RUNNING WITH THE DEMON by Terry Brooks

They reached the end of the driveway, detoured around the garage to the back of the lot, and set off into the park. The woods began immediately, so they moved to the nearest trail and followed it in.

“You are really asking for it, Robert,” Brianna observed, but there was a hint of admiration in her voice.

“Hey, this is how I look at it.” Robert cocked his head, a savvy bantam rooster. “Each day is a new chance to get into trouble. I don’t ever pass up those kinds of chances. You know why? Because even when I don’t go out of the house, I get into trouble. Don’t ask me why. It’s a gift. So what’s the difference if I get into trouble at Mrs. Eberhardt’s or at home? It’s all relative.” He gave Brianna a smirk. “Besides, getting into trouble, is fun. You should try it sometime.”

They worked their way deeper into the woods, the heat and the silence growing. The sounds of the neighborhood faded. Gnats flew at them in clouds. “Yuck.” Brianna grimaced.

“Just a little additional protein for your diet,” Robert cracked, licking at the air with his tongue.

“What are we doing out here?” Cass asked Nest, plodding along dutifully, one hand balancing the sacks of salt and compost in the swaying wagon.

Nest spit out a bug. “There’s a big oak that’s not looking too good. I’m going to see what I can do to help it.”

“With salt and compost?” Robert was incredulous. “Tree Seal, I can see. But salt and compost? Anyway, why are you doing this? Don’t they have people who work for the parks who are supposed to patch up sick trees?”

The trail narrowed and the ground roughened. The wagon began to bounce and creak. Nest steered around a large hole. “I tried getting hold of someone, but they’re all off for the Fourth of July weekend,” she improvised.

“But how do you know what to do?” Cass pressed, looking doubtful as well.

“Yeah, have you nursed other sick trees back to health?” Robert asked with his trademark smirk.

“I watched Grandpa once. He showed me.” Nest shrugged dismissively and pushed on.

Fortunately, no one asked her for details. They worked their way along the trail through the weeds and scrub, swatting at bugs and brushing aside nettles, hot and miserable in the damp heat. Nest began to feel guilty for forcing her friends to come. She could probably handle this alone, now that she had the wagon and the supplies. Robert could go back to his computer and Cass and Brianna could go swimming. Besides, what would she do about Pick?

“You don’t have to come any farther,” she said finally, glancing over her shoulder at them, tugging on the wagon handle. “You can head back. I can manage.”

“Forget it!” Robert snapped. “I want to see this sick tree.”

Cass nodded in agreement. “Me, too. Anyway, this is more fun than doing hair.” She gave Brianna a wry glance.

“Is it much farther?” Brianna asked, stepping gingerly around a huge thistle.

Five minutes later, they reached their destination. They pulled the wagon into the clearing and stood looking at the tree in awe. Nest wasn’t sure if any of them had ever seen it before. She hadn’t brought them herself, so maybe they hadn’t. Whatever the case, she was certain from the looks on their faces that they would never forget it.

“Wow,” whispered Robert. Uncharacteristically, he was otherwise at a loss for words.

“That is the biggest oak tree I have ever seen,” Cass said, gazing up into its darkened branches. “The biggest.”

“You know what?” Robert said. “When they made that tree, they threw away the mold.”

“Mother Nature, you mean,” Cass said.

“God,” Brianna said.

“Whoever,” Robert said.

Nest was already moving away from them, ostensibly to take a closer look at the oak, but really to find Pick. There was no sign of him anywhere.

“Look at the way the bark is split,” said Cass. “Nest was right. This tree is really sick.”

“Something bad has gotten inside of it,” Brianna declared, taking a tentative step forward. “See that stuff oozing out of the sores?”

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