184639_00_i-viii_r4nj.indd 1 10/3/13 8:13 PM ALSO bY ben miKaelsen: Touching Spirit Bear Petey Countdown Red Midnight Rescue Josh McGuire Sparrow Hawk Red Ghost of Spirit Bear Stranded Tree Girl 184639_00_i-viii_r4nj.indd 2 10/3/13 8:13 PM ALSO bY ben miKaelsen: Touching Spirit Bear Petey Countdown Red Midnight Rescue Josh McGuire Sparrow Hawk Red Ghost of Spirit Bear Stranded Tree Girl 184639_00_i-viii_r4nj.indd 3 10/3/13 8:13 PM bEN MIKAELSEN 184639_00_i-viii_r4nj.indd 4 10/3/13 8:13 PM bEN MIKAELSEN Scholastic Press New yorK 184639_00_i-viii_r4nj.indd 5 10/3/13 8:13 PM Copyright © 2014 by Ben Mikaelsen All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. scholastic, scholastic press, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Mikaelsen, Ben, 1952– author. Jungle of bones / Ben Mikaelsen. pages cm Summary: When sullen teenager Dylan Barstow is caught joyriding in a stolen car he is sent to his ex-Marine uncle for the summer, but soon they are on the way to Papua New Guinea in search of a World War II fighter plane and Dylan discovers that defiance is not a survival skill when you are lost in a jungle. ISBN 978-0-545-44287-9 (alk. paper) — ISBN 0-545-44287-7 (alk. paper) 1. Quests (Expeditions) — Juvenile fiction. 2. Jungle survival — Juvenile fiction. 3. Uncles — Juvenile fiction. 4. Teenagers — Juvenile fiction. 5. Adventure stories. 6. Papua New Guinea — Juvenile fiction. [1. Adventure and adventurers — Fiction. 2. Jungles — Fiction. 3. Survival — Fiction. 4. Uncles — Fiction. 5. Papua New Guinea — Fiction.] I. Title. PZ7.M5926Jun 2014 813.54 — dc23 2013016936 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 14 15 16 17 18 Printed in the U.S.A. 23 First edition, February 2014 The text type was set in Sabon. The display type was set in Ballers Delight. Book design by Jeannine Riske 184639_00_i-viii_r4nj.indd 6 10/3/13 8:13 PM I want to dedicate Jungle of Bones to the young and courageous crews who manned the bombers during the Second World War. All citizens of our great country need to learn from these brave men that “freedom is never free.” 184639_00_i-viii_r4nj.indd 7 10/3/13 8:13 PM PROLOGUE Dylan slogged through the swamp toward the trees. He needed to find dry ground where he could spend the night again. Still he watched for snakes and crocodiles. The air reeked of rotting undergrowth. All day he had seen birds, rats, possums, and other animals to eat, but no way to catch them. The only critters Dylan could approach were snakes and crocodiles. He knew the snakes might be poisonous, and there was no way he was going to try to catch a crocodile, even a small one. Before leaving the tall grasses, Dylan ate a few more grass- hoppers, and then deliberately headed for a root-tangled path entering the jungle. Soon, the thick, matted screen of over- head vines and leaves muted any fading sunlight that made it through the clouds. For the next hour, Dylan stumbled along a trail, no longer looking down to pick his footing. He had to find some kind of refuge before dark, a place where he could be out in the open but on higher ground. He needed a space where he could lie down and still see wild animals approach- ing. Hopefully a place with fewer insects. 1 184639_01_001-216_r6nj.indd 1 10/3/13 8:14 PM As the light faded, a brief shower of rain fell. Only a few drops penetrated the dense canopy overhead. Suddenly a sharp pain stabbed Dylan’s ankle. He glanced down in time to see a dark brown snake recoil and slither across the trail and into the undergrowth. “Ouch,” he muttered, crouching. He pulled up his right pant leg to find four small puncture wounds where the snake had sunk its fangs. Without thinking, Dylan panicked and began running down the trail. But even as he ran, he realized it was probably the dumbest thing he could do after a snake bite. Still he kept running. If he stopped, he would just die here on some muddy overgrown trail in the jungles of Papua New Guinea. By morning, rats would have picked his bones clean. By next week, other critters would have his bones scattered through the forest like twigs and branches. The world would never even know what had happened to Dylan Barstow. Dylan ran faster. He had to find protection or help. Overhead the light had faded into darkness. Now the only light came from a hazy moon hanging in the sky like a dim lightbulb. At that very instant, Dylan broke into a clearing similar to the one where he had slept the night before. He walked out away from the darkness of the trees into the moonlight and froze in shock. Ahead were rocks, and next to the rocks stood a tall spiral tree that looked like a big screw. This was the same place he had left early this morning. Without a compass, he had walked all day in a huge circle, only to end up back where he had begun. 2 184639_01_001-216_r6nj.indd 2 10/3/13 8:14 PM Dylan blinked his eyes, as if doing so might make the stu- pid tree disappear. He shook his head as a wave of despair washed over him, worse than any chill or fever. Dylan screamed, desperate and primal, his voice piercing the hush that had fallen over the clearing. As he finished, tears started down his cheeks, stopping to rest each time he hiccupped with grief. And then a different spasm flooded through his body, and his knees buckled. Dylan collapsed to the ground. The jungle spun in circles. He felt suddenly stiff and cold, as if his body were freezing in a blizzard. And then there was nothing. 3 184639_01_001-216_r6nj.indd 3 10/3/13 8:14 PM chapter 1 “Remove your hat, son,” the old man said, his voice matter- of-fact, his deep-set eyes intense. “You’re not my dad!” Dylan snapped. “Get out of my face.” The man glared at Dylan, hesitated, then turned back to keep watching the parade. Dylan’s mother, Natalie, turned to him. “Take your hat off,” she said quietly. When Dylan rolled his eyes, she reached out and grabbed his hat, motioning to the old people marching past. “Those men and women are the VFW, the Veterans of Foreign Wars. Remove your hat to show respect.” “Bunch of over-the-hill Boy Scouts with their dumb little hats,” Dylan said, motioning. “I can leave my hat on if I want. It’s a free country.” Frustration clouded Natalie’s eyes as she tucked Dylan’s hat into her purse. “Give that back,” Dylan demanded. She ignored him and headed back toward the car. “Hey, the parade’s not over yet,” Dylan said. 4 184639_01_001-216_r6nj.indd 4 10/3/13 8:14 PM Natalie kept walking. “What’s the big deal?” Dylan muttered, following her. When they arrived home,— Dylan’s mother worked around the house, giving him the silent treatment. Dylan knew he should feel lucky. Some parents yelled and shouted, or even hit their kids, when they were mad. His mom just clammed up. He could tell whenever she was angry because she quit talking. Dylan stomped up the stairs to his room, whistling for his dog, Zipper, to follow him. His black lab was the only sane thing in his life anymore. Zipper didn’t care what any- body wore or said. He didn’t care what time anybody went to bed or if they skipped school, as long as he could cuddle and get his ears scratched. Dylan slammed the door to his room and flopped down on his bed. “C’mon up, boy,” he said, coaxing Zipper onto the bed. That was something that bugged his mom; she said Zipper shed too much. But right now Dylan wanted the company. He lay back and stared at the ceiling. It wasn’t like he had killed anybody or stolen anything. All he had done was not take his hat off. Since when was that a capital offense? Dylan looked around his room. He was too mad to play his computer games. Instead he took a tennis ball and bounced it repeatedly off the wall. That was something that really bugged Mom. Most times Zipper would chase the ball around the room. Tonight, he curled on the bed, watching with lazy eyes. 5 184639_01_001-216_r6nj.indd 5 10/3/13 8:14 PM “Are you giving me the silent treatment, too?” Dylan asked. Zipper closed his eyes without even wagging his tail. Natalie called up, “There’s food in the refrigerator if you’re hungry. I want you home tonight.” Before Dylan could answer, the front door closed. Moments later, the car pulled from the driveway. Dylan threw the tennis ball extra hard one last time. She hadn’t made dinner for him, or said anything about bouncing the ball. What was the big deal not taking his hat off in front of a bunch of old geezers? But deep inside, Dylan knew it was much more than that.