Small as an Elephant - Jennifer Richard Jacobson [54]
After what seemed like an eternity, Jack watched Wyatt get in his van and head back the way they’d come. Then, one by one, the police cars began to leave. Two headed down Route 1 in the direction that Jack needed to go.
Two remaining police officers, both with coffee cups in hand, began to approach the Dumpster. Jack backed away into one of the far corners and curled himself into the smallest shape possible.
“So, the kid knew nothing?”
“Nope. Apparently he got it in his head that he’d be the one to find the Martel kid tonight. Said he was searching the roads.”
“Does he have information we don’t?”
“I don’t see how he could. I think he just got lucky — happened to pull into the gas station right at the time the Martel kid needed to use the toilet. . . .”
So Wyatt hadn’t told. Maybe he was still holding out for the reward. If so, Jack wondered if Wyatt would come back looking for him later that night. Another reason to stay off the road tonight.
Or maybe Wyatt was doing him a favor. Maybe he wasn’t so different from Sylvie, after all. . . .
One of the officers lifted the lid of the Dumpster, and two cups of lukewarm coffee came splashing down on Jack.
Jack waited awhile longer; then he slipped out of the Dumpster and jumped over the fence to see what was behind the store. There he found an old, turquoise car, the kind of old car that people love to shine up and drive in parades; only this one was missing its tires and had rust around its doors. The backseat proved the perfect place to spend the night. (Even though Jack knew he was probably sharing the seat with a mouse or two.)
He woke just before the sun rose and figured that only truck drivers would be out this early. And truck drivers were mostly from out of state; they probably wouldn’t have heard of him. If he started walking now, he wouldn’t need to do so much walking and hiding at night.
After walking for about an hour, seeing practically nothing but trees (and he was right — only two trucks and one car had passed him), he came to a fork. He had a choice between Route 1 and Old Route 1. He took Old Route 1, figuring it went in the same direction but might have fewer vehicles as it started to get later.
At first, this road, too, was nothing but trees, but after another hour or so had passed, the road began to be at first spotted and then lined with houses. It was obvious he was approaching a town, and he figured he should start looking for a place to hide during daylight. He passed one house with a sign advertising a room for rent (he wished he could borrow it for a day!) and another advertising violin lessons (something he’d never been tempted to try). He kept his eyes out for garages or sheds.
He passed a few houses without any luck. He was just starting to get anxious, when a thought struck: it was Saturday. That might give him another hour of traveling time, since most people tended to stay at home this early on Saturday mornings. Maybe he’d try just getting through this town and seeing what was on the other side.
The sun was warm on his head and shoulders, but not too hot. And the sky was a clear, bright blue. It reminded Jack of fall days when he used to play elephant in the park near his home. He would be romping around, imagining, and the world around him would come into sharper focus . . . and at the same time almost disappear. There was a feeling of joy in those moments, of peace. He felt that way now and walked a little bit taller. He was going to make it to York. He could feel it.
He had just reached the tiny, run-down, and rather deserted town center, another strip of connected brick storefronts, when a black car with a blue stripe — a police cruiser — suddenly pulled up beside him. He should have ducked into a shed when he’d had the chance!
Jack pushed his hand with the broken finger into his pocket and tried to breathe normally.
“Hey, son,” the officer said as Jack tried to walk on by.
Jack glanced up, just enough to see the blue uniform, the badge.
Fear pulsed through his body.