Josh pursued Miles and Niles through the woods. He employed the wilderness tracking skills he'd learned at Yawnee Valley Yelling and Push-Ups Camp: searching for snapped twigs, examining bent blades of grass, but mainly following two pretty clear sets of bootprints in the mud.
Over log and through bush, Josh stomped after his prey, all the while making disgusting vulture sounds as a signal for his cadets to follow. He gurgled triumphantly. He hacked rowdily. They were on the enemy's trail.
Ah! The thrill of the chase! Was there anything better? Maybe the next part, the thrill of the catch. And the part after that, the thrill of the beatdown. When Josh really thought about it, it was all pretty good. And thrilling!
Josh spied a green-and-purple clump just off the trail. He kneeled and picked up a pair of suits made from flowers.
Camouflage. Very clever. Josh knew of only two dumb nimbuses smart enough to come up with something like this.
"What is it, sir?"
Mudflap had caught up with his leader and was standing at a respectful distance.
"Couple of ghillie suits," Josh said. "They probably ditched them so they could run faster."
Mudflap nodded, impressed.
But was he sufficiently impressed? The cadet's face held something other than the expression of unalloyed admiration Josh expected from his charges. Was it doubt? Did Mudflap doubt his tracking abilities? Was that what was in his face? Doubt? Or insolence? Or doubt and insolence?
(In fact, Mudflap was just afraid of getting hit in the head with a stick, like his brother.)
Josh pressed his nose into the damp suits and inhaled deeply. "They're close. Very close," he said, then coughed violently because he had some garlic in his nose.
The forest filled with answering coughs.
"That wasn't a turkey vulture cough, Splinters!" Mudflap called to his brother, trying to be helpful. "Major Barkin is actually just on the ground coughing! I think he got something in his nose!"
What was this nimbus thinking? Josh leapt to his feet. There was purple rage in his face and a brown stick in his hand.
"What did you tell your brother that for, Mudflap?"
"Sorry, sir."
"What is this, a mutiny? Are you a mutineer, Mudflap?"
"No, sir."
Josh raised his stick.
"Step closer, Mudflap. Get in stick range."
"Sir?"
But Mudflap was saved by news from Splinters. "I see them!"
Josh let out a joyous bellow. He dropped the stick and resumed the hunt.
"Over here!"
"They're running!"
"There! There!"
Josh ran. He tore through the trees.
Mudflap stood on a tree stump and pointed due north.
"That way! That way!"
Josh ran.
There! Ahead. Maybe fifty yards away. Two boys. They appeared in flashes, between the trees. Josh recognized them immediately. Miles Murphy. Niles Sparks. The banes of the Barkins. Nimbuses. Nemeses.
Now this was personal.
Of course, it had gotten personal as soon as they'd stolen that flag, which Josh had designed himself. The rattlesnake skeleton being a symbol of him personally—Josh was fierce, like a rattlesnake, and really cool, like a skeleton—as well as a symbol of Papa Company. And of course Papa Company was also personal, since really what was Papa Company but an extension of Josh's person, specifically the fist part of his person, a figurative fist that was now on its way to punching those two jokers in their literal heads.
Anyway, now it was really, really personal.
Josh ran.
The blond one, Niles, was getting tired. He never had been much of an athlete. And as long as Miles kept waiting up for his little friend, Josh would be able to catch them both. Thirty-five yards. Josh grinned. He ran.
Josh couldn't believe his luck! These nimbuses were headed straight for the meadow. A great wide meadow by a mossy pond, with a few dumb trees and nowhere to hide. They'd be easily spotted, easily caught, easily thrashed. Yes! Josh would thrash those two nimbuses and then throw them in the pond! But he had to remember to get his flag back before the pond part, or else the flag would get all wet.
"To the meadow!" Josh cried.
Josh glimpsed them again—no more than twenty yards ahead. He splashed through a creek. Close now. Almost to the meadow. Branches whipped his arms. Thorns pierced his calves where his camp socks had fallen down. But Josh felt no pain. He ran. He ran.
The woods thinned and then stopped, and Josh charged into the meadow. A bevy of quail startled and beat a low path toward the pond.
"What the glug?" said Josh.
The meadow was empty.
He got down on his hands and knees to study the ground. There. Bootprints. Miles and Niles had emerged from the woods right there. The trail led from the trees, into the meadow, and then stopped. The bootprints vanished. Had they taken off their shoes? They wouldn't have had time. He'd been right on their tails.
Josh shielded his eyes from the sun and scanned the area. A warm breeze ruffled the tops of the grasses. Woodcocks frolicked. A pair of swans paddled placidly in the pond. Chipmunks played chase in the branches of an elm tree. It was disgusting.
Josh walked over to the elm tree and punched it.
A few mikes later, the rest of Papa Company tumbled into the meadow and found their commander standing in the grass, sucking on his knuckles.
"What happened, sir?" asked Mudflap.
Josh took his fingers out of his mouth.
"They disappeared."
Papa Company stood silent in the sunny meadow.
"They just disappeared," said Josh.
The twins had the same question, but neither wanted to ask it.
How the heck can two kids just disappear?
