Small as an Elephant - Jennifer Richard Jacobson [50]
Jack read till the shed grew dark and his eyes hurt. Finally, he felt it was late enough, safe enough, to begin traveling.
He headed up the road as if he lived in this neighborhood, as if he was a boy who belonged and who had someplace to go. To his surprise, he felt most comfortable while walking down Main Street. After all, would a kid who was on the lam (as the writers of mysteries liked to say) walk boldly through town? It wasn’t until he’d gone beyond the center and was back on the rural roads that he felt conspicuous. He was glad for the cap then.
For the most part, it was easy to spot cars coming from the opposite direction and to duck out of sight, whether by standing behind a tree, diving into a ditch, or crouching behind some bushes. But not so when he neared the top of a hill or when cars came up from behind him.
That was why, even after two hours of trying to be careful, to stay focused and to frequently look back as he walked, he didn’t see the van until it was practically on top of him. He scrambled up the bank and into the trees, but the van slowed — and then rolled to a stop.
The driver’s door opened.
Jack spun and ran but immediately tripped over a root and flew face-first to the ground. He used his hands to try to break the fall and wrenched his broken finger. The pain rocketed up his arm, distracting him from the stinging of his torn-up face.
“Jack!” he heard a young-sounding guy yell — a guy who was approaching quickly. A guy who must have watched the news, who knew who he was, knew about his grandmother and his mom, and who knew what else?
Jack stayed perfectly still, hoping that he wouldn’t be seen on the ground.
“Jack! I’m here to help. I’m Wyatt. Sylvie’s cousin!”
Sylvie’s cousin? Was it possible . . . ?
“I’ll take you to York!”
York! So he really did know Sylvie.
“Jack!” the guy bellowed. It was clear that he thought Jack had run off into the woods, that he had no idea Jack was lying on the ground just a few feet away. Jack could stay right where he was and the guy would probably give up. But what if he really did want to help? What if he was willing to drive Jack all the way to York tonight? No more hiding out, no more walking along the highway at night, no more leaping into bushes and taking face-plants in the dirt. He’d see Lydia tomorrow.
But could he trust him?
“Jack!” the guy yelled again.
He’d trusted Nina, and look where that had gotten him. But what were his choices? Spend days hiding and nights walking — or get a ride now?
“I’m right here,” said Jack.
“Whoa!” Wyatt was clearly surprised to hear Jack’s voice come out of the dark. “Geez, man, I didn’t see you. You can’t go scaring people like that. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“Are you really Sylvie’s cousin?” Jack asked, standing, adjusting the splint on his throbbing finger, and trying, with his good hand, to brush off the sticks and leaves that had adhered to his bare legs.
“Yup.” Wyatt — a teenager, Jack could now see — turned and walked back to the road, seeming confident that Jack would follow. “She told me about your little adventure today. I used to be scared to death of getting locked in that safe.”
“So how did you know to come looking for me now?” Jack asked, hopping up into the passenger seat of the ancient van and taking a good look at Sylvie’s cousin. Jack figured he was only a couple of years older than Sylvie. He was tall, and kind of skinny, and probably hadn’t had his license for very long.
“I didn’t even know about you until a half hour ago. Sylvie called me — she was crazed . . . thought you might have waited till dark to travel and was imagining all sorts of creepy consequences.”
Jack was relieved to hear that not everyone in Maine knew about him and was looking for him. “Yeah, well, thanks for picking me up. And for taking me to York.” He didn’t know whether Sylvie had mentioned