It’s a giant, barely visible among the slash pines. He’s heading toward us. But just one? That will be a problem.
Then, behind him, I spy the second. I exhale and realize I’ve been holding my breath. The two giants walk like hunters, slow and surprisingly silent. Sunset is the time when most wildlife comes out. It’s also the time when I bet they’re most hungry, most in need of a kill. I remember the deer carcasses and hope we don’t end up like that. I tighten the cloak around us. We may need it for a quick escape.
Finally, they’re close enough that I can hear footsteps. The front one—the one with the missing eye—emerges from the trees. He gazes first to one side, then the other. He looks hungry.
A step closer. Then another. The second giant, the one who chased me, emerges from the brush too. He crouches, as if he’s listening to the ground. I sit, frozen, the binoculars clutched in my hand. My fingers ache from holding them up so long. Yet, I don’t dare change position. They’re too close.
The front giant stops walking then, sniffs the air. I don’t know if what he’s smelling is the turkeys, or us. He glances back at the other giant, then speeds his own step. Boom. Boom. I understand by the fact that he doesn’t signal to the other giant, that he doesn’t want to share. This is what Meg suspected when we saw them fighting before, what we counted on. The two-eyed giant sees his companion running and speeds up too. I hold my breath, not daring to look at Meg, but I can tell from the stillness in the air that she’s holding her breath too.
The two-eyed giant gives a mighty sniff, then a roar. It takes me an instant to realize that the roar is his massive stomach growling.
And then, he pounces. In a swift movement for someone so large, he’s lifted the tent and obliterated it. He seizes one turkey and holds it up. It’s a big turkey, almost as big as his head, too large to swallow whole. He has some trouble with the wrapper, but finally, he undoes it and rips apart the cavity. He removes the organs and swallows them, bag and all. A huge drumstick is next. He rips the meat off with his teeth like Ryan eating a Buffalo chicken wing, then spits out the bone.
Meanwhile, One-Eye has arrived. He seizes a turkey. Two-Eye tries to push him away, but One-Eye pushes back and starts to eat. Two-Eye must decide it’s easier to share because he goes back to his turkey. The wings are next, then the breast. He displays the wishbone like a child at Thanksgiving, then drops it.
It takes no more than two minutes. When he’s finished, he seizes a second turkey and starts to annihilate that one. One-Eye does too. All we can hear is crunching bones and the tearing of flesh.
Finally, Two-Eye finishes the second turkey. He reaches for the last only to find something in his way. One-Eye. One-Eye still has bones and flesh hanging from his mouth, but he’s not about to give up the last turkey. He pulls but only rips off a drumstick. Two-Eye laughs in triumph. One-Eye growls in rage. He crouches and launches himself at his companion. The other falls, striking his head on the tree we’re in. It shakes and bends, and we grab on. I see Meg beside me, mouth frozen mid-shriek. We don’t want them to see us and decide we’re bigger food. My hand comes down on hers, and we hang on.
Two-Eye seizes a huge coral rock. Holding it in both hands, he runs at his companion. One-Eye screams right before he gets bashed on the head. He’s knocked to the ground, bleeding. Two-Eye clobbers him again, and I can tell he’s down for good.
Two-Eye, now alone, grabs the turkey from the giant’s limp fingers. He does a dance of triumph until he trips on a giant outstretched leg. With a mighty crash, he rockets to the ground, his head hitting the same rock that felled his companion.
He moves no more.
Chapter 35
Meg and I stare down at the giants. Neither stirs. I mouth, “Dead?”
“Check,” Meg mouths.
We use the cloak to move to the ground. I tiptoe, eyes low to avoid slipping on any innards. I feel light breathing, like an industrial fan on high. Not dead, just out cold. The boulder they used lies nearby. I could finish them off with two good bashes, but I can’t. They’re human beings, really big, smelly ones. I can’t kill anyone.
And who knows? Maybe they’re under a curse themselves. Maybe they’re guys with families like Cornelius.
It had been Meg’s idea to have the giants take each other out. Our plan had been to throw pebbles from the tree as they slept off their turkey dinner, until, each thinking it was the other, they’d get into a fight. I didn’t think it would work, but I went along because I had no better ideas. I’d been the one who thought of buying an odd number of turkeys, though.
“I’m going to tie them up,” I whisper. “Wendell can decide what to do with them. I’ll take you up the tree. Then I’ll go back with the cloak.”
Meg thinks about it, then says, “I’ll help you with them.”
“No. This is my quest, my danger. Besides, you’re the brains of this operation, and I’m the brawn.”
Meg smirks. “Some brawn.” But I wish us back into the tree, take the cloak, and go before she can argue more.
When I get back down, I decide to start with the legs. That way, if the giants wake, they won’t be able to run. I wind the rope around four legs the size of a cord of wood, around and around, over and under. I use every knot I ever learned in Boy Scouts. It’s hard to concentrate with the smell.
I do the same with the arms, then walk around tugging the rope to make sure it’s tight. When I’m completely satisfied, I get Meg, and we take a picture with her cell phone.
“Let’s go tell Wendell,” I say.
When we reach his office, he says, “I know you tried to steal the frog. Be glad the scorpion didn’t bite you.”
He gestures toward the tank and the sign on it that reads:
Androctonus australis: Yellow fat-tailed scorpion
Warning: Deadly to humans
I look at Meg. “But it bit me. How could—”
“Must not have been much of a bite.” She gestures toward Wendell. “Something you want to tell him?”
Other than thanks for siccing a poisonous scorpion on me? Not really. But I say, “The giants are all tied up in the woods. I’ll take my frog now.”
The ranger starts a little. “Tied up? You were supposed to kill them.”
I prepared for this. “Look, if I’d killed those giants, it would have been murder. You’d have solicited murder, which last time I looked, was a crime. It would be pretty hard to hide bodies that big. I knocked them out and tied them up.” I leave out the part about how the giants did it themselves. “You can call the police or the EPA, and they’ll believe you. You can give them to the Barnum and Bailey Circus if you want.”
Wendell thinks about it, then says, “But that wasn’t our deal. Our deal was to kill them, so I don’t see why I should give you the frog.” He rises from his chair and opens the door. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”
I cannot believe this. After all I did, this jerk won’t give me the frog? I feel my hands itching and know that’s what it feels like when you really want to hit someone. But I’m no tough guy, like Meg says, so I take a bunch of deep breaths. Doesn’t help.