open fire from opposite sides of what used to be the trailer’s living room. Walking Jim looked back and waved.

Whitey ran out the back door and raced down the trail to the creek. Wapi was sound asleep on the mossy bank. Come on Wapi! shouted the boy. We need to go… now! Whitey and the large white bear raced as fast as they could. Whitey cried as he ran. In the distance he could still hear the sound of gunfire.

CHAPTER 5

Whitey was shaking as he finished relating the strange encounter at Walking Jim’s trailer. I sat beside him and held his hand. Thomas paced nervously across the room. I could see he was pretty upset. We’ve got to do something. he said. He shook his head. We can’t just sit here in the basement of the orphanage while some thugs shoot it out with Jim!

I wouldn’t worry about Uncle Jim, replied Whitey. He and the stranger looked like they could take care of themselves.

Still….. said Thomas. It just doesn’t feel right.

So, tell me again, I asked. "What did the old guy say