Small as an Elephant - Jennifer Richard Jacobson [53]
Crouched in that ditch, bruised and battered, Jack was overcome with despair. He was right back to where he was before Wyatt came along: traveling in the dark, hungry, tired, having to jump every time a car came. And, even though he knew he was closer to York, he didn’t know how far he had yet to go. What if it was days?
Maybe he’d been too hasty in bolting. Maybe there was time to catch Wyatt before he started blabbing to the store clerks. He could eat something, try to persuade Wyatt to help him out — to turn him in after he got to York, at the very least.
He turned around and jogged back toward the store, still careful to duck out of sight whenever a car approached.
Finally, the convenience store came into view.
Jack’s heart stopped.
A police car was parked outside.
He crouched in the shadow of a tree. It was too late to catch a ride with Wyatt. And he had no way of knowing how far he was from York. What if he just stopped running, just walked right up to the officer and said, “Hey, looking for me?” It would be so much easier. He’d get a hot meal, a shower, a bed. But then what? Would they arrest him for running away, for stealing the elephant and the bike and making everyone in the state of Maine look for him?
And they would have a lot of questions for him — but they wouldn’t be the kind of questions Wyatt had asked. They’d be more along the lines of “Did your mother tell you she was leaving?” and “Has she ever left you before?” The problem with those questions was that he couldn’t answer them truthfully without getting his mother deeper into trouble. He’d be the one sealing both of their fates. Nope, he still wasn’t ready for that.
Next to the store, along a white fence, was a Dumpster. A place to hide. If the police were looking for him, they’d likely check around the store, in the woods, along the road. But it wasn’t likely they’d check inside a Dumpster, was it?
Jack studied the scene carefully. He could see the police officer inside the store, talking to the two women who’d spotted him. There was no sign of Wyatt, though he could see the van parked where they’d left it. He imagined the police officer would be talking to Wyatt next.
There was no one else around. It was now or never.
Jack held his breath and dashed toward the Dumpster, crouching as low as possible. He quickly lifted the lid, hoping that the trash would be contained in plastic garbage bags and that it wouldn’t smell too bad.
Fortunately, the Dumpster had just been emptied. There were loose paper bags, the kind that might hold a sandwich or a pastry, and paper cups with loose-fitting lids, tossed in by customers, but no large garbage bags — and no smell. Jack hoisted himself up and over, being careful of his broken pinky and trying not to make any noise.
The Dumpster was heavy-duty plastic, so he could move around quietly. He took a moment before settling down to look inside the bags. Most were empty, but one held a cruller with a single bite taken out of it. It was stale — he could tell by how crumbly it was — but who was he to be picky? And another contained a half-eaten bag of potato chips. Score! He sat in one of the back corners of the Dumpster, wolfing down the food, and marveled at his brilliance. He was hidden, had something to eat, and could easily peek out the top of the Dumpster to see if Wyatt or the police had left yet.
Flashing lights alerted Jack to the fact that more police cars had arrived. Jack peeked out and saw Wyatt talking to a police officer, who was writing things down, but Jack was too far away to hear what he was saying. Was he lying, saying he hadn’t seen a kid in the store? Or was he telling the police officer everything, including that he, Jack Martel, was determined to get to York’s Wild Kingdom?
If he did manage to make it to the animal park, would the whole