The Last Chance for Logan County, page 1
Contents
* * *
Title Page
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
A Storm of Frogs
Strangers at the Door
Family Reunion, Incorporated
Those Dang Side Effects
Are Were-Men a Thing? Hmmmm.
Things You Catch at Night
The Winds of Change
The Doctor’s Order
The Spindly Sparrows
Adult Maneuvers Are Complicated
The People Who Make Hammers
Black Bean Lemon Drop
Always Unlucky
Lucinda Alston’s Biggest Fan
Monkeys Love Seat Warmers
Remind Me Who I Am Again
The Walking Bread
More Money, More Problems
The Monkey Said Be Careful What You Wish for, More or Less
You’ve Got a Friend in . . . Windy?
The Cha-Ching Mob
Quest Rules, Though?
Never Just Stories
Under Locks and Keys
Support and Power
Locker Gnomes Are a Thing, Y’all!
Like Bear Traps . . . but Bees
Bombs Away
They Fly Now
Spoiler Alert
Deal of a Lifetime
If Petey Thunkle Can Do It
Time for a Change
Acknowledgments
Read More from the Legendary Alston Boys series
More Books from Versify
Discover More Books Featuring Black Voices
About the Author
Connect with Versify on Social Media
Copyright © 2021 by Lamar Giles
Illustrations copyright © 2021 by Derick Brooks
All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to trade.permissions@hmhco.com or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.
Versify® is an imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. Versify is a registered trademark of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.
hmhbooks.com
Hand-lettering by Maeve Norton
Cover design by Whitney Leader-Picone
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file.
ISBN: 978-0-358-42336-2
eISBN 978-0-358-42308-9
v1.0921
For Blueberry
1
A Storm of Frogs
“You only know some of the things, Don Glö!” said the panther-fur-clad warrior-rebel Nanette through the tinny speakers of Grandma’s TV.
Sheed, sprawled on his belly with his chin cupped in both hands, gasped. His cousin, Otto, rocked to the edge of the couch, as if tugged by an invisible string. Their grandma shook her head and sucked her teeth. “You better tell ’im, girlfriend.”
It was Sunday night in Logan County, and they were tuned in to their favorite fantasy show, The Monarch’s Gambit. A half-eaten bowl of popcorn rested in easy reach of them all, though everyone had lost interest in snacking as the tension of this critical episode ramped up.
The show’s hero, Don Glö, had just been confronted by the Queen of the Warrior Clan. She claimed to have game-changing information about who should be the rightful ruler of the mythical Falcon Steads—giant bird creatures capable of shooting pure light from their beaks. For whoever controlled those beasts controlled the world! But, just as Nanette unfurled the scroll containing the ancient prophecy, there was a scream among her troops. The wealthy and villainous Manticle family picked that very moment to launch an attack.
“No!” Sheed said, rising to his knees in startled surprise. “Not now.”
Thunder grumbled in the distance.
Otto hopped from his seat and trotted to the window. A dark, heavy cloud moved their way, and within it lightning flashed like bad thoughts in an evil brain. In his head, Otto echoed Sheed’s sentiment. No, not now. For different reasons.
“All right,” Grandma said, pushing up from her recliner. “Lightning and thunder. Y’all know what that means.”
Otto did the unthinkable and paused The Monarch’s Gambit—something usually forbidden during their sacred hour on Sunday nights. He sensed much worse coming and hoped for a miracle that would allow them to resume the episode, though the chances were slim. Sheed was on his feet, clearly panicked, his palms thrust forward in a gesture of peaceful reasoning.
“Grandma,” he said—begged! “Please, there’s only, like, twenty-five minutes left. That storm is way, way out.”
Lightning washed the room in a white flare, followed immediately by thunder close enough to rattle the popcorn bowl. Sheed’s shoulders sagged.
Grandma was not without sympathy. “I want to see what happens, too. But you know we don’t watch no TV while the Lord’s doing His work.”
Otto wanted to debate this house rule. Had, in fact, challenged it in the past. Grandma was raised to believe that during storms, using electrical devices could “draw the lightning to you.” Otto, studious in his science classes, knew that wasn’t exactly how lightning worked. Yes, it could follow the path of least resistance through an electrical pole or antenna. Yes, a strike could fry devices with a direct connection to whatever the lightning struck. In Logan County, though, where most of the electrical wiring (including the wiring to their house) was underground, the chance of such a thing actually happening was very low. So low, they should definitely risk getting struck to see the end of The Monarch’s Gambit.
“Gran—”
“Octavius Alston, I’m not doing this with you tonight. I know all those things about lightning you’re fixing your mouth to tell me, but there’s something you just can’t argue. This is Logan County. Anything can happen. Now, do as I say—cut that TV off and unplug it from the wall.”
Sheed, who could not dispute the county’s tendency to produce improbable events, still looked like he might hyperventilate. “If we unplug everything, the DVR won’t record the last half of the episode.”
“Creek it later. Like y’all always talking about.”
“Stream it,” Otto corrected, so distraught he didn’t even think twice about the dangers of correcting Grandma. They could stream the episode later, but it usually took a day or so to appear on their streaming service. Which meant even if this were a short storm, they’d have to wait until tomorrow to know what happened. After everybody else at school who wasn’t forced to unplug everything saw. It’d be impossible to avoid spoilers.
Grandma dismissed Otto’s correction with a wave. “Creek. Stream. The only thing I’m concerned with is UN. PLUG. Don’t make me say it again.”
With that, Otto and Sheed approached the TV like two pirates walking a plank. Sheed slid the TV from the wall; Otto grabbed the thick cable of the power strip and yanked it from the outlet. Nanette and Don Glö winked away.
A heavy sheet of rain crashed against the ground, roof, and windows. It became a fast patter with an occasional heavy THUMP that made Otto, Sheed, and Grandma crane their necks.
“Is that hail, Grandma?” Otto asked.
“Can’t rightly say. The weatherman ain’t call for no rain to begin with, so this surprise storm could be a surprise hailstorm, I suppose.”
THUMP-THUMP.
Those thumps were the heaviest yet, and the house shook. A picture frame leapt off the wall, shattering the glass on the wood floor.
“Oh,” Grandma said, “I don’t like that at all. Let’s get into the closet.”
THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-TH-TH-TH-THUMP.
Otto and Sheed shared a look, both thinking their own version of the same thought. This wasn’t a normal storm.
Grandma left the den and yanked open the closet door beneath the staircase. “Boys, right now.”
They weren’t going to argue, but before he could get his butt in gear, Sheed heard a new sound, a SMACK instead of a THUMP, and traced it to the nearest window. When he saw what caused it . . .
“Grandma, you should probably see this.”
She stomped to him. “This better be important because I am not in the habit of repeating myself, Rasheed Alst—”
Grandma stiffened next to Sheed, so of course Otto needed to know what the fuss was about. He strolled to them, while the whole time the odd hail-like noises outside went rapid-fire.
THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-SMACK-SMACK-THUMP.
Next to his grandma and his cousin, Otto saw why.
The heavy somethings THUMPing down among the torrential raindrops weren’t hail.
They were frogs.
Fat green frogs.
The SMACK sound was them leaping from wherever they landed and affixing themselves to the windowpanes by tiny suckers on their webbed feet. As Otto stared at a plump, pulsing frog the size of a baseball on the center of the pane, two more leapt from the rainy night to join it. SMACK-SMACK.
“Ewww,” Sheed said, more grossed out than alarmed. The frogs smeared snotlike slime on a window he and Otto would definitely have to clean when things were dry again.
More frogs thumped on the roof. And more still smacked onto other windows. Grandma said, “I’ve seen a lot in my years here, but this is new.”
Otto said, “Not exactly. There have been tales of small-scale frog storms in Logan before. I have a note about it in one of my Legendary Logs, and—”
“Not now, Octavius.”
Grandma and Sheed scoffed. That was something you never, ever said in Logan County. He should have known better.
“Come on,” Otto said. “They’re frogs. Regular, everyday—”
The fat baseball frog raised up on its legs like it was doing a push-up, angled its face toward the glass. It grinned, sort of, showing a mouthful of glistening, needle-sharp teeth. It began working those teeth against the glass, scoring it with a sound like metal grinding. Its comrades did the same. They seemed really hungry, and probably not for windows.
Grandma and Sheed stared at Otto, narrow-eyed.
Logan County. Where anything can happen. Where things can always get worse.
True to form.
Otto could only shrug. “My bad.”
2
Strangers at the Door
“Otto,” Grandma ordered, “Get the phone. Call the county sheriff.”
Otto ran for the handset, picked it up. “Line’s . . .” He almost said dead, but reconsidered. “Not working.”
“What about your cell phone?” Sheed asked.
Grandma was already digging in her purse, shaking her head and mumbling what was probably bad words. “I left it in the car.”
Sheed said, “That’s why it would be super helpful if me and Otto had our own phones.”
“Not now. Closet, closet, closet!” Grandma yelled, though hiding in their usual storm spot probably wasn’t going to help them. Frogs were attempting to chew through the windows, as well as the doors. The boys could hear those little teeth working the wood like tiny buzz saws.
Grandma rummaged through the closet, grabbing at various junk they’d usually push aside so they could squeeze in until a storm was over. She handed items to the boys like a medieval armorer handing swords and shields to anxious knights.
“For you.” She gave Otto an old catcher’s mask and a baseball bat.
“And you.” She handed Sheed a snow shovel and a rust-speckled miner’s helmet with a tiny spotlight mounted on the front.
“Why do you have a miner’s helmet, Grandma?” Sheed asked.
“Oh, that don’t belong to me.”
Sheed peeked under the brim. Faded Sharpie marker spelled the name SOLO.
“Here.” Sheed pushed the helmet toward Otto, wanting nothing to do with it, and took the catcher’s mask. “It’ll mess up my ’fro.”
Grandma wedged a set of pink boxer’s headgear on top of her Sunday wig and armed herself with the biggest umbrella they had.
The front door was visible from where they stood. At the base sawdust spilled on the floor as a rapidly working mouth created the first breach. Not large enough to let a frog through. Yet.
“What do you want us to do, Grandma?” Otto said.
“If they get in, we knock ’em aside.” She snatched her car keys from her purse, tapped the Unlock button on her key chain; her car horn honked faintly outside. “If we get an opening, we make a run for the car. Rasheed, you go for the front seat. Octavius, you’re going into the back.”
Otto was appalled. “Why’s he get the front seat?”
“Because them hungry frogs ain’t gonna give y’all time to argue over who gets the front seat. So what I said is what I said.”
Sheed flashed his widest, gloating grin.
A second hole opened at the base of the door. Glass broke in the TV room. Did a window just give?
Staccato thumping across the hardwood floor and a couple of bloated green amphibians hopping around the corner made it clear that yes, a window did give and now Tooth Frogs were in the house, closing in on Grandma and the boys with their slick, sharp chompers exposed.
Otto and Sheed shouted, “Maneuver #107!” The slap shot.
The boys went to work, Sheed with his shovel and Otto with his bat, using the equipment like hockey sticks.
They smacked the frogs airborne. The amphibians cartwheeled end over end, emitting a sort of screaming RIBBIT sound as they flew behind the couch and into a potted plant, respectively. The maneuver worked perfectly, but more frogs kept spilling inside. Six of them. Nine. A dozen.
Those holes at the bottom of the door had widened, allowing more Tooth Frogs through.
Grandma opened her umbrella and shoved it forward like a plow. The Tooth Frogs made their displeasure known with angry croaking before setting their teeth to the nylon shield, shredding it.
However, a narrow path had been cleared. Grandma yelled, “Boys, come on!”
She reached for the doorknob but stopped a mere millimeter short when the biggest THUMP yet knocked at the center of the door! The force of it sent vibrations through the floor. It was nearly strong enough to splinter the wood. Otto had a single, terrifying thought. How big is that frog?
Three more powerful THUMPs hammered the door, followed by a gruff voice. “Open up!”
“These frogs can talk?” Sheed said.
Not that they hadn’t encountered talking animals before, but none had tried to break into their home and eat them.
The boys flanked Grandma, and she spread her arms wide across their chests, nudging them along as she backpedaled. There wasn’t far for them to go. The chorus of RIBBITs behind them grew louder, and the numbers of Tooth Frogs multiplied. They were trapped.
The weakened door couldn’t stand up to the next big blow from whatever was on the other side. The lock shattered, and the door swung in, trapping some frogs between it and the wall. New frogs hopped through the open door presenting those needle teeth, but Grandma and the boys focused on the shadowy figure in the doorway.
It stood like a man, a hood raised over its head. Lightning flashed around it, and then it became two. Or, rather, a second hooded being—smaller, also draped in shadow—made itself known. The larger one stepped inside, juicy raindrops sluicing off what the boys now recognized as a black raincoat. The second being followed. Their faces remained hidden in gloom.
Grandma said, “It’s in your best interest to leave our home. As quick as you came.”
“It’s our home, too.” The larger figure slipped a hand beneath his hood and flipped it back, revealing a familiar, and unexpected, face.
The smaller figure flipped her hood back, releasing a springy mane of hair. “Hey, Ma.”
Grandma, stunned, dropped her shredded umbrella. The boys were shocked, too. Though not so much they couldn’t manage a single word each.
Otto said, “Mom?”
Sheed said, “Dad?”
A Tooth Frog said, RIBBIT, but no one cared much about that anymore.
3
Family Reunion, Incorporated
They should’ve been more worried about the frogs, of course. The amphibians were still there. Hungry. With the teeth. Yet, the concentrated RIBBITs were like a distant roar from a county over. Otto and Sheed struggled to understand the What-How-Why of their parents being before them, together, after months away.
A comforting sort of instinct made Otto reach for his notepad, to jot observations (matching raincoats . . . they were prepared for a storm no one knew was coming, and they’re together despite not having been on great speaking terms over the last couple of years) and deductions (something forced them here . . . but what?). Before he could satisfy his habit of intricate record keeping, Otto’s mom knelt, her arms wide, and said, “Come here, sweetie.”
He became a toddler again, lumbering toward her happily, wanting to nuzzle his face in the crook of her neck and smell the lavender soap on her skin. Otto hugged her so tight . . . before becoming alarmed and pushing her to arm’s length so they were eye to eye. “Where’s Dad? Is he okay?”
Mom nodded reassuringly. “On company business down in Georgia. He’s fine. Promise.”
While relief washed over Otto, Sheed felt something else entirely.
“Hey, champ!” His dad said, stuffing his hands in his coat pocket and focusing on his shoes.
“Hey,” Sheed responded, dragging his gaze anywhere else. Good thing, too—given the onslaught he was quickly reminded of. “Frogs! Frogs!”
They were a full army now, closing in.
One leapt and bit down on the hem of Otto’s Mom’s raincoat.
“Lovely,” she said. She flicked the frog away—it took a hunk of coat with it—then twisted toward the open door. With a hand cupped around her mouth, she shouted, “Gentlemen, could use an assist here!”
