The Firefly Warriors Club

By Susan Count, Matt Konar and J-Ann Labandelo

They chase a light and then it chases them.

When a mysterious light entices twelve-year-old Davy and his bothersome cousin, Anderson

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hastings Creations Group
• Release date: Oct 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9780997088397

Susan Count

Susan Count writes for the joy and entertainment of young readers. She is an Amazon best-selling, award-winning author of the Dream Horse Adventures Series, Dream Pony Riders Series, and Texas Boys Adventures.She prefers to create stories in a quiet zone. Out her window, her mind wanders through the forest and keeps her in a grateful, contented state of being. Susan writes at a fabulous antique desk that has secret compartments filled with memories, mysteries, and story ideas. As a member of the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators, American Christian Fiction Writers and Alliance for Independent Authors, she takes studying the craft of writing seriously.Susan confesses to being overly fond of brownies, and horseback riding on forest trails. She is a lifelong equestrian and is owned by a Rocky Mountain Horse.You are invited to saddle up and ride along. www.susancount.com

Book preview

1

I t was right here. Where did it go? Twelve-year-old Davy searched through his backpack. Mike! he yelled.

From Davy’s closet burst his little brother dressed in Davy’s Wilderness Scout shirt. Davy’s insect collection net flew like a banner above Mike’s head. His brother’s other hand clutched Davy’s Insect Field Guide.

Before Mike could escape, Davy stepped between him and the exit. Hand ’em over.

Six-year-old Mike pouted. Do I have to? With freckles and red hair, he looked like a younger version of his brother.

Davy’s fierce glare hid his half smile until Mike offered the book. I’ll only be at Grandpa’s for a week.

Can I come? Can I?

When you’re older, you can come. Ruthie will leave for theater camp in two days, and you’ll have the parents all to yourself. You’ll have a great time. Movies and ice cream. Davy stuffed the field guide into his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and gently pried Mike’s fingers from the collection net. You’re in charge of my tadpoles, buddy. You can feed them a piece of lettuce sometimes.

I can? Mike asked, bouncing from one foot to the other.

Guard my room while I’m gone. I’ll give you a candy bar if you can keep Ruthie from getting into my stuff before she goes to camp.

Mike thrust up two fingers. Two candy bars.

Deal. Davy moved his new Lego project to the top shelf. But don’t touch my insect collections. Insects lost their lives so researchers could learn. Anything Davy caught live, he’d release again after he examined it. The bug-apocalypse wouldn’t be his fault.

The blanket on Davy’s bed looked like sparkly beetles marching in a line. One wall held masses of insect posters and charts. A photograph of a glowing firefly hung next to a shelf stacked with nature magazines.

And I’ll give you a tip on the parents. Follow Mom around everywhere. Ask her questions, ask for snacks, ask for chocolate milk—you get the idea. You’re good at it. Before I even get to Grandpa’s, she’ll give you the code for the computer games.

You know all the tricks, Davy. Thanks.

A handheld microscope occupied a small desk of its own in the room’s corner. When Davy hooked it to his laptop, he could see the tiniest details. After a moment of hesitation, he grabbed a box and packed the microscope to go.

Want your Scout shirt too?

You can wear it. I’m not a Wilderness Scout anymore. And here. Would you like to look at some magazines?

Mike nodded, holding his palms up.

Davy layered magazines into his waiting hands. Here’s one on the arctic fox—isn’t he beautiful? You’d love this one on the bald eagle—he’s a symbol for our country. Have you ever heard of a narwhal? It has a tusk that looks like a unicorn’s horn. Amazing, right?

Wow. Thanks. You’re the best.

Here. Davy piled on several more nature magazines with big colorful pictures. These are about insects. Read all these, and I’ll be back before you know it. Learn everything you can, and someday you can be my assistant.

Then Davy scanned the room. He flipped his Wilderness Scout cap from its hook and stuffed it in a closet cubby before he firmly shut the closet door. And he was off. Off to the best insect observation site he knew—Grandpa’s farm.

The closer to the Texas farm they got, the fewer cars shared the road. When a train whistled in the distance, Davy asked, Can we wait for it?

Sure. There’s no traffic out here. The last vehicle we passed was a tractor. Dad braked at the crossing. He climbed out and stood beside the car, leaning on the fender.

Davy slipped out the window and balanced on the edge of the frame. His thumbs drummed the hot roof. As the train approached, its whistle blasted every few seconds. Soon after the crossing arms dropped, the earth rumbled, and the car shook. When Davy waved his arm, his whole body rocked from side to side. The engineer waved back and let out one long whistle blast. As Davy admired the bright-colored graffiti artwork covering the sides of the boxcars, the train wheels’ deafening clicky-clack mesmerized him.

Look! he shouted to Dad. A giant cartoon firefly covered a freight car’s side. Would it be the only firefly he’d see on this trip? After the train thundered past, he slipped back inside the car. He loved the country life.

Is a whole week with Grandpa too long? Dad asked as he steered around a pothole.

I could stay the whole summer, even if he makes that awful boiled stuff for breakfast.

Grits? Dad chuckled. You’ll survive. I did.

Davy scrunched his face and held out his tongue. Anyway, I’m gonna explore the woods. For sure, ride the horse. Mostly, I want to hunt for insects and read.

When I was a kid, I used to love catching fireflies. Dad sounded wistful.

I’d love to catch some, but there are hardly any left. Davy crushed an empty chip bag. All kinds of insects are disappearing.

I hadn’t thought about it, but I guess that’s right.

Look at the windshield. Davy pointed.

Looks fine.

It should be splattered with insects. First insects disappear, then birds starve.

They should eat more roaches. Cockroaches will rule the earth, said Dad.

Did you know they can live for a week with their head cut off? The only reason they die is if they can’t drink water for a month.

I didn’t know that.

One roach—its body is six inches long. Its wings are a whole foot long. Davy turned the book so Dad could see.

Dad shook his head. I’m driving. And I don’t need that visual. I can imagine the decibels of your mother screaming if she saw one.

They live in South America.

Did you remember to bring your EpiPen?

Mom checked my suitcase three times. It’s in there. I haven’t been stung in two years. Maybe I’m over it.

Once allergic to bees, always allergic to bees. Keep it handy, okay?

With a quick nod, Davy was soon absorbed again in his entomology book. He hardly noticed when Dad turned the car onto the gravel driveway leading to Grandpa’s farm. But when they stopped in front of the house, Davy bounded from the car.

Grandpa stepped onto the wooden porch with his hand up in greeting. Hey, Davy! Walka-thisaway and give your ole Grandpa a hug.

Davy’s answering wave froze midair when trouble in a black cowboy hat appeared beside Grandpa. Anderson. He groaned and dragged his backpack full of books out of the rear seat. With his microscope stacked on top of his laptop, Davy marched up the path to the farmhouse. As Anderson leapt off the porch to greet him, Davy resolved not to let anything get in the way of his week of peace and quiet to research insects. Especially not his pesky cousin. I thought you were coming tomorrow.

I couldn’t wait to get here so Dad took off work to bring me early. We’re gonna have so much fun. I brought Frisbees and a new game. It’s like tic-tac-toe only harder. Ten-year-old Anderson rattled on. I brought Uno. I played a lot so I could beat you this year. I’m really good now. And Dad bought me a cow head with horns so we could practice roping. Isn’t that great?

Great. Davy’s sarcasm didn’t seem to affect Anderson.

And I learned a new card game called Trash. I could teach it to you.

Great.

While he waited for dinner to be ready, Davy read. With his leg draped over the hammock’s side, he pushed against the porch boards keeping the swing in a slow rhythm. A spider clung to the rope edge, and the hooks holding the frayed hammock squeaked as it swayed. A cow bellowed in the front pasture, and a tractor chugged in the distance.

It’s almost dark. Anderson interrupted Davy’s reading for the millionth time. Want to play hide and seek? He rested his hand on the rock head of his Apache tomahawk. Come on, Davy. All you’ve done since you got here is read. Aren’t we at Grandpa’s to have fun?

Not now. I’m researching praying mantises. They fold their front legs up looking all innocent, but they use martial arts moves to capture hummingbirds. Then—Davy dragged out the words for emphasis—they eat…its brains. He folded his hands like a puppy begging. Just like I’m gonna eat yours if you don’t leave me alone.

Cool.

He picked up his book hoping Anderson would get the idea, but the younger boy got right back on mission. We could catch fireflies.

Davy didn’t even look up. There aren’t any.

Something flashed in the woods a minute ago. Too small to be a spaceship.

Just then, a pinprick of light blinked in the bushes and vanished. Davy scrambled from the hammock, dropping his science book. He sprang off Grandpa’s porch. In eight running strides, he dashed to the wood’s edge like he’d seen an overflowing pot of candy.

Wait for me! Speeding after Davy, Anderson stumbled over his sleeping dog. Chester yelped and jumped away, then stood alert and ready for action.

I saw a light. Davy slipped like a scout into the forest to investigate.

Anderson’s short, zippy haircut suited his intense approach. You need warrior backup. As he crouched and scanned the woods searching for an enemy, a slight breeze kicked up. It might be dangerous. After tugging his weapon from his belt, he held it high. I’ve got my tomahawk. He twirled it with a practiced flourish.

Davy scoffed at his silly idea. Get real. A play tomahawk.

Sorry you grew out of your imagination. With his finger in the groove, Anderson traced his initials branded onto the tomahawk handle. I hope that never happens to me. Anyway, it’s not a toy. I made it just like the Apaches used to. Even tied the stone on with real rawhide.

Anderson rested