I'm sorry, Jane, that I wasn't older, stronger and wiser when we met. You were a brief illumination in my otherwise bleak existence. I know now that the circumstances were out of our hands and that you would want me to be happy, but I've lived with this guilt for so long. I need to share you with everyone...

You into the past...

You haven't eaten anything since early this morning and the walls of your stomach are grinding together. You have to get your mind off of it somehow and the water fountain on the far wall beckons to you.

You've been on the road for days and it feels like the better part of it has been planted in this seat—even though you've only been here for the last couple of hours. The skin on your back and the backs of your bare legs rip free of the hard plastic seat as you stand and your flip-flops slap and smack your heels as you plod across the room.

You freeze midway when you see a cowboy roping a calf from horseback. It's the most wonderful thing you've seen for days even if it is only a poster. And it's not the only one! Scanning the room you see many, many more of far off magical places with waterfalls and cliffs and mountains and dark caverns. Some of cityscapes with towering buildings and some at night with only the lights on and still more of endless rolling plains.

From somewhere behind you, you hear a garbled voice fighting it's way through crackling static, droning on and on about things that only old people care about. You zero in on the source and discover that it is a tiny coin operated radio affixed to the arm of a terminal seat. Neat!

Just then a clammy hand clamps down on the back of your neck and you're whisked toward the double glass doors. "It's time to go, mister," comes the all too familiar voice of your mom and she only releases her grip—with a surprise thrust that causes you to whack your shin on the bottom step—to allow you to clamber up and into the bus on your own.

A shiver runs down your spine and the back of your arms prickle as you make your way down the aisle between tall and comfy-looking seats. You're not used to air conditioning and it brings both pain and relief.

You pass by an elderly couple. The woman looks up and smiles at you warmly so you give her a wide berth. You doubt that she would, being a stranger and all, but you sure don't want her squeezing your cheek like Grandma does.

You're nudged into the row behind them and you take the farthest seat. Your mother sits beside you and puts the bag with everything the two of you own at her feet. Her lips are pursed and her eyes drawn. She's been tired every day since the divorce and when she gets tired, she gets mad. You have a hard time even recognizing her now.

A hiss and a lurch later, the bus pulls out onto the highway and with your face plastered to the side window you watch as the fence posts strobe past with only the occasional bush or sapling breaking the pattern.

"There's a storm coming," remarks the old man to his wife, "and it looks to be a bad 'un."

"Mm-hmm," she replies absently, not bothering to look up from her needlepoint.

Your eyes drift upward from the fence to a draw on the horizon and there the sky is beginning to boil and bristle with blue-white sparks. You can't shake the feeling that you are at the very beginning of the greatest adventure—and worst nightmare—of your life.

After only a mile or two, the droning of the engine and the rhythmic beat of its tires thumping over the seams in the concrete soothes you to sleep and you sleep the whole rest of the way.



You are shaken from a pleasant dream of opening Christmas presents with your parents to stumble and trip over your feet as you're dragged toward the front of the bus. It pulls over, dumping the two of you out on a deserted street.

You know it's only your reflection, but the ghastly and pale boy is all you can make out in the store window before you. It brightens and fades, brightens and fades with each pulse of the stoplight on the corner. You take a step backward and the wind from the bus pushes you forward as it pulls away.

"You tryin' to get yourself run over?" Your mother cups the back of your head and shoves you toward the boy with hollow eye-sockets, "Get over there and sit down against the wall."

You do as your told, although you can't help but look up at the glass expecting him to be standing there looking down at you.

An eternity goes by with your mom standing slumped against a signpost and staring off into the night.

Your butt burns as the bones chew their way to the cement. You rock slowly from one side to the other to relieve the pain and she flashes her eyes at you. You melt.

"Sit there and don't move," she barks as she leaps toward the flashing light. A car has stopped at the corner and she waves her arms as she sprints toward it. It begins to pull away, but stops short and the window tentatively rolls down.

You can't make out her words, but there's happiness in your mother's voice again as she crouches there with her elbows propped against the car door. Maybe she's not mad anymore. You stretch your legs out as far as you can and wiggle your toes.

She stands as the car pulls away and turns toward you. You can't see her face, but there's no mad in her walk now. You let out a long breath in relief.

"C'mon, I've found us a place to sleep tonight," she beams snatching up the bag, "and tomorrow I start job huntin'. We're gonna do jus' fine you an' me. You wait an' see." She wraps her arm around your shoulders and the two of you skip off around the corner and into the crisp night air.



You sit with your shoulders slumped, dragging your feet in a circle as the swing's chains lazily wind and unwind and then wind up again. You've already walked around the park twice and sat on everything here so now all you can do is wait.

"You wait here an' watch our stuff," your mom had told you, "I've got a lot to do today an', with any luck, things'll be a whole lot better from now on. And don't you leave the park! You hear me? I'll be back as quick as I can."

Your stomach grumbles. The two half-crushed cheese and peanut butter crackers your mom gave you before she left didn't do much to satisfy it. At least the gnawing emptiness is gone.

You hear a squeal and giggles so you look up. Some little kids are playing in the dirt at the bottom of the slide as if it were a sandbox. A dozen steps away from them sits a plump woman with her nose in a book.

You survey the park for other signs of life and spot a group about your age. Three boys in a circle around a dark-haired girl. They're pushing her back and forth between them like some demented form of 'Hot Potato'.

"Where do you think you're going?" jeers the fat one.

"Yeah, you ain't goin' nowhere you little bastard," cracks the snotty runt.

"Let me go!" she hisses, "Leave me alone!"

The tallest of the three quakes from head to toe and nearly loses his breath in a fit of really annoying breathy laughter as he shoves her back toward the other two.

The girl turns beet red from anger and lashes out with flailing, non-connecting slaps which only seems to feed the boys' hysterical laughter.

You have the sudden urge to attack them, but that might be a little hasty. Perhaps you should find some other way.

You wade into 'em

"Leave her alone!" you command as you trot over to them with more brass than you really possess, "You like picking on little girls?"

Their shock fades instantly when they see you and Chortle begins to jiggle. They either aren't that impressed by you in the slightest or they're extremely good at hiding it.

Chortle grapples the girl as Tubby strides up to you, heeled closely by Snots. You suddenly feel smaller and more helpless than at any other time in your life, but you refuse to show any sign of it.

"Who are you?!" demands Snots.

"Is this your little girlfriend?" jeers Tubby, "Have you come to rescue her?"

You feel your face flush red, but not from embarrassment. You are livid!

"Look here, this guy's here to save his bastard girlfriend," spits Snots.

You lunge forward and Tubby grabs you in a meaty "bear hug", but not before you put your fist in Snots' mouth. He falls back in horror with a tooth dangling below his upper lip and starts tearing up.

Tubby swings you around in an arc and falls on you with every ounce of his weight knocking the wind completely out of you.

You struggle against his massive frame, kicking and thrashing, but there is no escape. It'd take a bulldozer to move this tub o' guts.

He crawls upward and pins your arms with his fat legs and starts drilling your forehead with his meaty finger. "Wanna be a tough guy, huh?"

The girl manages to land one of her backward kicks and Chortle falls like a sack of potatoes, screaming in agony as his face goes purple. She turns and darts between two houses on the far side of the street.

"Get her," wheezes Chortle, "Get that little bastard!"

Snots runs to his aid and tries to pull him to his feet between sobs, but can't muster the strength. Chortle is in no condition to stand just yet anyhow.

Tubby turns back to you and pounds a couple of stinging blows to the side of your face, then smooshes your head into the soft earth as he hoists his lard back to his feet and saunters over to his friends.

You roll onto your belly, push yourself up and limp away in the other direction.

Looking over your shoulder to make sure the trio aren't watching, you dash between houses and start making your way back toward where the girl went through.

The alley is shrouded by trees arching overhead and you make your way to the end of it. Seeing no sign of her, you cut through to the next street. Still nothing. She's long gone.

You suddenly remember the bag tucked under the picnic table that you were supposed to be watching. If something happened to it, you'll be in big trouble.

You sprint like the devil is after you. A hedge claws up your arms and face as you dart through it, which you barely even notice.

Turning down the alley, a dark figure steps out from behind the corner of the hedge directly in your path. Your mouth goes all coppery and dry, and you skid to a stop.

You're all set to flee when you realize that it's the girl from before. She looks sheepish and a bit winded, but no worse for wear.

She hangs her head, but her eyes remain fixed on yours. As you cautiously approach her, you detect the faint hint of a smile.

"Hi," she barely more than whispers.

"Are you okay?" you ask.

"Yeah. They didn't hurt me."

"You sure hurt that one."

She chuckles.

"Who were them boys?"

"Just some boys from school. They always pick on me."

"How come?"

"Just 'cause. They've always been like that."

"What's your name?" you ask, scrunching your toes and noticing how dirty they've gotten.

"Jane. What's yours?"

"Billy. We just moved here."

"Where's your house?"

"We don't have one yet."

"Oh," she says, turning her gaze to the side, then back to you. "My house is on Hill Road."

"I don't know where that is. We just got here last night. We came in on the bus."

"It's over there," she points over your shoulder, "on the edge of town. C'mon. I'll show you."

"I can't right now. I have to watch our stuff so Mom can find a job."

"Oh." After a pause, she asks "What grade are you in?"

"I'll be in Second this year."

"Me too. Maybe we can sit together."

The very suggestion makes you feel queasy and uncomfortable. "I better get back before she comes back," you say stepping past her.

"Okay. See ya later."

"See ya later."

You cut between two houses following their shared ribbon driveway. As you get to the front, you peek down the street and see that the gang is gone.

The park is empty now with no one in sight. You cross the street and see that the bag is still right where it's supposed to be.

You climb the cement picnic table and plop down on top of it with your feet on the bench. All you can do now is wait.

The Way Things Were

"What happened to you?" your mom asks from out of nowhere making you jump.

You stand up and whirl around making eye contact before looking down at your arms and legs.

"I got scratched up going through the bushes."

"What bushes?" she says squinting, "There aren't any in the park that I can see."

You squirm, knowing full well what is about to happen.

"Over there in the alley," you mutter, pointing.

Snatching you by the hair and ramming your face into hers, "I thought I told you to wait in the park!" she hisses through clenched teeth. "An' I hadn't even noticed the scratches. I was talking about your face!"

Your eyes start to tear up and your lower lip begins to quiver. "A big boy hit me."

"You've been fighting?" she demands, "Why were you fighting? Why can't you even go one single day without getting into trouble? What do I have to do to make you listen to me an' use that head of yours for something other than a hat rack? Huh?!", accentuating every other word with a jerk of your hair. "An' stop your damned blubbering or I'll give you something to really cry about," she says through her teeth as she gives you a couple of thrusts even more violent than before.

You slam your eyes shut and grit your teeth in an attempt to stifle the involuntary spasms.

"Ugh!" she roars in disgust, flinging you prone on top of the picnic table. "Now get over there an' sit down! It's time to eat."

She unrolls a paper bag and slams down a small boat of shriveled, dried up shrimp and a larger one half full of crispy fries (the small ones that no one wants and are generally tossed out instead of being served to customers).

You begin to pick at them one by one, but your hunger soon takes over and you start to cram them into your mouth by the handful.

"Slow down. They're all yours. I had mine already on the way back," she says in a more pleasant tone. "I got a job today. I had to sweep the parking lot of the café I'll be working at to pay for this an' I'll be waitressing starting tomorrow. An' I got us a place to stay, too. Another waitress I'll be working with is gonna let us stay in her garage until I can get back on my feet. An' she's gonna give us cots to sleep on for a change."

You look up at her as you pop the last shrimp in your mouth and she smiles at you. You can't help but smile back.

"Time to get going, mister," she beams, snatching the bag from under the table. "I wanna be there when she gets home an' see what we can do to help her out around the place. We're not gonna be bums."



"Why don't you go out back an' play while I talk to Honey," says your mom, "An' don't leave the yard."

It is a tidy house with a neatly trimmed yard. A small flower garden runs the length of the sidewalk connecting the kitchen door at the back of the house to the one on the side of the garage. Beyond it, there are white painted, metal lawn chairs and set squarely between the house and a row of short evergreens marking the property line stands a wooden swing set.

You walk around for a few minutes and, finding nothing at all to do, flop into one of the swings where you spend the next few hours. You can't hear their words, but can see through the kitchen window how much fun your mom is having laughing and talking with her new friend. It makes you both happy and a little sad. She hasn't laughed like that with you for a long, long time.

You really miss the old days.

You unexpected Visitor

You pull the freshly baked muffin out of the Tupperware bowl that Honey had brought over for your breakfast when she and your mom had left for work, absently weighing it in your hands while you try to think of something to while away the hours until they return.

"I'll be home before dark. Stay here," your mom had said, "I don't want to have to go looking for you after working all day an' I'm warning you now you'd better not get into any trouble."

You're only a little bit hungry right now so you decide you'd better save it for when you get really hungry later. You put the muffin back in the bowl and snap the lid closed.

You are startled by a knock on the door. No one knows you are here.

You creep over to the door and try to peek through the gap between the edge of the window frame and the dark vinyl curtain, but can't see anything. Imagining the worst, you pick up a small spade from a wooden tote and wield it like a knife. If whoever it is kicks the door down, maybe you'll be able to get in a jab.

"Billy?" comes a familiar whisper.

You drop the spade back in the tote and open the door.

Jane is wearing cut-offs and flip-flops just like you, but she's also wearing a yellowed, button-up shirt that's much too large for her, tied at the waist.

"How'd you know I was here," you ask, a little confused.

"I followed you here from the park yesterday."

"You did?"

"Yeah. I saw that lady pull your hair. Is that your mom?"

"Uh huh," you say looking down at your feet, "she gets like that when she's tired."

"My momma does that to me, too. Gramma says I have to love her and be patient, but I still don't like her."

You try to think of something to say, but can't. All you can do is stare at her.

Finally, she breaks the silence. "Wanna go get a pop? I got a quarter from the change jar. We can share it," she grins at you.

"Okay. We gotta hurry, though. I'm not s'posed to go anywhere."

"It won't take long. The store's only a couple blocks from here."



Ten minutes later, the two of you are on the sidewalk staring at the vending machine in front of Fredrick's grocery. Jane plunks her quarter into the slot and whips open the door on the side.

"Pick one," she says.

You lean in and squint at the selection and then tentatively say "I like root beer."

"Me too! It's my favorite!" she exclaims as she grips the bottle's neck and yanks it free—allowing another to roll in to take its place. Then, gripping the bottle with both hands, she pokes it into the rectangular hole and pops the cap off without even spilling one single drop. She then presents it to you saying "You're my guest so you get the first sip."

You grin from ear to ear.



On the way back to your house she informs you "I've lived here my whole life. I can show you all the neat places and all the places to stay away from. There's not a whole lot."

"That's how I was at my old house before my mom and dad got divorced," you say, handing the bottle back to her.

Jane doesn't respond, but stops you short by sticking her arm out in front of your chest. She's staring intently down the street and you follow her gaze. The three boys from yesterday are crossing a block ahead of you.

"We better go the long way 'round," she says, "I'll show you where my house is."

The Secret Place

"That's my house," Jane says, pointing to a ramshackle place covered in old and warped wood siding with peeling paint. The yard is waist high in grass and weeds with a worn path leading up to a sagging corner porch that looks like it could collapse at any moment. "C'mon, I'll show you."

You follow her up the path and onto the porch. The boards creak and moan under your feet. You hold the screen door open while she heaves against the heavy entry door sagging on its hinges with her shoulder to unstick it from its jamb and shoves with all her weight to plow it open.

"My momma's not home right now," she says, stepping inside "but that's okay. I can have friends over if I want to."

You follow her in.

By what little sunlight filters in, you can tell that the inside isn't much better than the outside. The filthy carpeting is littered in bits of trash and the furniture is piled high with wadded clothing. The air is a stale mixture of cigarette smoke and vomit. You manage to quell your gag reflex by taking shallow breaths in through your mouth.

She watches you for a minute or two as you look around and says "It's just a house." After another minute she says "Okay, let's go."

You help her drag the door closed and are stepping off the porch when she suddenly stops and says "Wait. There's something else I wanna show you."

You pause and then follow her around the corner of the house, watching carefully for snakes in the tall grass.

"This is my 'secret place'," she whispers, "Nobody knows about it. Not even Momma."

Bending down, she pulls the grate loose from the foundation and slides it partway to the side, then slips through into a dark crawlspace. "C'mon," she says over her shoulder, "It's cool in here."

You follow her inside and can barely make out anything other than her. She has turned around and now sits facing you. You hear a rattle of bottles as she puts the now empty one with some others.

Gradually, you're able to see a little more, but nothing in detail.

"This is the 'change jar'," she announces, holding something out in front of her, "I keep all the money Gramma gives me in it and what I get for all the bottles I find and take back." Picking something else up she says in a hushed and mysterious voice "This is my treasure chest. It's where I keep all my important stuff."

Your eyes finally adjust to the dim light and you can see she's cradling a cigar box tied with a ribbon as she crawls past you to the opening. "Here, I'll show you."

She begins pulling the contents out one by one and handling them gingerly. "This is me and Gramma when I was little," holding out a yellowed Polaroid of a grim-faced woman holding the hand of a toddler, "and this is when I went to her house when momma went to the hospital," showing you a slightly fresher one that's probably only a couple years old, at most. There are several more and all with the same grim-faced woman standing with Jane, holding her hand.

There are several black-and-white postcards with scenes from various parks and tourist attractions. Each one is addressed to Jane and tells what a wonderful time her Gramma is having and signed 'Love Gramma'.

Then there are a few fancy buttons and ribbons and such things that in all likelihood have sentimental value known only to her.

You smile and nod as she excitedly tells you about every detail. The most interesting to you are the pictures on the post cards. They pull at something primal inside of you and you feel a strange longing to see many of the places for yourself.

After she has quieted down a bit you say "I don't have anything important anymore. We lost everything we had moving around so much and now we have to start all over."

Jane's expression grows dark and she only looks at you without saying anything for the longest time which makes you very uncomfortable. Finally, she looks away and changes the subject "I sleep in here at night sometimes. I have my covers in that burlap sack over there."

"You sleep in here? How come? Ain't you afraid of snakes and spiders and stuff?"

Jane just shakes her head. She gently places her treasure chest back in its place and says "The boys are probably long gone by now so we can go back to your house."

You crawl out behind her and she puts the grate back in place. The two of you walk in silence and you can't figure out for the life of you why she'd ever sleep under her house instead of inside it.

You wishes and Secrets

When you get back to Honey's house, the first thing you do is run into the garage and grab your muffin. It's almost dinnertime now and your stomach has started to complain. You tear it in two as carefully as you can and say "Here," handing Jane the slightly larger half, "It's all I have so we'll have to share it."

"Fahnk mhu," Jane says through a mouthful, beaming at you, as she tears into her half like a wild animal that hasn't eaten in days.

After inhaling your half, you wipe your hands on your cut-offs. Jane smirks and wipes her hands off on your shorts, too. You jump back in shock and she tackles you—straddling you and instantly pinning your wrists down above your head. You are caught completely by surprise! This is the first time she's been physical with you and you aren't exactly sure how to react.

You decide to play along by feigning escape. She giggles maniacally and pushes your head back down with her own. You stare into her wild eyes as you wriggle about and her shrieks of excitement grow louder and louder. Her eyes are the color of new grass and despite her current playfulness, reveal that she is much older than her years. Her hair is long and oily black and shimmers blue in the sun. For the first time you notice how beautiful she is.

Through squeals and giggles she begins pecking kisses all over your face. The more you pretend to struggle the more she seems to enjoy it.

Her expression suddenly changes to one of extreme seriousness and her eyes narrow. She dives in and gives you a big smacking smooch right on the cheek. You freeze for an instant before rolling out from under her and dashing around the swing set—keeping it between you and her as some kind of protective barrier. Every time she darts one way, you go the other and her shrill laughter only increases.

She chases you all around the yard in a one-sided game of tag. You are quite a bit faster than she is so you can easily stay out of her reach. She really seems to enjoy the pursuit and she's unwilling to give up her quarry.

Eventually, things settle down some and the two of you sit in the swings where you manage to catch your breath. She's still smiling devilishly at you so you keep your guard up and watch her warily from the corner of your eye.

"When's your mom coming home?" Jane asks.

"'Bout dark, I think."

"Wanna go get another pop?"

"Sure."

"We'll have to return the bottles 'cause I'm all out of quarters. If you'll carry half of 'em, we can take all of 'em down."

"Okay."



After nearly running the whole way there, you two are puffing as you crawl through the hole into the damp coolness of the 'secret place'.

"I need a rest," she pants, dragging the plump burlap sack out between the two of you. She flops over onto it and stretches her legs out, crossing her ankles.

"Me, too," you say, rolling over and laying your head down beside hers, stretching your legs out in the opposite direction.

The warmth of her ear and cheek are comforting to you as you stare up into the darkness trying to make out the floorboards. Her steady, rapid breathing gradually slows and your eyes start to glaze over. You haven't had an afternoon nap since you were in kindergarten, but you are beginning to see their appeal.

Jane finally breaks the silence in a soothing tone, "Gramma has a giant photo book filled with pictures of all kinds of neat places she's been to from all over the country. My favorite ones are from her honeymoon to the Grand Canyon. She was just a girl back then—even younger than Momma."

"It looks like mountains," she says, "but it's not. It's a big hole in the ground a mile deep. It's so big that you can't even see the other side! I'm gonna go there when I grow up. I'm gonna see everything in Gramma's book for myself."

Even in the dark and with your eyes closed you can feel the smile on her face, but it's short-lived and her voice becomes a hoarse whisper, "I wish I could live someplace else. Momma hates me. Gramma told me that Momma was in love with a boy that didn't love her back. That's why I don't have a Daddy and why Momma couldn't even look at me when I first got borned. The doctor named me Jane 'cause that's what they call girls when they don't know their name."

The feeling you had of drowsiness has completely and utterly faded now. You haven't felt this much sadness since the last time you saw your dad—driving away from the courthouse in his pickup truck and not looking back.

"C'mon," Jane says, sitting bolt upright, "let's change in them bottles."

You mr. Freddy

Jane spills her armload on the front counter by the cash register. After she's righted all of them, she starts pulling them two at a time from yours.

"You've got quite a number this time, little lady," says a gruff heavy-set man, smiling. "You're gonna run me clear out of money if you keep on like this."

Jane shoots him a wide toothy grin.

"Let's see now. Nineteen bottles at three cents apiece… That comes to fifty-seven cents. Does that sound right to you?"

"Sounds right to me," Jane beams back at him, "Can I get it in quarters so we can buy pops?"

"Sure thing. Let me just put 'em in the crates and then I'll get you your money," he says, stepping from behind the counter and walking over to stacks in front of the big plate window in front.

While his back is to her, Jane snatches a Moon Pie from the impulse buy rack and slips it into the fold of her tied shirt.

Stepping toward her, you whisper "You shouldn't do that. What if he catches you?" You glance over to see if the man noticed and, sure enough, you see that he's watching her in the convex mirror hanging up front in the corner.

Before you can say anything, he's already back at the register and putting the bottles in the crates he's brought back with him.

You're shaking like a leaf and expect him to drop the hammer at any second, but all he does is smile at you knowingly and wink. He turns toward the register, pushes a button to release the tray, and slips several coins into his other hand.

"Here you go, little lady," he says, dropping the stack into her open palm. "That's fifty-seven cents. You'd better count it to make sure it's all there."

"Thanks!" she says, poking the coins deep into her pocket.

"By the way, when's the last time you ate something? I've made up a few too many sandwiches in the back and it looks like you two might be just the ones to help me get rid of 'em. Whaddaya say?"

You grin from ear to ear and nod vigorously.

Jane's face turns red as she looks off to the side and squeaks "Thank you, Mr. Freddy."

"C'mon, let's get at 'em then," he says, flashing his eyes at the two of you while clicking the drawer closed on the register.

On the way to the back, he grabs three small cartons of milk from their refrigerated case without breaking his stride—with you right on his heels. Jane is a reluctant half-step behind.

When you reach the meat counter, he steps behind it and pulls up a white butcher paper package from underneath. He opens it revealing three ham and cheese sandwiches stacked high with lettuce, tomato and pickles and proceeds to cut them corner to corner, then fans them out on the paper sheet.

"Dig in," he says, opening the milk cartons and handing you each one, "There's more'n plenty to go around."

While you're eating, he bugs his eyes out at you and makes goofy looking faces. You can't help but laugh at his antics and Jane spews milk from her nose once.

Mr. Freddy has picked up a broom and is sweeping up behind the meat counter by the time the two of you have had your fill. He seems particularly interested in the dark corner beneath the bench that holds his slicer, grinder and saw.

"Thank you, Mr. Freddy."

"Thank you, sir," you say.

"You're quite welcome," he tells you both without looking up or turning around as you're heading toward the front of the store a step behind Jane.

When you get to the register, Jane pulls the Moon Pie out of her shirt and puts it back in the rack without looking back. You couldn't be more pleased. You look back toward Mr. Freddy, but he's still bent over behind the meat counter and doesn't see.

Once outside, Jane fishes out a quarter, drops it in the slot, and pulls out another root beer. You are too full to even think about drinking any of it and, on the way back to your house, take only tiny sips before passing it back to her.



You're sitting in the shade of the garage on the opposite side as the house, staring vacantly at the overgrown lot crowding in on the neatly trimmed edge of Honey's yard.

"You wanna come with me and Gramma to see the Grand Canyon when I grow up?" asks Jane out of the blue, hugging her knees to her chin.

"Uh huh. Okay."

"We can take Gramma's truck and drive the whole way there. She said I can have it when I grow up 'cause she'll be too old to drive it by then. I know how to drive it, she lets me drive it on the farm road when I'm at her house. She has to push the pedals for me, though, 'cause I can't reach 'em. I'll teach you how and then we can take turns. She's got a big camper on the back for sleepin' in, but we always sleep in the house on the big bed 'cause she's got tired ol' bones and she needs her rest."

"We need to make up a map of all the different places," you say, excitedly, "And we can stop at bus stations to find even more. The one we stopped at had posters from all kinds of places. I want to go see them places too."

Jane looks over at you and smiles.

For the next little bit, the two of you talk about the various places that you know about. The whole idea of adventure really appeals to you and you're probably even more excited than she is about it. Every time you look over at her, she's staring back at you through glassy eyes that say more than words ever could.



Jane notices Honey's car pulling into the driveway before you do. She leaps to her feet and says, "I better go so you don't get in trouble. See ya tomorrow," she throws over her shoulder as she heads toward the back, carefully keeping the garage between her and the driveway.

"See ya later," you holler to her as you watch her dash off between the evergreens and disappear down the alley.

You walk around the back of the garage to greet your mom when she gets out of the car, but just as you round the corner another car pulls in behind Honey's. You duck back and peek around to see two scraggly looking men get out.

Honey walks over to one of them. He throws his arm around her waist and pulls her to him. The other walks up beside your mom and leans back against the trunk of the car next to her.

You stay hidden until they've all gone inside and then you go sit on the swings and watch them through the kitchen window. They are laughing and you see them drinking beers and passing a cigarette back and forth. You didn't even know your mom smoked!

You watch her go sit on the man's lap like she used to with your dad and kiss him every now and then. Maybe he's her boyfriend now. It's good that she has friends again. Maybe she will be okay.

You find something to do

There's nothing to do and you've been sitting here so long that your butt has fallen asleep. You need to do something—anything—, but what?

You get up and begin taking a stroll around the yard. You turn over a couple of rocks at the edge of the flower bed and pluck a stiff, dry grass stem to herd the pill bugs you find crawling around under them. You usher them first one way and then another before it grows tiresome and you replace their stone shelter.

Standing up, you wipe your hands off on your cutoffs and walk around some surveying the area. There is absolutely nothing here for a boy to do. You sure aren't interested in looking at flowers even if they come with their own bugs.

When you get to the edge of the front yard, you turn down the street and pace back and forth the half a block between Honey's house and the lamp post on the corner. It doesn't take long for this to get very, very old.

You hear a buzz overhead and look up to see the light beginning to flicker to life. Already, there is a swarm of mosquitoes and a moth flitting around it.

You study the sky and see that it will still be hours until nightfall. You're not sleepy yet, but might as well head back anyway.

You head for bed

You go into the garage and flip on the bulb. You flop down on your cot and lay there staring up through the ceiling joists at the shadowy undersides of the boards above the rafters. In the swirls and squiggles of their grain and knots, you make out tiny little faces—each with their own unique expressions. It's a gift you've had since before you can remember that has served no other purpose other than to make you feel not quite so alone all the time.



"Wake up sleepyhead," your mom says, shaking you.

You slit your eyes open and stretch your arms as far back over your head as they'll go.

"Here's a dollar so you can buy your lunch at the grocery store," your mom says, dropping the bill on your chest. "It's three blocks that way," she points in the direction of Fredrick's, not knowing that you've already been there. "Make sure you come straight home, okay? Today's payday, but I got a few dollars in tips yesterday so we'll spend that so we don't eat up all of Honey's food."

You try to blink the sleep away. "Are we getting a house when you get paid?"

"I'll probably start looking for one in the morning, but I don't think I'll have quite enough yet. We might be here for a little while."

You look over at the garage's bare wall studs and can see spots where light seeps through. You sure hope you don't still live in here in the wintertime, because it might get really, really cold.

"I'm going out dancing tonight after work. I probably won't be in 'til late so you be in by dark. I'll be here when you wake up."

"Okay."

"Oh! an' before I forget, Honey left you some bananas for your breakfast. They're in the sack by the door. I'll see you when I get home." And with that, she's out the door.

A couple minutes later, you swing your feet over the side and slide them into your flip-flops. Standing, you stretch one last time as you lurch stiff-legged toward the door, grabbing the sack on your way out.



As you round the corner to Jane's house, she bolts out of the front door and hop-skips over to you. She grabs your hand and drags you toward her house.

"Hurry up!" she says, nearly yanking your arm out of its socket, "I made something for you."

She practically dives through the hole into the "secret place" and you scurry in behind her wondering what all her excitement is about. She flips open the "treasure chest" and hands you a folded up sheet of notebook paper.

As you're looking at it a little confused, "It's a card, open it up!" she demands.

You carefully flip it open. Inside are the words "Bestist Frend" drawn with a careful hand in crayon and signed "Jane".

"See?" she asks, "I made it the color of our eyes, blue and green!"

"Nobody ever gave me a card before," you say, looking back and forth from it to a beaming Jane, smiling.

"My pleasure!"

"Ain't never had a best friend before, neither." You barely even manage to get the words out before she throws her arms around your neck, hugging the daylights out of you, and kisses you right on the mouth! This time you don't pull away because you know it's out of happiness.

When she finally lets go, you say "Better put it back in the 'treasure chest' to keep it safe."

"Okay."

While she's carefully arranging everything in her collection, you remember the sack and say "I've got bananas for breakfast. Want one?"

Her face lights up and, nodding, she shuffles forward on her knees over to you. You snap the one off of the bunch that doesn't have any soft, brown spots and hand it to her.



You've been walking around and talking for a couple of hours, not having any specific destination in mind when Jane says "Wanna go see the school? It's closed up for Summer right now, but I know where Second Grade is. I can show you."

"Yeah, okay."

A couple of blocks later, you're cutting through a corner gas station when a display rack just inside the door catches your eye.

"They got maps here," you say, pivoting toward the door. Jane holds up and then reluctantly follows you in.

You're slowly spinning the display carousel, trying to discern the meaning of all the different shapes and colors when a lanky, bearded man in oil-stained coveralls and wiping his hands on a greasy rag steps in through the side door from the garage. "What are you kids doing in here?" he says, a little too gruff.

"I-I'm l-looking for a m-map to the Grand Canyon," you stammer.

"There ain't no Arizona maps in there," he says, pushing you to the side and taking control of the display. "It might be in the Central and Western U.S. road map, here," handing you one.

On the top corner, you see "25¢" printed in the center of a circle and you debate buying it out of the dollar you have shoved in your pocket.

"What do you want it for, anyway?" he asks.

"I w-wanna s-study how to get there for when I'm growed up, 'cause me and Jane are gonna go see it someday."

He furrows his brow looking the dirty pair of you up and down and finally says, snatching the map from your hands and returning it to the display, "Wait here. I think I have an old one in my glove compartment that I'll just give you. I need a new one anyway."

When he's out of earshot, Jane gets right up close to your ear and whispers "He came home with Momma one time. He's not nice."

"Whaddaya mean?"

Jane only shrugs and looks away.

The man comes back with a folded, tattered map and hands it to you. "There you go, son. I don't expect I'll need one for a while so I'll just get a new one when I do."

You reluctantly take it and say "Thank you", but it worries you not knowing what Jane meant.

You turn and follow her as she steps quickly outside.



Before you stands a long red brick building surrounded by a native stone wall with a built in sag between sturdy pillars.

"That's the school," says Jane, "C'mon I'll show you the Second grade. It's on the other side right next to the playground."

You follow her around the end of the building and see a half-dozen children a few years older than yourself lazing around in a chain-link yard.

Jane freezes.

"Hello," comes a sweet womanly voice from behind you, making both of you jump. "You two aren't here for Summer School, are you?"

"Nope," you say, "I don't even go to this school yet. I just moved here."

"I was gonna show him the Second grade," says Jane.

"You go right ahead."

Jane grabs your hand and pulls you toward a long set of windows. "That's it right there," she says, pointing.

Cupping your hands to the side of your face, you peer through the glass and see rows of small desks, blackboards and the large teacher's desk. It looks basically the same as your First Grade classroom did last year.

"If you two want to eat with us, you can," says the woman from behind you. "I brought plenty of sack lunches to go around."

You and Jane swap glances, then you both nod in unison and say "okay" with giant grins on your faces. You turn around to see that she's holding out a small paper sack with its top neatly folded down to each of you.

The two of you sit with your backs against the school building while you devour your bologna with mustard sandwiches, carrot sticks and an apple half. The other kids have their lunches sitting on whatever playground equipment they happen to be on when the nice lady delivers their sacks to them.

You it Begins

You wander around town for a while and end up back at the secret spot. The two of you are scrutinizing over the faded and torn map and begin planning your route.

"Here it is! The Grand Canyon is almost straight across and only a little down," you say.

The two of you trace roads with your fingers trying to find the most direct route and puzzling out all the different town names.

When you've grown weary of it, you have Jane put it in the treasure chest.

You remember the dollar bill in your pocket. "Mom gave me a dollar to buy lunch with," you say as you dig it out and slick it down across your leg to try to get all the wrinkles out of it before handing it to Jane. "Probably better put it in the change jar so it don't get lost and we can buy something to eat with it later."

She smiles at you and carefully folds it before dropping it in with the rest of her money.

"Wanna go get a pop?"

"Sure," you say.

Jane fishes one of the quarters out of the jar and the two of you are on your way.



Half a root beer later, you find yourself at the park just idly swaying back and forth on the swings. The place is deserted due to the afternoon heat and you try not to let the dark, rusty chains touch your sides because it nearly takes the hide off whenever they do.

"Back before the divorce, Dad used to borrow the Tompkin's boat and take us to the lake on hot days like this. We'd go fishin' until it got too hot and then we'd cook whatever fish we caught back at the campground. Dad would clean 'em, mostly, but he showed me where to cut. He just wouldn't let me hold the knife by myself because I might get a bad cut. And then when it got too hot we went swimming in the lake."

"I can't swim," Jane says.

"I can teach you—it's real easy. Is there a lake anywhere around here?"

"No. Just the swimmin' pool over on Broad Street. It costs a dollar to go in and you have to have a bathing suit. They don't allow no cut-offs."

You pass the time idly and soon discover that the street lights have come to life. The shadows under the trees have become full black.

"I didn't know it was so late," Jane says, "we gotta get home so we don't get in trouble."

"Mom isn't coming home tonight so I'll be there all by myself."

"Wanna spend the night at my house?"

"I better not. She's supposed to be back in the morning."

"Well, you can come over for a little while. Momma never comes home on the weekend and it's always boring with nothing to do."

"Okay."



You follow Jane up the front steps of her house and stop at the wide open door. Every time before now it has been closed.

You hear a woman cough from the blackness within and see a tiny orange ball of light swing in an arc and bounce off of something, exploding in a shower of sparks. "Shit!" the voice says, and then a lamp flips on and you see a ragged, dark haired lady wearing a thin white cotton dress that's twisted halfway around her middle sitting spraddle-legged in the recliner in the far corner.

Jane opens the screen door and takes a small step inside.

A drunken slur whips out like a pistol shot, "Why are you so late?!" It's obvious by the tone that she doesn't care about an answer.

"I was playing at the park with my new friend—"

A flat pint bottle whistles past your heads and shatters on the porch column. "Don't give me that shit! I've had it with you! If you get the cops out here again, you'll regret it!" she spits venomously.

"I wouldn't do—" Jane starts apologetically as the woman springs from her chair like a cat, snatching her by the arm and starts waling on her in a flurry of slaps.

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" you scream, hitting the woman at the waist and grappling with all your strength, trying to force them apart.

She flicks you away like an insect, but loosens her grasp just long enough for Jane to slip free.

Screaming in half terror, half frustration, Jane flies out the door and into the dark street.

You dodge around the crazy lady who doesn't give you a second glance as she steps out onto the porch in pursuit of Jane. She stops at the edge, clutching the column to keep from falling on her face, and screams "You better run you little bitch!"

You run out into the dark street in the direction you think Jane went and have gone more than a block when you decide she must've gone a different way.

Now you've done it. You can feel someone or some thing watching you and you're pretty sure it isn't Jane. You're about to turn around when you hear sobbing up ahead.

To your relief, you find her crumpled in the grass between the sidewalk and the street. She's pounding her fists and half squealing, half moaning in her rage.

You crouch beside her, putting your hand on her shoulder and she looks up at you through swollen, tear-filled eyes.

"Are you alright?" you ask.

She opens her mouth to say something, but can't seem to form the words so she ends up just nodding.

"C'mon. You can stay at my house tonight. I'll tell Mom what happened when she gets home in the morning. It'll be okay," you say, helping her to her feet.

Jane shakes her head and says between hitches "Not there. With her. She might come back early."

You walk with your arm around her for a few minutes, half carrying her as she regains herself and somehow end up in a dark alley. You hold on to her a bit more tightly than before. Her warmth and presence is enough that you feel safe.

About halfway down the alley, Jane grabs your hand and pulls you through a leaning gate—held up somewhat by its bottom hinge which is only still barely attached—toward an eerie and desolate looking, boarded up house.

"C'mon," she says, "I know the way in."

"W-wait. What if something's in there? What if someone catches us?"

"Don't worry. No one ever comes here. This place is 'bandoned."

There are strange dark shapes crouched in the high, unkempt grass that you really hope are only bushes. You look up at the attic vent and can feel eyes peering back at you from the pitch black gaps between the louvers.

"Here," Jane says, stopping cold and pivots you around on legs that desire to keep moving. She swings a section of plywood to the side exposing a window. "Go on in. I'll hold it open for you."

"I don't like this," you say looking over your shoulder toward the front of the house.

"C'mon. Ain't nothin' to be afraid of," she says, hiking a foot up on the windowsill and slithers her way through.

After another cautious survey, you grip the windowsill on either side and hoist yourself up and through into a darkened and vacant dining room. Overhead hangs a chandelier—the only thing in the whole room.

"See? Told ya," she says, throwing her arms wide in presentation, "There's not even any furniture."

You creep softly past her to the door to the front room and look from side to side. Light filters in through cracks in the boarded up front windows from the street-lamps somewhere outside.

Jane plops down with her back against the wall. "I think I'll stay here tonight. I sure ain't goin' home."

"Come home with me," you try again, sliding down beside her, "Everything will be better tomorrow. I'll make a pallet on the floor and you can sleep on my cot."

"Nope," she says, shaking her head, "I don't like your mom."

"She won't do anything to you. She only gets mad at me sometimes—not all the time. She never does anything to anyone else."

Jane shakes her head and you can tell by the look on her face that she means it.

"I'll just stay here with you then," you say.

Jane frowns at you. "You'll get in trouble."

"I don't care. You're my friend and I won't leave you here all by yourself."

Jane smiles and clutches your hand in hers, folding her fingers around yours and scoots tight up against you. She lays her head on your shoulder and lets out a long, slow sigh of relief.

"I'm happy you're my friend," Jane says wistfully as she drifts off to sleep.

You softly lean your head against hers as her breaths deepen and slow.

No Haven

You've only just drifted off when a booming man's voice jars you awake and you very nearly leap out of your skin. "What are you doing in there? Come out of there, you two," he commands, piercing your eyes with his flashlight beam.

You stagger to your feet and help a groggy Jane to hers. You saunter over to the window and help steady Jane as she picks her way through.

"Oh, it's you again. You shouldn't be in there. This place is falling apart and you could get hurt."

"We were just exploring," pleads Jane, "weren't hurting anything."

"Looked like you were sleeping to me."

"We just took a little nap is all 'cause we got tired."

The man grabs you by the arm to steady you as you hop down to the ground. He's wearing a dark uniform and you see a shiny tin shield pinned to his left breast pocket.

"How many times have I told you to stay out of places like this, young lady? Maybe I should take you to the station and let you sit in a cell overnight to let you think about it. Maybe then you'll listen when an adult tells you not to do something." Turning toward you, he says "I don't believe I know you, do I?"

"N-no, sir. I-I just moved here," you say, trembling.

"Well, let me tell you that we take a mighty dim view on breaking and entering and trespassing around here. You look old enough to me to know that if something doesn't belong to you you should just leave it alone."

"Y-yes s-sir." Your eyes begin to well up. You've never met a police officer before and now he's about to arrest you and throw you in jail.

Jane stands there, rigid and glaring. She seems so strong and defiant—something you could never hope to be—looking as if she could attack at any moment.

After a couple minutes that seem more like hours, he says "Now you two get on home right now and don't let me catch you around here again or I will take you in. You understand?"

"Y-yes sir," you say, backpedaling before he can change his mind. You take a couple of steps backward, but Jane only stands there, boring holes in the officer. You snatch her by the hand and drag her along with you. Her gaze remains fixed on him until he's completely out of sight.

"What were you trying to do, get arrested?" you ask.

"He don't scare me none," Jane fumes.



You take your sweet time, wandering along first in the direction of your house one minute and then Jane's the next not really wishing to end up at either place.

Somehow you reach the railroad tracks on the edge of town and the two of you absently turn and follow them.

You look warily over the dark embankment not knowing what may be lying in wait in the undergrowth just waiting to pounce. You wouldn't even be able to hear it the way the gravel is crunching beneath your feet.

You take a half-step closer to Jane. Even though it doesn't help all that much since she's not as big as you you somehow feel that there's safety in numbers.

You reach the edge of town and the wide spot that passes as a railroad staging yard. The street lights are behind you and everything here seems somehow darker even though your eyes have adjusted more to the lack of light.

There's a short string of boxcars on the side track and the shadows under and between them are completely black. If there was someone or something hiding in them, you wouldn't be able to see it until it was too late. Jane doesn't appear to be bothered by this even one little bit.

While you're busy keeping an eye out for movement, Jane steps up to the side of the second boxcar where its door is open a couple of feet—jumps up, pokes her head in and cranes her neck from side to side trying to glimpse what might be inside. You step beside her and shield your eyes with your hands from errant light and can't make out anything but more blackness.

"Boost me up," she says, lifting her leg and holding her foot out to you.

"I don't think we should."

"Don't be such a fraidy cat. There's no one around."

You grab her foot with both hands and hoist her up. She's as light as a feather.

"C'mon."

After double-checking to make sure there's nothing that will grab you from underneath the car, you plant your hands on the floor and jump up, but it's still a little too high to throw your leg over. You try again jumping with all you have and still no dice. On the third attempt, Jane grabs you under the arm and heaves just enough that you manage to hang your foot. You can feel yourself sliding back out and under the car, but she snatches you behind the neck and you strain against her hands gaining just enough leverage to make it up.

The two of you shuffle your way toward the end of the car where you find a few scattered and crushed cardboard barrels. You step around them and make your way toward the corner where you hear Jane slide down the side wall on the same side as the door and you turn and seat yourself against the end so that you are facing the door.



"When Momma drinks she gets mean. She's not always like that. Mostly she acts like I'm not even there."

"My mom's starting to get like that. She spends all her time over at Honey's house and now she's got a new boyfriend."

"Your mom will never be as bad as mine. She doesn't hate you."

"Maybe, but things keep getting worse instead of better."

It's too dark to see Jane's face, but you can tell she's staring at you. It makes you a little uncomfortable.

"Maybe we should just leave and go somewhere," Jane finally says, "Maybe we could live at Gramma's house. She's really nice."

"I'm not sure."

You lean your head back and think about what it would be like without your mom. You've never been away from her for long. It's a little scary, but also a little exciting. You'd get to be with Jane. That's also exciting and scary at the same time, too.

While you ponder all of this, you drift off to sleep.

You unexpected Journey

You are jostled awake, but the rhythmic clacking and gentle, soothing rocking makes it difficult to keep your eyes open. Slowly, you begin to drift back toward dreamland when you come to a sudden and horrific realization and your eyes pop wide open.

"We're moving!"

Jane moans softly in her sleep.

Goose-pimples peak the length of your arm and the tiny hairs on the back of your neck come to attention. You reach out toward her sleep sounds and your hand finds Jane's cheek with more force than you'd intended.

She bolts upright, swinging and lands a hard slap to the side of your head.

"We're moving," you repeat, cradling your ear, "The train's moving!"

She jumps up and the two of you stumble over the debris as you dash for the partly open door. Outside, the ground whizzes by at breakneck speed. You can barely even make it out as it passes by in the darkness. There is no way you'd be able to jump out at this speed—especially when you can't see where you might land.

"We're stuck here," says Jane, "We'll just have to wait 'til we stop to get off."

"How will we find our way back?"

"We'll just follow the train tracks. They go straight back to town."

"Yeah…" you say, staring blankly toward the horizon—seeing the land zip by faster and faster in your imagination as it rapidly approaches a blur.

You return to the front of the car and sit back down next to Jane.

With each passing clack, you know that you are getting farther from home and deeper in dutch with your mom. There's no telling what she'll do to you this time when you get back.

"My mom is going to be really mad when she finds out I'm not in the garage," you say.

"We should just keep going and find somebody nice to live with. Gramma doesn't have a phone, but maybe we might could find her house."

"I don't know. What if she doesn't like me? What if we can't find someone who likes both of us?"

"Then we'll keep looking 'til we do."

You lay your head down next to Jane and think about what she said. You've never been away from your mom before. What if everyone turns out to be just like her?

You can feel the vibrations through the wood in your teeth. It feels really weird.





You wake up and the car is still once more. Maybe it was just a dream.

You reach out your hand in the darkness, find Jane's shoulder and gently shake her awake.

"Are we stopped?" she groggily asks.

"Yeah. We should probably get off the train in case it starts moving again."

You stand up and help Jane stagger to her feet.

Looking out the door, you see the street-lamps on the wrong side of the track. The diesel engine drones idly in the distance and you can see a rhythmic flashing light coming from that direction, but it's too far away to make out more than that.

You hop down onto the crunching gravel and quickly make your way into a stand of trees that are silhouetted against the predawn sky. You sit there until the train resumes its journey and see the sun peek out above the horizon.

When you're sure that the coast is clear, you make your way in the opposite direction that the train was headed. A short distance down the tracks you find a similar looking yard to the one you'd left last night.

A line of metal buildings that serve the railroad runs along the street of whatever town you're in now and the two of you rattle doorknobs in hopes that you'll find one unlocked. They are all locked up tight.

You resume your trek.

A few blocks down, you come to a crossing and see a highway sign a short distance away. You see the numbers 281 printed in big block letters inside of a white shield. If only you had your map with you, you might be able to figure out where you are and how far away you are from your home.

The sun is at your back and your shadows stretch into nothingness ahead of you.

Jane carefully steps on every cross tie as she walks along while you step on every other one with your other foot on the rail—matching her stride for stride—which makes you appear to have a bad and pronounced limp. Your foot slips every now and again on the rail's dew covered surface.

"I don't like Momma's boyfriends. Sometimes they're mean to her and sometimes they're mean to me."

"Your Mom has boyfriends?"

"Yeah, lots of 'em. Every time she goes out and gets drunk, she gets another one. Sometimes it's the same one, but not always."

"Why does she have so many?"

"She has to. Kids cost a lot and it's the only way she can make money. Each one only gives her a little money and sometimes they give her stuff when they don't have any money. I wish she could find a job like your mom has. Nobody wants to give her a job, though."

"Why do they give her money if they are mean to her?"

Jane shrugs. "Because she needs it, I guess."

"Why are they mean to you?"

"Nobody likes a bastard. It's just the way it is."

"What's a bastard?"

"Somebody that doesn't have a dad."

"I don't have a dad anymore, either."

"But you had one so you're not a bastard. It's only kids that never had one."

"Oh."



You've walked in silence for quite some time when you come upon an iron trestle bridge that spans a wide, muddy river and just beyond it you see a lineman's shack. The cross ties are wider spaced across the bridge and you aren't really looking forward to crossing it, but there's no way around it that you can see.

"I need to pee," says Jane.

"Me too," you say, relieved that you can put off crossing the bridge for a few minutes at least.

The two of you step just into the trees, find a spot where the other won't be able to see and do your business.

"Hi girly," croaks a hoarse, grating voice, "What're you doin' out here all by yerself? Er you lost?"

You nearly jump out of your skin. You can't see the speaker, nor Jane.

"Ahhh!" Jane screams, "Let go of me!"

You sprint through the underbrush toward the sound of her cry and stumble out behind a wiry and hunched over, dirty looking man who has Jane caught by the arm.

You run up and kick out as hard as you can as he's turning around to see what the commotion is.

"Let her go!" you shriek, connecting with his shin.

He momentarily loses his footing and Jane falls away from his grasp. You snatch her by the hand as she stumbles to her feet and the two of you race off deeper into the woods.

After a few minutes, you both stop—bent over to catch your breath—and hear no sign of the scruffy old man in pursuit.



You head back in the direction you think the tracks are in, but at an angle and—after trudging through the underbrush for quite some time—discover that you are in fact hopelessly lost.

Mosquitoes swarm all around you and it's impossible to wave them off. Your hair drips with sweat and trickles the fine dust that covers your face into your eyes causing them to swell and burn. Your arms and legs are covered in swollen bumps from hundreds of itchy bites and the underbrush you've been plowing your way through has left tiny cuts and scrapes everywhere your skin is exposed. Both of you are a mess.

You surprise Guests

You've been walking for what seems to be hours without sight of the tracks or the river when the sky starts to darken overhead. You look up to find menacing looking clouds fringed on the edges with lightning. You quicken your pace and just then the heavens decide to open up. The wind nearly knocks you off your feet and the rain scours your skin.

Soaked to the skin and shaking like a leaf, you step out into a clearing where way out in the middle of it, you spy a quonset-style barn that's open at the ends. The two of you drag yourselves over to it with lightning striking all around, accompanied by instant and deafening thunderclaps. You feel extremely vulnerable out in the open like this, but you have to get out of this sweeping rain.

Inside you find that it's stacked high on both sides with bales of bright green hay. You squeeze your way between the front wall and the stack and find that there is a short and narrow crawlspace behind that runs the length of the building. The bales are stacked at a slight angle which makes a narrow shelf at the top of each layer.

Still dripping and now covered with dried grass, the two of you wring your clothes out as best you can and spread them out on the shelf of hay to dry and you sit huddled and shivering in the near darkness.

You notice how frail Jane looks. Her ribs are prominent and she looks somehow more drawn than you had ever seen her. She looks like a skeleton. You feel rage welling up inside you at the abuse she's suffered at her mother's hand. How could anyone be that evil?

Jane still looks worried. The narrow escape was still obviously weighing on her. When she looks over at you you smile and she smiles back.

Though you don't see it, you know that the sun has set due to the complete darkness outside. The wind has subsided, but the rain is still coming down in a deluge.

Exhaustion takes hold and you pass yawns back and forth. You rake hay into a rough pile and make yourself as comfortable as you can. Clutching each other for warmth, you try to force sleep in spite of your misery. And eventually you do.



You're jolted awake to the sound of a revving engine just outside the barn. You jump up and jerk on your damp clothes as quickly as you possibly can and stealthily make your way to the opposite end of the barn.

When you are sure that the coast is clear, you bolt—only to crash into a big man in faded overalls who latches onto you more out of surprise or instinct than anything else.

"Hold on there, kids", his voice bubbles, "where do you think you're going?"

"Let go of me!" Jane demands.

"What're you two doing in there?"

"Nothing…", you sheepishly respond.

"Where're you from? What's your name? Where're your folks?"

Realizing the futility of it, you both stop squirming and he eases his grip on your arms. You share a momentary glance with Jane and in that very instant, know that neither of you are about to tell this stranger anything.

After a couple odd minutes of silence, the farmer decides that he won't press you, but he sure isn't about to let a couple of young kids just run loose when he doesn't know who or where you belong. He steers you over to his idling tractor and makes you climb up—one on either side—beside his seat, then climbs up behind you. He shoves the tractor into gear and makes a beeline over the hill to his house.

"Martha! I caught a couple of rats in the barn!" bellows the farmer from behind you as he ushers you through the door of the small farmhouse.

"What's that, Earl?" asks a stocky, gray-haired woman entering the room from the far door. "Lan' sakes! Where did these children come from?"

"I told you. I found 'em sneakin' 'round the barn. They're pretty scraped up, too. Could use some of your doctorin'"

"You children get caught out in the storm last night?"

You both slowly nod.

"Let's have a look and see if we can't get you cleaned up."

You look at each other and then move slowly in her direction.

"Come now," she says, putting an arm around each of your shoulders, "Why! You're still soaked! Earl, go get a couple of your shirts so the little ones can get out of these wet clothes."

"Yes, dear," he says, turning and quickly walking down a hallway.

"Now come this way. You can change in the other room." She ushers the two of you into the short, dark hallway that Earl just went down. By the time you reach the second door, Earl is coming out of the one in the very back.

"Here ya go," he says holding a shirt out to each of you.

"Now you go in here and I'll be right in to collect your clothes, sweetie. Jus' let me get the ointment and we'll take care of those nasty scratches while we're at it," she says to Jane.

"And you go with Earl and he'll bring me your clothes."

"Come on, little man," he says, scooping you toward the back room as he turns.

While you're getting out of your wet clothes, Martha taps on the bedroom door and hands a tube of salve, a washcloth and a white ceramic basin of water to Earl when he opens it.

"Have you seen how emaciated these children are?" she tries to whisper low enough to Earl so that you don't hear. "I don't think they've had more than scraps for weeks."

"Ayuh. They're pretty scrawny alright," he says quietly, "They must've been through quite the ordeal."

When he gets back to you, he gives you a quick rub down with a wet cloth and then smears salve all over your abrasions. It really stings due to his large hands being so rough and calloused, but the ointment itself is cool and soothing.

With the sleeves being much too long for your arms, you have trouble buttoning up the shirt and Earl ends up having to take over for you.

You departure

Jane looks ridiculous in Earl's gigantic shirt. It drags the ground around her feet as she plods back down the hall in front of you—doing her utmost not to trip on it. Of course, you must look equally funny since the one you're wearing is nearly trailing the floor on you and the cuffs dangle nearly a foot below your hands.

"I bet you two are starving," Martha says in a chipper tone, "Come on in the kitchen and you can eat some breakfast with us. It's almost ready. All I gotta do is set out two more places."

When you step through the door, you can't believe your eyes. You've never seen so much food on a table at one time. There are biscuits, eggs, both bacon and sausage, fried potatoes and gravy, and most of a left over ham in which a few slices have already been cut. There's a big block of butter and a loaf of light bread. Arranged next to each plate, is a bowl of oatmeal, a short glass of orange juice and a heavy round glass with a foot and stem full to the top with fresh milk.

You can't imagine how any more could even fit on the table without things tumbling off on the floor, but Martha does just that when she sets a place for you and Jane. And the table doesn't look any more heaped than it did already.

The four of you sit down and before you dig in, the elderly couple takes hold of each of your hands and bows their heads.

"Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty," says Earl with his eyes closed, and squeezing your hand he adds, "And thank you for bringing us these dear little ones that they may share in our feast. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," parrots Martha as she reaches out and starts heaping food on your and Jane's plates before she even does her own.

Everything is so, so delicious and you cram in more than you ever have in your entire life. Jane is stuffing food in and matching you bite for bite. Earl and Martha pick at theirs and appear to be enjoying watching the two of you eat.

When you finally push back from your plate it looks as if it has barely even been touched, but your belly feels like an overripe melon. There's no way you could possibly poke in another spoonful.

Your eyes have a mind of their own and you watch as the dinner table quickly disappears. You start to slump forward and are prevented doing a face-plant into your plate by Earl's massive hand. As everything goes black, you hear him chuckle and say "I guess this little guy's had plenty."

"So has this one," laughs Martha.



You are startled awake by a loud rapping on a door. You find yourself half-sunken into a big fluffy bed and Jane has an arm and a leg draped over you. Her warmth is so comforting and you don't want to move out of this very spot. The shades are drawn and let in only a pinstripe of blinding light making everything else in the room too dark to make out.

"They're sleepin' in the back room," you hear Martha say, "Poor little dears were starving and plumb tuckered out."

"Do you know who they belong to?" asks a strange man's voice.

"They wouldn't say. I s'pose they've run off and I can't blame 'em. They're jus' skin 'n bones."

"Don't worry. We'll get to the bottom of it."

The door cracks open and spills light into your eyes.

"Oh, you're awake," Martha says quietly, flicking on the light. "There's someone here that wants to talk to you. Let me get you your clothes so you can get dressed. They're all clean and dry now."

After Martha has closed the door, you shake Jane awake. "Someone's here to talk to us," you tell her.

"Who is it? What do you think they want?"

"I dunno."

Martha comes back in and lays your clothes out on the foot of the bed. "Hurry and get dressed and you all come on out."

"Who is it?" Jane repeats to Martha, but she closes the door without answering.

You both heave yourselves over and roll off opposite sides of the bed and drag your clothes on, leaving Earl's crumpled shirts behind.



You follow Jane down the hall and she freezes as she steps into the front room. You lean forward, peering around her and see a policeman framed in the outside doorway. He's wearing a brown and khaki uniform and has a star pinned above his breast pocket.

"Step in here so I can get a better look at you," says the deputy.

You both take tentative steps into the room—being careful to keep your distance.

"I don't think I've seen either of you before. Where are you kids from?"

You look at Jane and her face is like stone. The policeman would probably take Jane back to her house so her mom could hit on her some more. It might be for the best if you stay silent and not tell him anything.

After a couple of minutes, the deputy takes you each by the arm and says "Well, I guess we'll have to do this the hard way then. Come on and let's go."

You and Jane are ushered along and both of you walk stiff-legged out to his car.

"You kids take care of yourselves," calls Martha from the porch as the car door is being closed behind you. You look over and see her and Earl waving to you, but you don't feel at all like waving back.



You've been sitting on hard wooden chairs in the station for quite some time. Beyond the little glass window to the next room, you see several people moving around and you hear the occasional crackle of static mixed with garbled speech every now and then.

"We should run away," whispers Jane without turning to you, "before they can take us back."

"They'll just catch us," you whisper back, "We don't even know where we are."

"I can't go back home now. I have to find Gramma."

"You should tell them where she lives so they'll take us there."

"They won't. They'll only take us home."

"Not if you tell 'em how mean your mom is to you."

"They don't care none about that. They always take me back home."

You run away

"Okay. Let's get out of here," you say.

You wait until the dispatcher's head is turned and both of you bolt for the door. You don't hear any ruckus coming from behind you so you figure you made it. You don't have a clue where you are or where to go, but you run.

There are quite a few more people on the streets here than back at home. You try to keep out of sight at first, but there's just too many and not enough places to hide. If you knew the town it'd probably make things much easier. Eventually, you don't even bother trying to conceal yourselves. Why bother? It's not like anyone is paying you any mind, anyway.

After several blocks, you spot another one of those highway signs with 281 printed on it—only this one is smaller and way up high on a lamp post and has an arrow. Maybe you could find the train tracks again if you follow the little arrow.

"I think the tracks are down that way," you tell Jane.

She gives you a puzzled look.

"See the sign? I saw one like that, only bigger, when we were at that train yard."

"Okay. Then that's where we need to go. No one knows how we got here. They won't know where to look."

You both grin at each other and turn the corner.

About a block out of town, you find the highway. You don't see any sign of the tracks and decide to follow along it at a safe distance away so any passing cars won't notice you.

"We should get some food," says Jane, "we might have to walk for a long way and we don't want to starve. There's a store right over there."

"We don't have any money, though."

"We don't need money. I'll just grab something when no one's looking."

"I don't know. Mr. Freddy saw you last time. He just didn't say anything."

"Mr. Freddy's my friend."

"Then why would you steal his stuff?"

Jane shrugs. "'cause I need it, I guess."

Against your better judgment, you follow Jane over and into the store. While she walks down the aisles picking things off the shelf and acts like she's looking at the price tags, you pretend to look at the magazines in the rack. You don't like this at all, but you can't say anything now. It's too late for that.

Suddenly, a hand clamps down on your shoulder.

"Here you are. Now where's your little friend?"

You look up to see the deputy looking toward the back just as Jane steps around the corner.

"There you are, little lady. C'mon, it's time to go."

She sheepishly walks over to the two of you.

"You two are beginning to be quite the handful, you know that? I guess we should've put bells around your necks."

Jane glares up at him. You know your goose is cooked. There's nothing you can do now. It's all over.

"Just out of curiosity, how'd the two of you manage to get this far from home? I can't imagine that you walked over eighty miles. Did someone give you a ride?"

Jane says nothing. If you tell him you'll only get into more trouble so the only explanation you give him is a shrug.

"I guess it doesn't matter. There'll be someone here shortly to drive you back. And I'm sure there will be a lot of questions for you two."



A couple of hours later, you are back to your town. It was a long, quiet ride and neither you nor Jane gave more than a yes or no answer to the man that drove you. You only looked at each other attempting to communicate with only your eyes. All that she—and you, no doubt—could convey was sadness and a sense of hopelessness of the situation.

You sit slumped—craning your neck to peek through the patrol car's rear window—and watch as the officer who ran you and Jane out of the abandoned house a couple nights ago turns away from Jane and her mother, and walks back to the car. No sooner than his back is turned does she turn and shove Jane inside the house, slamming the door shut behind her.

The officer throws a glance over his shoulder, but doesn't break stride as he continues on his way.

After he closes his car door, you say "Is she gonna hit Jane?"

He turns sideways in his seat and looks back at you. "I wouldn't be surprised if she's not able to sit down for a week after pulling a stunt like this. Do you understand how dangerous it was for the two of you out there all alone? We're lucky that we found you before something bad happened to you. You don't know what some people are capable of doing to children."

"She hates Jane. I don't want her to hit her anymore."

"No mother hates her own child. She's just having a rough time raising her on her own—being a single mother and all."

"You don't know."

"Listen. I'll swing back by after I drop you off and look in on her, okay?" He starts the engine and pulls it into gear. "Everything will be back to normal as soon as this mess blows over."



As you pull into the drive, the door opens and your mom steps out on the porch. She rushes over to the patrol car and snatches you by the arm—dragging you out and pulling you close—as soon as the policeman opens the rear door.

"Here he is, safe and sound. No one knows how those two managed to make it so far away on their own."

"He's always been a handful. I can barely keep up with him most of the time. An' with this new job, I'll have to work extra hard at it, I guess," she says, flashing her eyes at you over a wan smile. "I'm just glad he's home."

"That's why we're here, ma'am. Glad to be of service."

He walks with you to the door of the garage and watches as the two of you step inside.

"Thanks again, Officer," your mom says, ushering you in and closing the door.

"You're quite welcome," he says, turning around and walking back the way he came.

She lifts the corner of the vinyl curtain to watch him get into his patrol car and pull out of the driveway. When she turns around to you, her face is a deep shade of red and skewed beyond all recognition.

"If things are so bad here that you felt the need to run away, then why didn't you just stay gone!?"

You don't have an answer. You take a step to the rear as she lifts the solid metal rod from the window and yanks it free of the curtain.

She is on you before you even know it—whipping you side to side like a terrier does a rat by a handful of hair in one hand while she whacks at your butt and the back of your legs with the curtain rod in the other. Every so often, an errant strike lands in the small of your back and your vision momentarily goes black. You can feel it cut deep and glance off bone with each blow.

"Why can't you do anything right? Why do you always have to go out of your way to make me mad?"

You try to lessen the blows by deflecting them with your palms, but it only forces her to swing harder. The flesh on the underside of your hands soon feels tight and swollen, and you no longer have control enough to maneuver them into a position of any benefit at all.

All you can do is grit your teeth and bear the pain. If you make even the slightest sound of whimpering, she'll "give you something to really cry about".

The stinging pain finally lessens as your vision fades and grows more and more distant as the world goes dark around you.



You don't know how long you've been lying here in the darkness. Your whole body throbs from one end to the other and you want nothing more than to return to sleep.

What about Jane? She was right. You and she need to just run away together and find her Gramma or else somebody nice to take care of the two of you. You don't have a choice anymore. You know that now. Your mom will end up killing you if you don't get away.

You slowly open your eyes. You drag your arms under you and shove yourself to your knees.

You see no sign of your mom and can only guess that she has gone back to the party in Honey's house.

You pick yourself up off the floor. You can't straighten your legs and your back is in an uncontrollable hunch, but you manage to maintain your balance and not topple over despite the impossible angle you are leaning.

One determined step after another, you make your way to the door.

The curtain is now back in its place over the window. You look at it for what seems like a long time debating whether or not to do something about that impromptu weapon. It would do absolutely no good, though, because she'd just grab something else to use on you the next time.

You reach out and grip the knob with all the strength you can muster. It doesn't give easily, but you manage to turn it enough that the latch lets go. You hobble on one foot through the open doorway into the bright afternoon sun and pull the door closed behind you.

You can hear music coming from Honey's house, but don't see any movement through the windows. You limp around the garage and through the back yard to the alley.



It's about mid-afternoon by the time you reach Jane's house. The place looks locked up tight. After calling into the "secret place" and getting no response, you amble up to the front door and rap on it several times with the same result.

Where could she be?

You check the Places You Know

You try to find the abandoned house that Jane took you to the other night. You wander down several alleys, but nothing looks familiar. Maybe it just doesn't look the same in the daylight.

You are about to give up when you spot the broken and leaning gate about a half a block down. You shuffle to it as fast as your legs will allow.

The house just looks like any other house in the daytime. The grass is taller than most and there are scraps of trash in the yard among the bushes that are in dire need of trimming, but there's nothing ominous at all about it.

You stagger up to the window that you crawled through the other night and see that it has been nailed down tight since you were here.

"Jane? Jane, are you in there?" you call as you rap on the boarded up window, but you hear only silence from within.

Your legs and back are starting to buckle so you drag yourself along the wall to the cement and brick porch on the front corner and kneel down on the steps. You suck air in through your teeth to try to ease the pain away, but with each heartbeat your skin twinges with sharp stabbing needles.

You give it a few minutes before striking out for somewhere else.



You head over to the train yard to see if she might be hiding out there and find that the place is completely deserted. There are no railroad cars in sight. There aren't even any buildings here like there were in the other one. It's just a wide gravel lot with two sets of tracks running through it. It looks so different in the daylight.

She could be almost anywhere and you barely know the town at all. You haven't even lived here for a whole week yet.

You have to take a break so you head over to a small grove of saplings just beyond the right of way and ease down to your knees in the sparse shade they provide. You don't know if you'll be able to get back up again, but you know you can't stand any longer.

It takes a good while for your back and legs to slow their spasms, but you've come down with a case of the hiccups. With each one, your back tries to curl back on itself and sends a new flood of agonizing waves of pain. Eventually, they subside and you heft yourself back to your feet.

You head for the Park

You've made your way to the park only to find it completely deserted. Not a soul in sight.

Your legs are sluggish and you're having a difficult time staying on your feet. You have to rest a minute so you amble over to the swings and hang a knee on one. You slump stiffly forward—hanging onto the chain so you don't put down too much weight. All of your energy is gone and your vision is starting to blur. You can't help but close your eyes for few minutes.

You hear a crunch nearby and jerk your eyes wide open. You see movement off to both sides and someone is standing directly in front of you. It takes a couple seconds, but it dawns on you that it's Chortle from the first day you got here. If he's come to finish the job, there's no way you'd be able to defend yourself.

You look up at his face expecting to see the same nasty grin plastered across it that he had the other day, but he looks really sad.

You look side-to-side and see the other two boys standing there with their heads slightly bowed with nearly the same expression on their faces.

"We just heard about Jane," Chortle finally gets around to saying.

"Yeah. It's real sad news," says Tubby.

You squint up at Chortle—knowing full well that he's got to be up to something. It's all some kind of twisted joke he's set up. "What do you mean?"

"Don't you know? She's dead. Her mom killed her and they threw her in jail."

"Nah. You're lyin'. Get away from me," you say, heaving yourself back to your feet.

"No I ain't," he says, stepping over to the side when you lurch toward him with your fists doubled. "Why would I lie about something like that?"

"Get away from me. I'm not gonna listen to you."

"But it's true!" he pleads.

"Yeah, it is," says one of the other boys.

You keep walking and they don't follow. You've never been this mad in all your life and if your muscles weren't so stiff and on fire, you would've hit him right in the nose.

You dire News

You hobble into Fredrick's Grocery and see Mr. Freddy slumped and leaning heavily on his forearms over the counter by the register. He turns his head and looks up at you as you enter.

"My God, son! What happened to you?"

You shake your head intending to not say anything, but the words slip out before you can stop them. "I got in trouble for running off." That doesn't sound quite right so you add "but I didn't. It was just an accident."

Mr. Freddy looks confused and even more concerned. "Come over here boy and let me look at you."

You take a couple of slow steps toward him and he meets you over halfway, taking you by the shoulder and leaning around to look at your back. "My God!" he whistles through his teeth, "Someone needs to do something about this."

You struggle to get out of his grip, but he doesn't let go.

"Come over here and hop up on the counter while I make a quick phone call."

"I can't. It hurts."

"I'll help you up and you can roll over on your belly."

He gently lifts you up on the counter before heading off somewhere. You can hear his clapping footfalls and after a moment of silence you hear him speaking, but his words garble and run together as you drift off to sleep.



"Aaahhh!" You jolt awake when a searing pain arcs through your back. You whirl around and see several people standing around you—an older couple that you guess are only customers talking with Mr. Freddy and a couple of firemen.

"Sorry about that," says a fireman wearing latex gloves and scrutinizing your wounds, "I guess it is as bad as it looks. I'll try to be more careful."

"…first the little girl and now this," says the woman, "What is this world coming to?"

"She was his friend," says Mr. Freddy under his breath, "Never saw one without the other since he got into town. They've been like two peas in a pod."

"What a shame," says the woman, "what a cryin' shame."

"Somebody should do something about it," says the old man.

"I intend to," says Mr. Freddy, "just as soon as Jarvis gets back. Joan said he was looking into a trespass out at the ol' Simon farm and she'd send him over the minute he got in."

"Young people these days have no business having children," says the old man.

"Well, I don't think there'll be any permanent damage," says the fireman who's been working on you, "let's get you over to the station and we'll get you all cleaned and bandaged up. What d'ya say?"

You're staring at the old woman puzzling over what she'd said and finally can't help but interrupt "What little girl? What do you mean?"

Mr. Freddy's head snaps around and he locks eyes with you, working his jaw without making any sound.

"He doesn't know?" gasps the old woman behind her hand, "Me and my big mouth."

"No. I guess not. All this must've happened around the same time," Mr. Freddy finally manages to say.

"What happened to Jane?"

Focusing back on you he begins to stammer "I— I'm sorry, son. She— she was—" before turning away and stalking off toward the back of the store.

The hairs on the back of your neck and arms prickle. "What happened to Jane?!" you shriek at the other dumbstruck faces.

In Hiding

Everything is kind of a blur. You remember being led to the firehouse and worked on in the back of the ambulance. You remember how everyone was busy coming and going around you and there were new faces popping up every now and again, but you can't recall everything that went on there. You don't even know how you got here.

You must've run when no one was looking because they never would've let you out of their sight in the condition you were in or the danger you could face if your mom had gotten her hands on you again.

You are laying face down on Jane's bag of covers in her "secret place". You can feel the cool dampness all around you and it is so soothing. There is something "safe" about this place. You understand now why Jane would hide and sometimes even sleep overnight in here.

With every stretch and adjustment you make, the bandages on your back and legs relax and constrict. This, too, is both soothing and comforting.

Your eyes have long since adjusted to the dim light filtering in through the grate—which you must've closed behind you when you crawled in, but you can't remember doing that, either. It's got too much of a greenish tint to it to be sunlight. It must be coming from the street lamp on the corner.

You look over toward the dark corner of the concrete foundation and see a couple empty pop bottles propped up against the change jar which still has your dollar resting on top of all the different coins. You remember sharing those root beers with Jane. Next to them is the 'treasure chest' all tied up neatly in the ribbon just the way Jane had left it.

Your stomach is growling and twisting in knots. You haven't eaten anything since the feast you shared with Jane, Earl and Martha early this morning.

You can't risk going back the garage for food and if you went to the store, Mr. Freddy would likely call the cops for your own protection. You don't know what else you can do other than just tough out the hunger like you've done so many times before.

You close your eyes and try to sleep, but the gnawing and churning won't allow you to drift off. You'll have to suffer through it or else find some way of taking the edge off.



You crawl over to the grate and see that outside it is full dark. You shove lightly on the grate and it groans loudly against the concrete foundation. You nearly jump clean out of your skin. When you finally catch your breath again, you lift up on it on the side and slide it over sideways.

The high grass outside is dimly lit and shadowy things move about just outside your vision. Your hands and feet go numb, and you get that all too familiar coppery taste in your mouth.

You crawl out and drag the grate back over the hole, keeping your eyes on the deeper shadows all around you.

One step after another, you make your way to the corner of the house and—instead of going around the front to the steps—climb up the side and slink your way past the window to the door.

You gently swing open the screen door—propping it with your foot—and heave up on the doorknob like you remember seeing Jane do, then push inward with all your strength. The door plows the carpeting with a ripping sound that makes a whole new battalion of tiny hairs rise to attention on the back of your neck. Inside, you see that it is darker than dark.

When the pounding in your ears subsides, you take a short step through the door and strain your ears against the silence. The only sound you hear is that of your own heavy breath going in and out.

Looking over your shoulder only makes the panic grow, so you focus on finding the door in the back wall. You tiptoe through the room with your hands out in front of you and hoping that whatever is lurking in here doesn't grab you by the arm or ankle from the dark.

You find the door facing and pull yourself around it, putting your back against the wall and slamming your eyes shut. Your tongue has swollen two sizes and scrapes leathery against the roof of your mouth.

You slowly open your eyes and can see the kitchen sink from what little light filters in through the window above it and the dim silhouettes of the cabinet doors flanking each side along the far wall. The linoleum floor is brighter than the dark carpeting in the front room and you can just make out that there's nothing creeping around in here—at least, not in the open.

You step lightly over to the sink and slowly make your way toward a wooden box on the counter. Taking another look behind you, you reach out and pry open the small doors with your thumbs. You reach inside and feel a soft bread wrapper with only a couple of slices left in it and a tall, square, cardboard box.

You take both items and turn toward the front door. The frame is much brighter from this side and is the only thing you can see clearly. Each step you take toward it gets longer and longer until you are at full gallop.

On your way through, you manage to snag the knob and jerk the door closed behind you—trapping whatever it was that was behind you inside.

You cross the porch—carefully skirting the dark window—and slip back around the side of the house, then crawl back inside to the safety of the "secret place" and drag the grate back into place.

Tearing them into chunks, you cram the two stale bread slices into your mouth and choke them down. You then turn your attention to the box. It is still unopened and you rock it lightly in your hands. You can feel the packed contents bounce against the sides. If you're very careful with them, you can stretch the crackers out for a couple of weeks.

After you prop it and the wadded bread wrapper against the wall beside the bottles, you flop face-down on the bag of covers.

Your thoughts turn back to the last few days and of Jane as the world around you fades into dream.



You wake up feeling a bit too warm and your mouth is dry and dusty. You are desperate for something to quench your thirst.

As you push yourself to your knees, your whole body screams out in agony. You'd forgotten all about yesterday, but it all comes flooding back to you now.

You reach over and pick up the change jar, but it's mostly pennies and the pops in the vending machine cost a quarter. You can't risk going there, anyway. You might not be able to get away this time.

After putting the jar back, you crawl over to the grate and peer out as far as you can with your face pressed against it. As far as you can see, all there is is tall grass and weeds so you push it out and to the side, and crawl out into the harsh sunlight. Then you carefully drag it back into place.

There are no houses beyond this street so you decide to crawl to the back of Jane's house before standing up. There aren't any close neighbors, but you can see a house a little distance on down the road.

At the far corner of Jane's house, you spot prefab concrete steps leading up do a back door. It's beyond where the kitchen lies and must open into a room you haven't been in. The house doesn't seem nearly as spooky in the light of day. You decide to see if you can open it and get inside so you can maybe find something to drink.

The door barely moves inward and bumps hard against something up high. You can't see beyond the light pink curtain so you release the knob. Unless you can find an open window, you'll have to go in through the front.

All the windows are latched from the inside so after you make certain there is no one in sight, you dash for the porch and shove your way in as quickly as you can—closing the door behind you.

After taking a second to let your eyes adjust, you walk across the room to the kitchen which is much brighter that the living room now. You stretch up on your tiptoes to reach the faucet knobs and find that they do still work. You catch handfuls of water and lose most of it bringing them to your mouth, but it doesn't matter. There's plenty more where that came from.

When you've had enough, you look around for something to catch water in for later. You find a couple of pots on the stove, but they're filled with moldy food. There are no plastic milk jugs in the garbage that you can rinse out so you start looking around for anything else that will work. The only other thing there is are whiskey bottles with screw on caps so you rinse them out as best you can and—even though you can still smell the alcohol in them—fill up six of the tallest ones.

You rummage through the cabinets and find a couple of cans of green beans and a can opener. They won't be as good uncooked, but since you have no choice you'll just have to eat them straight from the can.

The refrigerator is bare except for half a stick of butter which might help the crackers slide down easier, but you leave it where it is because it would only end up melting and making a mess.

You head over to the door in the far back corner that you thought was a closet and find that behind it is a small room with a water heater being the only major thing in it. There is also a broom, a mop, a dustpan and a bucket and other such cleaning tools that you suspect haven't been used on the place in quite some time. The floor is buckled and crinkles under your feet as you step lightly over to the back door. You see a lock mounted to the top of the back door well out of your reach and it takes some fancy maneuvering of the broom handle to slide the bolt out of the barrel, but the door is now usable so you don't have to go around to the front and be spotted by random passersby or the neighbors.

You make sure everything is back to exactly the way you found it before closing the door and carrying the water bottles and other items back around to the "secret place".



You've been hiding in here for the last two days when you hear footsteps coming from inside the house above you. Voices drift down to you through the floorboards. You hold your breath and don't move a muscle in case they can hear you as easily as you can them.

"This place is a filthy pigsty. How could anyone live in this place? Why was she allowed to even keep a child here?" you hear a woman say.

"No one knew. They mostly kept to themselves," says a familiar sounding man's voice, "You should hurry and get what you need because I'm not really supposed to let anyone in here until after the trial."

"I don't know how I'm ever going to find something for her to wear in all this mess. And even if I do, it'll have to be cleaned before the service."

"I've heard it's gonna be this Thursday, but have they decided where they're going to hold it, yet?"

"Yes, Thursday. It'll most likely be in the school gymnasium since there are so many people who've already called and want to send flowers. Since the story hit all the papers, there'll probably be a big turnout, too. It's always sad when someone so young passes."

"It was right in front of my eyes and I couldn't see it. The boy even warned me when I dropped her off and I thought he was exaggerating, like kids do. I wish I'd have listened. Really listened. I told him I'd look in on her, but by the time I got back it was too late."

That's who it is! It's Officer Jarvis. Now you can put a face to the voice.

"Don't blame yourself. The whole town new what shape the little girl was in and just sat on their hands. We're all to blame."

"But, it's my job to notice these things. I should've done something."

"We all should've done something more for her."

There's a few minutes where all you can hear is footsteps above you and then the woman finally says "I can't find anything in all this mess. We need to just take up a collection to get her something decent—even if I have to buy it all myself."

A short time later, you hear a car pulling away. You let out a long sigh of relief as you roll over onto your back.

You spend the rest of the afternoon looking over your map and at Jane's postcards. Everything you and Jane dreamed about seems so hopeless and so far away now. You only knew her for a few days, but it feels like you knew her your entire life.

Sometime long after dark, your grief finally gives way to sleep.

The Farewell

You sit on the bleachers at the edge of the school's soccer field, staring over at the gymnasium. The parking lot is packed tighter than if there were a game going on inside and the cars stretch clear down both sides of the street beyond where you can see. It looks like there might be more people here than even live in this whole town.

The funeral won't be for a while yet, but people are paying their respects and viewing her remains. You want so much to see her one last time, but not like that. So you just sit here—feeling more helpless and alone than ever before—and just stare at the building.

You hadn't seen the policeman since he'd dropped you off with your mother on that fateful day, but you can make out his face every now and then when he looks out at you from just inside the glass double doors. He's wearing a dark blue suit now instead of his uniform. When he opens the door and starts walking toward you, every instinct in your body tells you to flee, but you haven't the will to even stand. You are too tired and sad way down deep to run. You don't even care what he does to you at this point. You just close your eyes and wait.

You can hear his heavy footfalls as he approaches and then a hand on your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. You open your eyes and see through your tears that he has knelt before you and is struggling against his own tears for words. It takes him a couple of minutes, but he finally manages to speak.

"We've been looking everywhere for you and thought something bad might've happened. I'm glad to see that you're alright. I guess you're here to say goodbye to your friend. We can get you to the station and take care of everything afterward. Would you like to go in?"

You widen your eyes and your jaw slackens at the very horror of the suggestion. "No, huh uh," you manage to weakly get out.

"You really should, you know. She was your friend and she would want you there," he coaxes softly, "It'll be the last time you'll ever see her and you really should say goodbye."

Your eyes start to burn and you can't hold in your grief any longer. You scream from way down deep and fall forward as all of your strength falls away. He catches you before you hit the ground and scoops you up tight against him.

"I told you. I told you," you say hoarsely, between sobs.

He mumbles something, but you can't make out the words through your hysterical squeaks. You feel his chest heaving as he tries to hold back his own flood of emotions.

Eventually, you manage to get hold of yourself and so does he. He pulls you to your feet and wraps his arm around your shoulders. "C'mon. I'll go with you. This is something you have to do. I won't leave you. I'll be right there beside you the whole time."



Officer Jarvis reaches past you and pulls the door open. It is standing room only inside the building. Beyond the partition separating this area from the main gym, there are rows and rows of little white folding chairs reaching from one side of the basketball court all the way to the other where a long white box lays on its back with its lid standing open and draped in a filmy white shroud.

There is a line of people snaking its way back and forth between silver poles attached together at their top by thick red velvet ropes and up through the center of the packed seats. There is a dull roar permeating the building, but you don't see anyone talking.

He walks behind you with a hand on each shoulder, steering you toward the back of the line. Everyone else is dressed in nice clothes and suits, but you still have on the same ones you've been wearing since the first night you got here.

The line moves along at a snails pace. By the time you finally approach the open box, you are rocking back and forth from one leg to the other. It's not that you have to go so much as it is the anticipation of reaching the end of this line.

"She is so young," you hear the gray-haired woman in front of you say, "It's a real tragedy."

When the last of the people part in front of you and wander off toward the far end of the basketball court, you feel Officer Jarvis' hands give your shoulders a light squeeze. You know you have to walk the few remaining feet to look into the box, but your feet no longer want to cooperate. You stand there frozen — needing to see, but not wanting to with every fiber of your being.

"Come on," he says, "you're doing just fine."

He finally steps up beside you and wraps his arm around your shoulders—gently lifting and half carries you the last remaining steps. You squinch your eyes shut as tightly as you can and your whole body starts to spasm from the bottom of your feet all the way to your scalp.

The moment stretches on and on, and just when you feel like you might make it, your eyelids slowly begin to part of their own accord.

Everything is blurry at first, almost as if you are looking through a sheet of water on a window pane. The ultra fine netting gives the contents an almost supernatural feel—as if looking through a wispy cloud. Your eyes slowly follow the contour of the fabric sewn to the inside of the lid and come to rest on the sweetest face you have known in your short life.

She looks so pleasant, as if she were only lying there, sleeping. The stern expression she always wore is completely gone from her face now and she looks so content, so peaceful. She's wearing a dark blue dress spattered in tiny white flowers and her fingers are laced together below its wide lace collar. Her hair is combed out neatly and drawn back in a white ribbon that's tied in a bow off to one side.

You feel like you could just reach out and gently shake her awake, but you know you really can't. She's not merely asleep now—she is gone. And with that realization, your eyes begin to burn and you feel a flood cascading down the sides of your face and dripping off your chin onto your bare chest.

"Okay, we can go now. We need to find us a place to sit for the service," he says, curling your trembling body into his as he walks you around the far end of the room.

All the seats on the court are filled so he takes you back toward the stairway leading up to the bleachers where many people have already seated themselves.

As you round the corner, you see an exit sign over a door with a shiny metal bar across it and another closer one hanging from the ceiling that reads "restrooms" with an arrow pointing down a hall. You point up at it and he nods.

"I'll be up in the stands. Come find me when you're done."

You nod up at him and head down the hall.



You feel somewhat better after relieving your bladder, but you stare into the steel mirror at a boy that you don't recognize any longer. You slap some water on your face to wash away the dust and slump forward with your hands on the edge of the sink. Nothing about this is right. The world just doesn't make any sense anymore.

You pound your fists against the top of the sink and then turn toward the door. You see a paper towel dispenser and grab a couple on your way out.

When you reach the end of the short hall you turn toward the gym, but instead of walking that way you push against the steel bar with your back—feeling a twinge of pain as you do so—and step through into the sunlight.

You have to get away from here.



When you get back to the "secret place", you've already decided to head West. You don't have a choice any longer. You have to do this for Jane. And you have to do this now. It can't wait.

You begin carefully packing everything into the bag of covers. You dump the change jar into the bread wrapper to save space. You fill two of the screw-top bottles—and the root beer bottles, in which you have crammed wads of waxed paper that you found in the cabinets as makeshift corks, since you'll be able to sell them somewhere along the way—with water. The last thing you pack is an old paring knife that has its very tip broken off. It fits perfectly in the 'treasure chest'.

You'll leave as soon as it gets dark so no one sees you. Maybe there will be another train in the staging yard. If there isn't, you'll just keep on going until you do find one.

You into the Night

You try to focus on staying between the tracks and not on the darkness that is slowly swallowing you. Every once in a while, the side of your foot glances off one metal rail or the other and you take a step more toward the center. You have to be careful not to turn your ankle since you can only feel your way over the unevenness of cross ties and gravel.

There is no moon or even a single star in sky above you, but you can't risk taking a look upward in case something should brush against you and you should need to suddenly run in the opposite direction.

There is a fine mist in the air and every once in a while a small droplet smacks into your clammy skin making you wince. Your heart is sprinting, but your feet take their own sweet time.

You have to make it as far as you can before the sun peeks over the horizon. You don't think you'd be able to survive another beating.



You hear a low, rumbling growl coming from all around you. You can feel it more than hear it. The skin behind your ears tingles and your neck hairs prickle.

You spin around and around, swinging the bag like a baseball bat and desperately roar as loud as you can to scare off whatever it is that has you surrounded. Your tears burn your eyes and your heart tries to escape through your ears.

It's getting closer.

You scream at the thing in the darkness and hear it reverberate back to you, growing louder and louder. Your feet will no longer obey and your skin has become so stiff that if you could somehow move it would probably rip wide open.

You close your eyes and grit your teeth. Your whole face feels swollen.

The rumble has become so loud now that you can feel it welling up from the ground and into your feet. You can't even draw in breath anymore.

A sudden trumpeting roar blasts from behind you and you spin around to see shining eyes in the blackness. They are so bright that you can barely even look at them.

You turn on your heels and can see the tracks stretching out ahead of you. You run.

The thing is getting closer and closer. You spot a ravine shrouded in blackness off to the side and dive for it with every ounce of your being. Gravel plows through your forearms up to your elbows and you strike the side of your head on something solid.

It is on you now. The wind swirls all around you threatening to rip you from the ground.

You flip over and shield yourself with the bag as the thing races past. Through the flashes of light in your vision you can make out a shuttering silhouette and a slow realization bubbles its way to the surface.

It is no vile beast, but a train moving at breakneck speed.

You roll over onto your belly and push yourself up to your knees. You can see the light on the front piercing its way through the night. You turn and look back toward the other end and can see red lights bringing up the rear.

Your burning skin begins to gradually freeze as your breath slowly returns to you and your heartbeat softens and slows.

You gently caress your gritty forearms and pluck tiny stones from the soft fleshy underside.

You get back to your feet and climb the grade as the final car zooms by. In the dim glow, you can see the tracks clearly. After looking back to make sure there isn't another one coming, you step back in the middle and continue on your way.

You keep your eyes on the train until the tail light finally winks out of sight allowing the darkness to flood back in around you.



You are exhausted. You've been walking all night and your muscles are stiff and aching—almost feverish. You need sleep, but the sky has only started to gray behind you. You can barely make out the ground around you, but still can't see anything more distant. You'll have to find some place that you won't be discovered as soon as there is enough light for you to see by.

The bandages are pulling at your skin from the middle of your back to halfway down your legs and the burning emanating from under them sends a jolt from the base of your scalp all the way to your feet. With every step, the bag you have slung over your shoulder pounds more pain through your body.

It finally gets light enough that you can see. You spot a stand of high grass over by a barbed wire fence that will easily conceal you from sight. Not caring about snakes or whatever else might be lurking in there, you wade right into the middle of it and fall face down. You barely manage to pull the bag under your head before sleep takes you.



You wake up with the bright sun on your face and it's too unbearable to open your eyelids. You shield your face with your hand as you roll over onto your side and when your leg strikes the ground it burns like fire.

You forget all about the burning brightness and look down at your leg. It is beet red all the way up to your cutoffs and starts again at your belly. Your whole front is sunburned and even lightly touching it makes you wince.

You carefully shove yourself to your feet and look as far around you as you can see. Just beyond the pasture on the other side of the fence, the trees are thick and you can only see darkness within. There are no houses or roads within sight—only the train tracks.

You are extremely thirsty so you pull one of the screw-top bottles from the sack and gulp down several swallows before picking up the sack and slinging it over your shoulder. You head back to the tracks and—after taking another look around—continue on.

A New Normal

You've walked for most of the day—going off the embankment and crouching low whenever you spot a farmhouse, someone toiling away in their field or a car on a nearby dirt road—and the light is leaving fast when you hear yipping coming from behind you.

When you turn to look, you see a pack of dogs. No, not dogs, because these are all gray. They don't look as big as the ones in the movies, but they must be wolves! What else could they be out here in the wilderness?

You quicken your pace and keep looking back at them over your shoulder. Even though they are definitely following you they don't seem to be gaining. Maybe they're waiting for it to get dark before they sneak up on you and attack. They can probably smell the dried blood on your bandages and want to eat you.

You look around for somewhere to hide, but there isn't any place. All the trees nearby are scraggly and you don't really like the idea of trying to stay awake in a tree all night anyway so you keep moving.

Before long you start to notice the stars coming out and the night insects are starting to come to life. You turn around to look at how far back the wolves are and can't see any of them.

Maybe they are sneaking around to ambush you or maybe they lost interest and moved off in a different direction. Either way, you quicken your pace a little more just to be safe.

You happen to spot a long heavy stick at the bottom of the embankment and quickly rush down to get it. It is rather light and just a little longer than you are tall. It's a perfect walking stick and will make a nice weapon in case the wolves decide to attack.

Your weariness catches up to you. You have to stop every couple of miles to get off your feet and take a breather. The grassy embankment feels so cool and invigorating against your bare skin. You don't dare stop for long or you'll fall asleep for sure. Eventually, though, you do.

Your sleep is disturbed by the train screaming by in the night, but you are so tired that all you do is roll over away from the sound. You don't have the strength to even raise up to look at it. Then it is gone into the place where dreams live.

When you wake up, it's still full dark and you have no idea whether you only slept for a few minutes or for several hours.

You decide to eat a few crackers and polish off your first bottle of water before you set out again. The bottle isn't worth anything so you decide to save some weight and pitch it aside. Your leg muscles feel like blocks of wood from complete exhaustion and you have some trouble controlling them.

You also take the time to carefully tear the tape from your back and legs. It's been on so long that it feels as if it has grown into the skin. Most of the tenderness is gone, but there are still slimy scabs underneath. You can't see them in the dark, but you can guess that they are all different shades from blue-gray to yellow-green like they were the last time your mom got really mad at you.

After about an hour or so of walking you see the first rays of dawn on the horizon. There is a faint mist blanketing the field off to your left and a dark, dense thicket of trees to your right. Either place could be concealing all manner of things intent on doing you harm, but you don't have the time or the energy to dwell on it.

Mosquitoes whine all around your face and you can feel them lighting on your bare skin. It isn't long before the itching begins driving you mad so you take to jogging in the hopes that they can't keep up. It works for the most part, but in rays of the cresting sun you can see wispy clouds of them swarming off to the sides and on down the line. All you can hope for is to avoid the biggest share of them.

The sun has barely cleared the horizon when up ahead, you see a train parked on the side track of this town's staging yard. There are a couple of men milling around so you step over the rail and head down the short gravel slope to the ditch filled with stagnant water. There is a line of trees several yards beyond the slough which looks like the perfect cover to make your way up the line without being seen.

You take off your flipflops to wade through the ankle deep muck and on the other side you drag your feet through the knee deep grass until the slime and mud are mostly wiped away before slipping them back on.

Concealing yourself behind small trees, you make your way up to the train. The doors are closed on the few boxcars you see at this end so you keep moving until you find another short string. They too have their doors pulled shut so you keep moving.

You finally near the front end and can see the engine idling beyond the switch on the main track. You can barely hear any other sounds over its rumble. So that you aren't spotted by someone up there, you duck back behind the boxcars and make your way back toward denser cover.

Since all the boxcars along its length appear to be locked up tight, you'll either have to come up with some other place to board or else continue your journey on foot.

There are several flatcars loaded with timbers and other things that are tightly packed and don't offer any cover, a few with truck van trailers, but the ones that interest you most are two together with new farm implements chained down. Some of them appear high enough off the bed that you could squeeze under them where it would be hard for someone to see you unless they were really trying.

You from the Jaws of Death

You start to head over to one when you notice a pair of legs walking on the other side toward the back end of the train. You squat back down to wait until they are far enough away that you can make it over unseen, but you hear the engine rev and a couple of jerks later it is moving.

You give it a few more seconds while you look for movement on the other side before getting up and running over to the flatcar. It is still moving slower than you can walk so you sling your walking stick and bag up on it before grabbing a chain to haul yourself up. You throw your leg over the deck and when you try to wriggle up it slips off. You try again and again as the train slowly picks up speed, but you no matter how hard you try to climb up you can't get enough leverage with the train moving like this.

You jump up to try and snag your stuff, but it's just out of reach so you desperately look around for another stick or anything that would allow you to reach it. There is nothing but gravel so you give it one last try with everything you have.

You make a run at it again and try to swing your weight up over the side, but fall and land hard on the rail. A shooting pain courses through your ribs making it hard to catch your breath. You lay there for a second to let the pain go away when you remember that the train is moving. You glance over and see the steel wheels are nearly upon you so you roll away as fast as you can, but you can't move fast enough and they keep getting closer and closer. You try to scream and all that escapes is air.

Just then, large hands clamp down on your shoulders and you feel yourself being yanked from the jaws of death. One of your flipflops slips off and you try to reach back and grab it, but it's too late. Your heart is pounding and the world is swirling all around you. Everything within your field of vision has taken on a hellish red hue.

Before you even know what is happening, those same hands pick you up and sling you on up on the deck. You tumble and roll until slamming into one of the farm implements brings you to a sudden stop.

Stunned, you finally manage to look around to see what in the world just happened and you see a tall scraggly man in a old gray sports coat with leather elbows on the sleeves pulling himself up on the side of the car.

"It's a good thing I happened along or you'd have been cut clean in half. You would've definitely missed your train."

"Wh- what?"

"I was waiting for the train to start moving before I hopped on when I saw you sneaking around out there," he says, hooking a thumb over his shoulder toward the trees, "Didn't look like you were gonna make it so I decided to give you a hand. Didn't anyone ever tell you how dangerous it is to mess around with trains? You could get hurt or maybe even killed. If I hadn't been here you'd be dead right now."

You stare at him in silence.

"What's a kid like you hopping a freight for, anyway?"

"I have to get somewhere. It's real important."

"It must be if you're willing to risk your life for it," he stares at you for a brief moment then continues "I guess since we're going the in same direction, we might as well get to know each other. I'm Harvey."

You aren't really sure you should be talking to a stranger let alone tell him your name, but he did just save your life and he's standing there smiling at you with an eyebrow lifted expecting an answer. He doesn't really look dangerous and he did help you get on the train so do you tell him the truth or do you lie?

You tell the Truth

You reluctantly say "I'm Billy."

"Nice to meet ya, Billy. I guess we're gonna be here a while so might as well find a spot to get comfortable." He sits down between two of the implements—putting his back to one and props his foot up on the other—where he can't be seen from the ground.

You bring your bag over and find a nice comfy place out of view from the side. You sit down beside it—leaning on it with your elbow—with your walking stick laying across you lap while keeping a wary eye on Harvey.

"I saw you a ways back down the line and can't believe you made it this far. You've really covered some miles in the last couple of days."

"Yeah. It's a long ways to where I'm going."

"Where's that? If you don't mind my asking."

You study his face. You're still not sure if you can really trust him or not so you make up something on the spot. "I have to find my uncle in Arizona so I can live with him."

"Hope everything turns out okay for ya. I kinda like to keep moving. Don't like to stay in one place too long. Figured I'd head for the coast since this area is mostly played out now. It's not a bad place to Winter."

Your belly starts growling so you reach into your bag and pull out what's left of the pack of crackers you've been eating on for the last couple of days. You only have one more pack left and they're mostly crushed, but you won't mind that a bit when you get hungry again. You stuff one in your mouth and grab a few more for good measure. You consider putting the pack back in the bag, but decide you ought to share so you offer Harvey the last of the package which he quickly accepts.

"Thank ya," he grins, "I haven't had anything on my stomach since early yesterday."

You both eat in silence and after a while you drift off to sleep to the sounds of the clacking rails.

A Hobo's Life

You are awakened by a gentle shake to your shoulder and see that the stars are out.

"It's time to get up. We're slowing down and the train might be stopping up ahead. We need to get off before it does."

"Huh?"

"There's no telling what they'll do if they catch us riding their train. Sometimes they just run you off and sometimes they call the police."

You stand up, pick up your bag with your free hand and stand next to Harvey at the side of the flatcar. Still wiping the sleep from your eyes you suddenly think about the jagged gravel that you know is down there where you must jump, but can't see in this light.

"I don't know if I can jump. I lost my flipflop back when we got on."

"You need a pair of shoes. We'll worry about that later. It's not that far to the ground so you should be just fine. Just try not to land too hard on your bare foot."

You nod, but it's dark enough that Harvey wouldn't be able to see it.

"Okay," he says, "time to go." Then he steps off the side and disappears.

You take a deep breath and jump as far away from the train as you can so you don't get run over. The shock to your knee shoots a bolt of pain through your leg, but it goes away as soon as your bare foot touches down on the jagged chunks of rock. You grit your teeth even though it isn't as bad as you thought it would be.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and—leaning hard on your walking stick—limp back toward where Harvey jumped off. It isn't long before you find him since he's walking up to find you.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, but it's hard to walk bare-footed on these sharp rocks."

"Here, climb up on my back until we find softer ground for you to walk on," he says, squatting down on one knee in front of you.

You fumble for grip because you don't have enough hands to hang on.

"Let me have that," Harvey says, snatching the stick from your grip before you even know what is happening.

"Hey, I need that!"

"Not right now, you don't. You can have it back later."

A short time later, you come to a dirt access road and Harvey sets you down. He's bent over huffing and puffing and it takes him a while to get his breath back. It's obvious that he's older than he looks. The lines in his face have deepened and there are shadows under his eyes. Eventually he catches his breath and straightens up.

"There has to be a better way," he says, "Whatcha got in the bag? Anything you could use as a shoe or wrap your foot up with until something better comes along?"

"Just some covers and postcards."

"Let's have a look at them covers."

As you pull the blanket from the bag, the bottles clink together.

"What's that?"

"Just some old bottles that I keep water in."

"Let's have one. I'm parched."

You don't want to risk losing one of the trade-in bottles so you pull out the other screw-top one and hand it to him. He gulps down half of it before cutting his eye at you and stops himself. You can tell that he wants more, but he screws the lid back on and passes it back to you.

"Thanks, kid. I needed that."

You take a couple of swallows for yourself before putting it back in the bag. The bottles clink and clank against each other so you roll the bag up tight against them to keep them from breaking.

You do your best to tie the wrapped blanket around your foot, but can't make it stay on so Harvey takes over and by the time he's done you look like you're wearing a golf bag on your leg. You feel like Frankenstein when you walk with your leg stiff like this, but it beats jabbing your foot on sharp things.

"I guess we oughta find some food. What do you feel like, kid, steak or lobster?" chuckling to himself.

You just stare back at him.

"That looks like a fine place to eat," he says, pointing through the trees to a small house. "I hope we don't need a reservation."

You follow him through the trees curious as to how he's going to get someone to give him food.

You're at his heels when he raps on the door and as he steps back he nearly runs you over. When no one comes to the door, he knocks a little louder the second time.

"Doesn't look like anyone's home," he says, turning toward the steps and leans against the railing. He stands there looking around the yard for a few minutes before walking over to a short board fence and hopping over. He snatches a couple of ripe tomatoes off the vine and pulls up a couple of decent sized carrots.

"This oughta hold us a while. We don't want to get too greedy."

As you and he walk down the tracks eating your measly meal you can't help but feel a little guilty. It wasn't you that stole the food, but you are eating it nonetheless. It's so delicious that you can't help yourself.

You christmas in July

You've been walking for a couple hours and things look eerily familiar when up ahead you spot the old trestle bridge that you saw when you were with Jane.

"Too bad we don't have any fishing gear," Harvey muses, "or we could be eating catfish tonight." You look over at him and then follow his gaze to a small group of people fishing on far bank of the muddy river. "Maybe they could spare a couple of hooks and some line so we can make cane poles."

"Do you think they might let us have some?"

"There's no harm in asking. C'mon, let's go see."

You follow him as fast as your stiff-legged limp can take you. He stops at the bridge for about a minute looking up and down the tracks until he's satisfied that there's no train on its way, then walks at nearly his walking pace across.

You look down at the muddy, swirling water and wonder what might be lurking under its surface. You don't really like high places and wish there was another way around. After gritting your teeth, you step out onto the first tie.

You have trouble keeping up and have only made it halfway across when he reaches the other side. Luckily, you make it across without falling between the cross ties and aren't surprised by a speeding train.

"You look like you need a breather," he says, "Why don't you go sit in the shade over there while I go talk to these people."

You almost protest, but decide it might be better if you're seen by as few people as possible. Even though you are with an adult now, there's no telling what might happen and you certainly don't want to be taken back to your mom. There's no telling what she might do to you this time.

You walk over and find a comfy spot and sit down. While you wait, you pull out your map and look for the highway number that you saw when you were near here with Jane. You were focusing your attention on Harvey this time and didn't notice it this time. It doesn't look very far away from home on the map, but the deputy had said it was eighty miles and eighty miles is a long way.

You put the map back in the 'treasure chest' and lean back—soaking up the coolness of the shade. Your eyes start to glaze over so you sit up and give yourself a couple of light slaps to make the sleepiness go away.

You've been sitting here a long time and start to wonder what's taking Harvey so long to get back. It shouldn't take this long to ask for fishing line and a couple of hooks. Maybe he decided not to come back. Maybe he figured it would be better not to have to travel with a kid.

Getting to your feet and picking up the bag, you decide you should at least take a peek and see if he's anywhere to be seen. You walk about halfway back to the river when you hear a hushed "Hey, psst" from behind you. You turn around and see Harvey stepping out of the trees so you walk back over to him.

He's got a rolled up paper bag under his arm and is grinning at you as he motions for you to follow him into the tree-line. "They were nicer than I ever would've expected. Look at all the stuff they were willing to part with." He pulls out a brand-new package of treble hooks and a whole roll of bright blue fishing line. "Looks like we might be eating fish tonight. And here's something for you," he says, pulling out a rolled up green shirt and flipping it open to reveal a pair of pink and white tennis shoes.

You crinkle your nose. You don't want to wear girl's shoes.

He smirks and says "Don't worry. After you wear 'em a couple days, nobody'll know the difference. Oh, and this here shirt is for you, too."

He helps you untie the blanket and repack your bag. He doesn't open the 'treasure chest' and only packs it in tight with everything else. You mentally let out a sigh of relief. If stealing stuff from a house didn't bother him, what would he have done if he'd found your money? It makes you wonder if those people actually gave him this stuff or if he stole it, too.

The shoes are a bit loose on you, but you lace them up good and tight and they only flop a little bit when you walk in them. Your put your lone flip-flop in the bag in case you might need it later and notice that the bag is considerably smaller now which will make it much easier to carry. Harvey must've had a lot of practice packing stuff since he moves around so much.

"We should head off down the river that way to do our fishing. We don't wanna be too close to other people fishing if we expect to catch anything. You ready to go?"

You nod.

"Then let's go catch us some supper." Harvey steps into the trees on the other side of the tracks and you follow close behind. It's been so long since you wore a pair of shoes that you forgot how good they can feel and the branches raking your sunburned chest as walk through the brush doesn't bother you quite so much now that you have a shirt as an extra barrier of protection.

It seems like you've been walking in the woods for a long time and you begin to think that you might be lost again like what happened when you were with Jane. Harvey stops several times to listen and look around like he doesn't know where he's going. You are about to ask him if you might be lost when he steps out on a bluff overlooking the river. He crane's his neck to look upstream and can't see beyond the bend.

"This looks like a good spot," he says.

You gone Fishin'

Both of you put your stuff down and Harvey pulls out an old pocket knife and flips out a blade that looks to have been sharpened way too many times. He walks around looking until he finds a couple of straight enough saplings to whack into poles and ties line and hooks to the end.

"We don't have any worms or grasshoppers," you say.

He raises an eyebrow at you. "We won't need 'em." You look at him a little puzzled as he reaches into the neck of his shirt and rips off the tag, then does the same to yours. "Here's the best starter bait in the world."

You shake your head. What fish would want to eat cloth? Maybe he doesn't even know how to fish since he doesn't know what fish like to eat.

He stabs a hook through each square white piece and hands you your pole before dropping his line in the water. You move a few yards down the bank and find a place where you can sit with your feet hanging over. Might as well get comfortable since you are going to be here a while.

You drop your line in and lean back against a tree. You notice that your back doesn't hurt nearly as bad as it did. It still itches a little, but you are careful not to scratch it so you don't open the scabs and start it bleeding all over again. You look up at the clouds floating by and realize that it has been a long time since you took the time to really stop and look around at anything. You find yourself swinging your feet and whistling softly through your teeth—just like you used to do when your dad took you fishing before he and your mom got a divorce. Everything was perfect back then and everyone was always so happy. You long to be back there because now the whole world has gone crazy and you're having a hard time just keeping up.

You don't notice the slight tugging at your line, but when it is nearly jerked from your grasp you yank on it with too much force. You know better than to do that. That's how fish get away.

You look down at your line and see a tiny perch flopping on the end of it. You can hardly believe your eyes. The little fish must've really thought that your shirt tag was something to eat. "I got one! I caught a fish!"

"Shh. Not so loud. You don't want to scare off all the other fish, do you?" Harvey says, craning his neck to look upriver. "Bring it over here and let me see it."

You do as he asks. "It's only a little one so we gotta throw it back."

He shakes his head. "This one's gonna be our catfish bait." He worries the hook out and guts the tiny little fish. After baiting your hooks with its innards, he hands you back your pole and pitches his line out as far as it will go.

You walk back to your spot and throw your line back in. You remember your dad telling you that you have to turn the little fish loose so they can grow up to be big fish. If you didn't, there wouldn't be any big fish for other people to catch. You look back over at Harvey and wonder if he really has any idea what he's doing after all.

After spending the whole day fishing, there's only one channel cat and a couple of medium perches to show for it. Harvey did end up throwing several small fish back so it eased your mind about that somewhat. When it came time to clean and cook the fish, he showed you how to tie a fish to the end of a forked stick and stake it on with smaller ones sharpened into little skewers so it wouldn't fall off in the campfire. You are basically roasting them like marshmallows which was kind of neat and fun. It reminded you of the camp-outs you had with your parents when you were little.

To round out the meal, you sift through the shattered crackers and pick out the biggest chunks. Harvey eats most of the fish and crackers and before he is through you feel like you wouldn't be able to hold in even one more bite if you wanted to.

You collapse into a heap and begin thinking about how almost the entire day was wasted. You could be a long way from here right now—even if you had to walk to do it. Sure, you needed the rest, but not as much as you needed to cover the ground. You'll have to try to make up for all this lost time tomorrow and if that means going on alone then so be it. Getting to the Grand Canyon for Jane is the most important thing. It's the only thing that matters.

You life on the Road

You wake up before the sun and begin readying your pack for the road ahead. Harvey occasionally grunts in his sleep and you don't dare wake him unless it is a real emergency. That's just the way it is with grownups.

When you get tired of waiting, you decide to throw your line in the murky water. It isn't that you are hungry, but you are nearly out of food and if you had a fish to tide you over in the afternoon it would save time—and the hassle—in the long run. You find a decent looking gut that isn't too big or too small to skewer onto your hook and pitch your line out as far as it will go.

After more than an hour, you still haven't had even a nibble and are about to give up when the sun finally peeks over the horizon. The warmth is overwhelming and the world around you sort of melts away. It is so comforting to just stand here and bask in the rays of the new day.

Just then, your pole snaps and you are startled back into reality. "Ahhh!" Something big has tied onto your line and with the way it is thrashing, you don't know if you'll be able to haul it in. You dig in with your heels and strain with all you have, but the mud is slick and you are being dragged toward the water. The surface opens up in a geyser revealing the biggest catfish you have ever seen. It is a sleek and silky, bluish-gray catfish and you can only stand there while the spray engulfs you in slow motion.

"Wha- What's going on?!" you hear from behind you along with quite a ruckus. Harvey scrambles up beside you and is still rubbing the bleariness out of his eyes when it finally dawns on him that you need help so he reaches out and snags the end of your pole. "This guy's enough to feed an entire army!"

By the time all the chunks have cooked the sun is already high. You've lost so much time already that when you finally do head off down the tracks you have to continually slow down to let Harvey catch up even though your paces are two to his one. You try not to even stop to rest when he suggests it, but he's not as young as you are so you have to give him the occasional breather.

The miles tend to run together and then the days. It's a long way between towns and by the time you finally get within sight of one that is little more than a far away dot, you've long since eaten the last morsel of fish. Harvey has pointed out a few edible plants along the way—none of which are very appetizing, but they don't kill you or even make you sick—which is better than having nothing at all on your stomach. He shows you how to skin prickly pears so you can eat them, but they are so bland that you can only stand to chew them until all the moisture is gone and then spit out the remnants when he's not looking.

It's about midday when you run up on another farmhouse about a half a mile from the tracks.

"Wait here," Harvey says, "I'll be back in a jiff."

You watch as he crosses the over-grazed pasture and strides up to the front door. After a couple minutes, you see him disappear around the side only to return a few minutes later cradling something in his arms. When he gets close enough, you can see that what he's carrying is eggs.

"I got us a real treat, boy."

You look up at him and give a half-smile. "I haven't had eggs in a long, long time. How are we gonna cook 'em? We don't have a pan or anything."

"Leave that to me. Where there's a will—there's a way."

After a short ways, he picks up an old tin can and peers into it while holding it up to the sun. "This'll do nicely. You got any of that water left?"

"Yeah." You reach into the bag and pull a bottle out. "It's the last one."

"It'll be more than enough. We'll get some more the next place we run on to."

He steps off to the side of the tracks and kicks an area bare with his foot. He starts piling dried grass, twigs and whatever else he finds and then lights it. You quickly run around gathering more bits of dried wood and before you know it, the can is boiling away so he pulls it off to the side a couple inches—enough that it can still get heat, but not so much that it loses all of its water. Then, the two of you sit back and watch it for a few minutes.

"That oughta be enough." He pulls his hand inside his sleeve and uses the cuff like a hot pad. After dumping the water on the fire, he kicks it around a little bit to make sure it is completely out. "We'll let these cool off while we walk and come supper time we'll have us a real treat."

You don't really want to wait, but you know he's right so you do your best to put it out of your mind and think about other things.

All at once, you notice that there are suddenly more houses around. You didn't even realize how much you'd traveled since you first saw this town as a far off speck.

"With any luck, we'll be able to catch a train out of this bump in the road. I don't think my feet can take too many more miles."

"We need to fill up the bottles with water."

"We oughta find a milk jug or two instead. Those glass bottles you got are empty weight. If you're going to be lugging something around, it oughta be more water."

You nod in agreement.

You wrench in the Cogs

Crossing the street to a gas station, you spot a police car coming toward you from down the street. You step up your pace and put Harvey between you and it. You look around for a place to hide, but there isn't anything close. You prepare yourself in case he stops, but all you can hope for is to run as fast as you can and hope that you can get away. You let out a sigh as it goes on by and the officer behind the wheel doesn't even look over at you.

Stepping through the open door, you are hit by a blast of not quite so hot air. A big shop fan rests against the back wall and is aimed directly at the door. A nice looking man in thick glasses and stained coveralls sits just to the right of it and has his nose buried in a newspaper.

"Ahem," Harvey clears his throat to get the guy's attention.

"Howdy," says the attendant, leaning forward so that the legs of his folding chair touch the floor, "What can I do for you?"

"We were hoping to get some water. Drinking water. And maybe a jug or something to put it in."

You can see the disappointment on the attendant's face as he draws his lips back, but it quickly shifts into a forced smile. "Sure thing. I think there might be one around back by the dumpster."

"Thanks," Harvey says as he heads back out the front door.

You hang back and stand there looking at the guy with a sheepish smile until you finally build up enough nerve to blurt out "Do you buy bottles?"

"Sure thing, little man. You got some you wanna trade in?"

"Uh huh." You dig through you bag and pull out the two root beer bottles. You stand there looking down at them and remember sharing them with Jane. You knew you'd have to sell them eventually, but now you aren't sure that you really want to.

"Just the two, then?"

You wipe the film from your eyes that has started to develop and look up at him. You nod.

"I think I have it right here—" he says, digging in his pocket. "Yeah, here you go. Six cents. You can put 'em over there with those," he points after handing you the coins.

From the little wire rack by the front door, you grab a couple plastic tubes of peanuts. They are marked twenty-five cents and you think you have more than enough in change. You pull out the plastic bread wrapper and start counting out pennies on the only bare spot on the counter. The attendant watches you and drums his fingers impatiently.

"That's it."

You look up and see him sliding the pile off into his hand. "That's not fifty cents."

"Yeah, it is. You must've just miscounted."

You grin up at him. You'd only given him a little over thirty cents so either he is really nice and doing you a favor or else he just doesn't want all your pennies. He smiles warmly back.

You quickly twist the bag of money and shove it way down deep in your pocket before Harvey comes back. He seems that he's on your side so far, but if he can steal from random strangers he might just take from you, too. You drop the peanuts into your bag for later in case you have to go too long without food.

You're leaning with your back against the metal door frame when Harvey returns with two jugs. He and the attendant talk briefly before the two of you head around the side of the building to the faucet and fill the jugs. You have a huge lump in your throat and barely even take notice of anything around you for quite a little while. Even bending down and taking giant gulps straight from the spigot doesn't make it go down. It just sort of hangs there. The last thing you do is pitch the last whiskey bottle in the dumpster before the two of you head back toward the tracks.



It's several hours before a train comes into view. You hear the blasting horn from miles away and you sit staring in the direction of the blast. It is going the wrong way, however, so you have to keep waiting. You and Harvey have found yourselves a nice comfy spot in the shade of a metal building in some scrub brush where no one can see you.

Harvey has been leaning with his back against a small tree and every once in a while he lets out a snort that would wake any normal person from a sound sleep. Not him, though. Even though he's had much more rest than you, he still looks like an old, old man. His gray doesn't end at his hairline, but keeps going all the way down his face subcutaneously.

Sometime before dark and just when you finally feel like you could stand some sleep yourself, you hear a long, blaring horn from the opposite direction.

"That's our ride," says Harvey, opening his eyes and stretching to get the kinks out.

You watch as the engine finally enters the yard, but it keeps going and doesn't slow any more than a fast walking pace. Harvey cranes his neck and strains to try and see further down its length. There are no boxcars. All you can see are flatcars and hoppers. A long stretch of flatcars are loaded with sea containers probably bound for the coast and don't offer any space at all around them, but one of the last cars is only half full at the back.

Harvey trots toward it and you dash around him. After lofting your bag over the side, he grabs you around your middle and hefts you up. He tosses his coat and the water jugs at your feet before trotting up to the very front where there is a step.

"Hey! Get away from there!" you hear coming from the tail end of the train. "That's private property!"

You duck into a corner made by the slightly mismatched cargo containers and watch as Harvey takes a step backward. He looks up at you as the train whisks you by and turns away from the tracks. You peek around the container to see two men rush up to him. They take him by the arms and lead him back across the tracks. One of them is talking on a walkie-talkie. What are they going to do to him?

Did they see you? You have no idea. If they did, they might call ahead to stop the train and then what would you do?

You go back for Harvey

You shove Harvey's coat into your bag and wait until the yard is out of sight before jumping off. The train has picked up a little speed and you end up rolling headlong in the gravel, but only end up with a couple of small scrapes. There will be other trains or maybe Harvey will have another idea. You can't just bear to take his stuff and go on without him.

By the time you get back to the train yard there is no one in sight. You don't know what to do. You can't just start walking around town looking for him. What if that cop sees you? He'll take you back to your Mom and after what she did last time—well, that's just too awful to even think about.

You hang around the train yard for a little while being sure to keep out of sight until it is full dark and then walk over to the street where the gas station is. You don't see any sign of Harvey. In fact, the street is completely deserted so you head back to the tracks.

There's a strange sense of deja vu as you walk between the rails. It's not quite as scary this time, but things are still creeping around out there just out of sight. You wish that you still had your stick with you. You must've left it back at the river. That's the last place you remember seeing it.

About a mile or so away from town, you see a small cinder block building with a light on the front of it above a blue door out in the middle of a field and just behind it there's an earthen dam. It looks like it might be a good place to stay the night.

You walk over to it and try to open the door, but it's locked so you go around to the side where it's dark and slump down against the wall.

You are getting rather hungry so you reach in your bag to get a package of peanuts when you remember the eggs. Too bad Harvey isn't around to enjoy them. You take out two and take your time eating them. You fiddle with the shells—not wanting to go to sleep out here in the open, but there is a little light to see by so you don't feel quite as skittish—and end up crumbling them into tiny bits only slightly bigger than sand before finally casting them out into the wiry grass.

You aren't sitting there long before the day catches up with you and you drift off to sleep.



You wake up before the sun and find it right nippy out so you put on Harvey's coat. Your legs are stiff and there's a crick in your back. Your arms feel like they are about to fall off from carrying the extra weight of the water jugs. There has to be something you can do about it. You can't keep juggling all this stuff and expect to last very long.

At long last, the sun finally pops up and the dew steams off the tracks. It won't be long until it gets warm enough that you won't need the coat anymore and that gives you an idea.

You pull your arms out of the sleeves and tie a jug to each one—letting them flop in front of you while you keep the coat on like a cape. It's not pretty, but it frees up your hands so that all you have to worry about is holding onto the bag.

It isn't long before you polish off the rest of the eggs and while getting them out, you find the hooks and line. With any luck you'll run into another river or maybe a lake somewhere up ahead.

You trudge along for mile after mile as the sun creeps steadily overhead and just hangs there baking you. You keep wishing you had some kind of hat when you see something between the tracks up ahead that looks just like a dusty, smashed cowboy hat.

You pick up your pace and are nearly on it when it suddenly moves! It's a snake! And it's big one. It has a pattern of criss-crossing lines along its back and starts to make a rattling noise. You drop the bag as you fall backward. You see it draw back its head as you crab-walk the heck out of there as fast as you can.

When you are a safe distance away, you get back to your feet. What are you going to do now? You have to get your bag back, but it's much too close to it now.

You look around and the only thing there is is the crushed limestone gravel. Perfect! You pick up a couple handfuls of the biggest chunks and start lobbing them at it to drive it away. Every single stone—whether it be a hit or miss—is a hit because the rattler strikes them when they get close. Every single time! And then it shakes off the impact kind of and gets ready for the next one. Before long the bottom of its mouth is kind of drooping to one side and its head is mangled, but it hangs in there. You ease a little closer being careful to stay well out of range and start pelting it with everything you have until it is little more than a pile of mush. It finally slinks over the rail and slithers into the sparse grass where it disappears completely.

You creep up and pick up your bag giving that area a wide berth before continuing on your way.

You any Port in the Storm

You only now realize how late it is getting. It seems like only a couple hours ago the sun was directly overhead and now there are not even shadows at all anymore. You look around for some place to hole up for the night and the only place you see is a small grove of trees in the corner of the field some distance from the tracks. There are no people or animals within sight and you debate whether you should head over there or keep going and hope for a better spot to present itself.

Just then, a loud crack nearly knocks you off your feet and everything around you is immediately thrown into high contrast. You duck instinctively, even though you are a second too late.

You look up to see the sky overhead is near black and brimming with static. The horizon behind you fades swiftly to nothing in a dingy gray curtain. You are about to get soaked!

Nature has made your decision for you. You don't want to be anywhere near trees during an electrical storm. And you certainly don't want to be standing on these metal tracks higher than all the ground around you for as far as you can see.

You can see a dirt road about a half a mile ahead. Perhaps you'll find some cover when you reach it. In any case, you'll be off the tracks and will no longer be a sitting duck for lightning strikes.

You run.

As you near the crossroad, you look both ways for any sign of shelter and see a bent over mail box at the end of what appears to be a driveway so you veer in that direction cutting across the ditch before even reaching the road.

There is a stitch in your side, but you keep moving. Thunder is clapping all around you and a sound like running horses is growing louder and louder.

You turn into the driveway without slowing down and find it nearly overgrown down the center. It is canted downhill and looks more like an old wash than something carved out by human hands. Only vague tire wear paths along each side show that it was once used. The spindly saplings on either side stretch out and their branches knit together overhead throwing the path into unnatural darkness. Your stomach lurches at the prospect of having to venture down such a lane, but you don't have much choice and hope that there is still some form of shelter when you reach the end of it.

As you run along weaving back and forth through the tall grass and weeds down the center of the lane from one worn path to the other to avoid the darkest areas and shrubbery that threatens to conceal any manner of creature, you hope that something isn't lying in wait just out of your vision—to trip you up or is crouched and ready to pounce.

The path finally widens into a clearing and with it your spirits—for across the unkempt yard you see an old derelict shotgun house whose roof has collapsed in at the back. It might not be much to look at, but it will definitely serve its purpose to keep you dry while you weather the storm that has just now caught up to you.

Snow white stones pummel the ground around and in front of you and will soon tear their way through the spindly branches overhead so you have no choice but to run the gauntlet and hope that you can make it to the cover on the other side. With giant strides, you cover the ground with ice pelting you from above and ricocheting off of your shoulders and arms—stinging as they bounce high and away—and sure to leave welts the size of goose eggs. A couple or three times a stone smacks into your head and your vision goes fuzzy, but you are too focused on your goal to give it much thought or to succumb to the blinding pain.

Finally, you spring up onto the gabled porch and dart through the framed hole in the wall that once supported a door. Everything is shrouded in a dim gloom and there is a mustiness that permeates the place. You don't see signs that anyone has been in this place for possibly years. You set your bag against the wall by the door so you can look around.

Beyond the front room is a short hall on the left that leads into a darkened room. As you make your way down it, you come to a wood panel door with cracked and peeling white paint that has greened slightly with age midway and see another a little further on with a more yellowed tinge to it. Both are standing wide open and you can see only darkness in the slits between them and the door frame.

Inside the first room you see the remnants of a mattress leaning against the far wall partially covering a window whose muntins hold only shards and fragments of turquoise shaded glass still trapped by its web of caulk. It was probably placed there to prevent the room from being damaged by weather or overrun with critters when the first of its lights had been knocked out. The bed frame is still in the corner and the pile next to its head was most likely a nightstand that didn't fare too well with time. A pile of debris layers the floor of the built-in closet. It was undoubtedly shirts and dresses and things once upon a time and has become shredded by moths, rodents and mildew until it could no longer cling on to the wire hangers still suspended on the bar.

You wrestle the door away from the wall enough to peek behind and find nothing at all there save cobwebs and decades of dust. You shove it back against the wall and step into the room for a more thorough examination.

Still hanging from a crooked nail in the closet, you find a narrow leather dress belt. You bend and wrench it and find that it still has life left in it. It could come in handy sometime, so you buckle it to its tail and sling it over your head—letting it dangle at your hip like a sash. There are a few other things like a brass ash tray that's tarnished black with age, but you can't imagine a use for it and it would only weigh you down.

You check the next door and see that behind it is a tiled bathroom. There isn't much of value in here, but as you are about to leave you spot a new vinyl shower curtain still in its wrapper. It sounds a bit crunchy when you bend the package, but it might still be good enough to keep you dry if you get caught in a sudden downpour.

The back room is the kitchen, but you can't get through it or even tell what might be in there since the roof has collapsed and draped the ceiling over whatever might've once been in here. It doesn't look too safe to even go near so you head back to the front room where you seat yourself by the open doorway and snack on a few peanuts.

The storm outside is raging and seems to be growing more violent with every passing second. At least you found a dry place to weather it. You might as well try to get some rest since it looks like you're going to be here a while so you draw the coat up as tightly as you can and slump your back against the wall.

You ghosts From the Past

Sleep doesn't come easily with all the thunderclaps. And you keep seeing movement with each flash of lightning. Sometimes it's down the dark hallway and sometimes through one of the windows. Each time you spin your head in that direction it is already gone—whatever it is.

You'd move to a better angle to see everything, but it would only put you at a disadvantage. If you move even a foot to either side, something could grab you through a window and if you move over to the far wall, the hallway would be at your back. As it is now, something could reach through and grab you from the doorway so you draw your feet under you and are poised to spring away.

Something is scraping around in the kitchen now. You can barely make it out above the howl of the wind, but it is there. You still can't make anything out through the darkness—which only deepens with each strobe from the storm.

Something is watching you. You slowly turn your head to one side to see out of the windows along that wall and only see blackness. Your hands are all sweaty so you try to wipe them off on your shirt, but it is still damp and doesn't do much good at all. Lightning flashes overhead and you can see that there's nothing outside the windows.

You slowly pivot your head toward the windows on the opposite wall and notice how much blacker the room has become. Your ears begin to burn and prickle. You don't dare make any sudden movement. You hear the ambient rumble emanating from all around you with only slight variances every now and again. What happened to all the lightning? Why is it taking so long?

Then it is suddenly and briefly daylight outside and you can see that the windows are empty. Does it know when the flashes will come and only hide until it gets dark again?

Something moves in front of you! It is only a black shape against the darkness and you can see it getting taller—as if it is getting to its feet. Your legs won't work and your chest feels heavy. You can't see its face, but can feel the too wide grin creeping slowly across it. Its eyes burn into you though you cannot see them.

You can see more of them writhing in background, waiting. They slither this way and that, but aren't drawing any closer.

The thing is still just black on black, but it is drawing ever nearer as it glides toward you. It is getting larger and larger. You can feel it reaching its long bony talons out toward you and its shriveled lips part open.

Don't worry. No one ever comes here. This place is 'bandoned.

You nearly jump out of your skin and your eyes snap open. Was it a only dream or did you actually just hear those words?

You rapidly swivel your head back and forth trying to get a handle on where it is. All you can see is blackness that goes gray with each heartbeat. The rumble outside has become more distant and there are no longer any lightning flashes to illuminate the room. You pick up your bag and hold it in front of you as a makeshift shield.

Get that little BASTARD!

You are on your feet and running through the night in the direction that you believe the driveway is. It is so dark that you can't see your hand in front of your face and you can only hope that you don't slam into a tree or anything. The jugs of water are beating against your thighs with every step. Your eyes burn and tears stream down your cheeks.

You better run you little BITCH!

You run like the devil is after you because it most certainly is. With each step, you slog through the ankle deep water. You can hear it slosh and spray all around you. You expect you foot to drop into a hole or get stuck in the mud, but find solid footing among the submerged grass and weeds. You have your arm outstretched ahead of you to help deflect anything in your path, but there is nothing. The grassy slough gives way to solid ground—possibly a road—and you turn back in the direction you believe the tracks are in. You run and run until you run yourself completely out of packed ground and find yourself surrounded by dense grass. You no longer have anywhere to go but down.

You fall in a heap attempting to stifle your wheezing sobs and clinging to the bag for dear life. The pounding in your ears blocks out all other sound and you wouldn't know if something was coming up on you in the blackness—no matter how much racket it was making.

Eons pass and you finally see the first twinkle among the clouds. The sky slowly withdraws its veil letting more and more tiny lights shine through. All around you there is a comforting bluish glow. The grass seems to be lit from within and it feels like you can see for miles and miles—as if you are in some supernatural sea. The serenity seeps into your soul and your previous terror is completely replaced with awe and wonder.

The sun spills over the horizon and washes across the landscape and you are momentarily blinded by the glint of steel. The tracks are but a short distance away. You must have turned and run along beside them in your panic. A great double rainbow cinches the whole world together and everything is suddenly new again. You feel like you can take the entire universe on single handed.

You pick yourself up and sling the bag over your shoulder and once again hit the rails.

You train Wrangler

After a day and a half, you come within sight of a town. It is just getting dark and the street lights are beginning to glow orange as far as the eye can see. This is no ordinary town—it stretches out for miles and is already giving off a glow comparable to that of the setting sun.

Another track stretching off into the far yonder joins with yours and up ahead you can see yet another. They cling to each other and swap back and forth between switches. There are trains up ahead—some coming and some going—and beyond that a vast highway arcs in perpetual leap from one side of this river of rails to the other.

You make your way over to the far side to keep out of sight of the headlamps of the oncoming trains and follow the tracks for nearly an hour—careful to stay with the majority as they snake their way westward—doing your best to not get sidetracked.

Up ahead and on the same side of the arteries of tracks as you you see a train just sitting there alongside a string of small warehouses and aimed in the right direction. You can hear the engine reverberating and there are bright lights on tripods scattered all around. There are some flatcars with men busy loading large crates onto them using forklifts from the loading dock and in the gloom between them and the engine is a string of boxcars. You can see from here that their doors are wide open. If only you could make it inside one without being spotted.

You sneak up behind the metal buildings and then through the gap between until you are right across from the darkest one and watch the men carefully for your opening. The door is only a few inches higher than the platform so you won't have any trouble getting inside. You only have to wait for the right moment.

After the crates have been chained down and the forklifts have gone away, the men start taking the lights down one by one and you hear the engine slowly rev up. You'll have to time this just right.

Luck is on your side. There is no one in sight when the train starts inching forward and you make your dash. You make your way as quickly between the slatted crates and the wall as you can to the front of the car where you find just enough crawl space to conceal yourself and your stuff.

The smell is overpowering and your mouth begins to water uncontrollably. The crates are packed full with cantaloupes and you haven't eaten anything since the remainder of peanuts you had last night. You are famished!

You don't even bother with getting the knife out of the 'treasure chest'. You just reach in and punch a hole in one with your fist. You pull out handful after handful of slimy goodness and cram it into your mouth. It's so dark that you can't even see it, but you know how light and orange it must be. You'll definitely be filling your belly this night. The thought strikes you that you could take a couple along with you for good measure when you leave the train so while you're filling your gullet you also pry off enough of the slats to pull out a couple of good sized ones and pack them in the blanket in your bag.

When you're finally lulled to sleep by the clacking rails, you are returned to the night you and Jane spent on that train and all the plans you and she had made. Only this time, the two of you are on your way to see the Grand Canyon and are without a care in the world. She gives you a huge grin and throws her arms around you—planting a big kiss on your cheek—and hugging you for all you are worth.

The day comes much too soon and you stagger over to the open doorway to relieve yourself. You stand there and marvel at how far you can see. Snaking its way through a long valley is a river so blue that it makes your heart stop. On both sides it is lush with trees and you spot a large flock of birds winding and twisting like dust devils above the dense foliage. All is right with the world. You know you are going to make it just fine.

You where the West Begins

After the long slow grade up from the river bottom, you find yourself in an entirely different landscape. The closest thing to trees are the tumbleweeds attempting to go unnoticed by entwining themselves in the nearly evenly spaced barbed-wire fences. A gentle breeze blows waves through the seeded out short-grass on the endless rolling hillsides as it ebbs and eddies.

You are careful not to get too close to the open door that you can be seen, but you manage to drag one of the crates close enough that you catch the breeze and sit there dining on cantaloupes as you watch the world whisk by.

The short-grass is soon replaced with only tufts of desperate hangers-on and sprawling prickly-pear patches. There are colorful rocky outcroppings jutting out from everywhere and you see a herd of small deer pawing and licking at one of them.

You watch small towns drift by in the distance and for a while the train runs alongside a highway filled with car after car from one end to the other for as far as you can see and wonder how there can be so many people. How did they all get here and why? Where did they all come from and where are they going?

Soon after, the flat desolation opens wide and the land reaches up in supplication to the heavens. Mountain after mountain looms in the distance and slowly each one in turn makes its way from its incorporeal plane into reality. You've never seen anything so amazing. From all the pictures you've ever looked at, you never realized how awesome mountains would be up close in real life.

The train takes forever to reach the bottom of a long grade and your ears pop every couple of minutes. Your eyes feel swollen and like they might end up bursting from the pressure if something doesn't give soon. The sun was just beginning to set when you started your descent, but now you are in deep shadow cast by the mountains. The early lights of a large city come into view so it won't be long before you have to leave the train.



You've been walking around for hours and still have no idea where to go from here. You've gotten all turned around and don't remember which direction the sun was in. You aren't exactly sure what town you are in right now, either. You haven't been looking at your map and you've lost all track. You've just been following the sun since it seems to know where to go.

It'd be best if you could board a train at night, but you may have to wait until morning to regain your bearings. There isn't really any place to lie down here. There are houses immediately beyond a high chain link fence that runs the course of the tracks through town and a gatehouse at each entrance that you are forced to skirt. The street lamps offer little light this far away and those blinding security lights on the front of the little buildings only extend out so far.

You can either wait until morning or attempt to board one of the random trains that sit idling on the tracks.

You wait until morning

Not wanting to risk hopping a train to God knows where, you decide to find a place to curl up and sleep for the night. Over behind the steel buildings across from the road, you find a patch of high weeds that will do nicely.

You settle down and catch a few winks during the short breaks between the interruptions of the normal commotion of loading and unloading the freight cars and hitching and unhitching. It's exhausting to say the least, but you have faith that in the morning you'll be able to catch a ride and there'll be plenty of time to rest then.

When the sky finally starts to gray in the East, you begin juning around. There are plenty of trains to choose from pointed in the direction you wish to go. It's just a matter of getting on board without being spotted and as luck would have it, there aren't too many people bustling about right now. Still, you have to be careful.

You glide quickly over to the closest one and climb up the ladder on the front of a side dump car on the tail end of the train to look inside. Except for a bit of what looks like gravel here and there and dust, it's completely empty.

You pitch your bag over and climb in. There's no way someone will be able to see you unless they climb up and look directly in. You make yourself cozy and settle in for the ride.



The sun becomes unbearable around midday and you end up having to spread the blanket out to be able to even stand the radiating heat from the floor of the car. Every so often you have to stand up and let the blast furnace air flow over you to try to cool down as much as you can. You can only stand for a few minutes at most each time because the tracks run parallel to a highway and if you are spotted by a passing car, you'll no doubt be reported.

You end up going through more of your water than you wanted and end up having to soak your T-shirt and wrap around your head to even begin to bear the heat.

The sun finally drops down low enough that it casts a shadow in the front end of the car. Every hour brings with it more and more relief as the temperature seems to fall a degree or two until it has cooled down enough—or perhaps you are just that tired—that you find yourself getting sleepy. You stretch out and the rhythm of the tracks sends you tumbling head-first into dreamland.



You wake up before dawn and find the train still once more. You make up your bedroll and repack your bag before peeking out to see if the coast is clear.

The engine is gone and the short string of cars you are in seems to have been unhitched on a siding. The track stretches northeastward over the hill and there's a tall barricade of railroad ties where it stops abruptly at the west end.

You could head back up the tracks, but that would mean backtracking and it's anyone's guess how far. Or you could head for the mountains at the far end of the valley. Surely you'll run into a road or more tracks before too long.

You backtrack

Maybe you should stick to the tracks. There's no telling what may be out in the desert. It might take longer and be more out of the way, but there's less of a chance to get lost.

The track rejoins one running East to West and you continue on to where the sun sets. It's blazing hot and only gets hotter with each passing hour. You try to conserve water as best you can and it only makes you thirstier. You'll have to go back to traveling only while the sun is down or you'll never make it.



You've run yourself completely out of water, but still you trudge on. The iron rails stretch out ahead of you into infinity. There's no turning back. You've shed every single item that you can afford to do without in order to lessen your load. The only thing you are unwilling to part with is Jane's treasure chest. It's all that is left of her.

The sun is blazing down on you and yet you are freezing. If only you'd kept the coat. Your knees are shaking so furiously that you can barely keep them under you.

Just when you think you won't be able to take another step, you see a gravel road up ahead crossing the tracks. You dig deep and force yourself to continue on. You must reach the crossing. You have to.

You are still fifty yards or so shy of it and cannot go on. Your legs are cramping something fierce and no longer obey your wishes. You have to stop. You have to rest.

A dark green sedan covered in dust pulls up to the crossing and stops momentarily. After everything you've done to keep out of sight, you have no choice now but to get help. It no longer matters whether they send you back or not as long as you don't die—and you know you will if you don't get assistance.

You raise your arm to flag the car down and the ground starts spinning. Your vision goes black.

You francisca

There is soft music playing far, far away. Even though you can't make out the words, it is so soothing and you feel enveloped by it like a warm blanket on a cold winter night.

You struggle to open your eyes against a piercing white light. You try to shield them from it with your hand and find that it is captured by a soft, thick blanket. The light is still way too bright, but you force your eyes open despite it. They eventually adjust and you find yourself in a very sterile-looking room. There are framed rubbings on the walls from what appears to be tombstones flanking a large, hand-carved wooden crucifix and on the nightstand next to the bed you are tucked into is a pitcher and basin, and a blue vase exploding with yellow flowers.

The bed is so soft. You've never felt anything so soft. It feels like it could swallow you up. That you might could even drown in it—and that wouldn't be half bad. Not half bad at all.

You reach out from under the covers and stretch your arms high over your head. A cool, damp washcloth slides down from your forehead and onto your cheek. It's a bit startling, but feels good all the same. You smush it back so that it stays in place.

You pull yourself up even though you'd rather not and find that you haven't got a stitch of clothing on. You desperately look around and there's not a single thing other than the blanket to wrap yourself in so you scrunch back down. What in the world are you going to do?

You hear a "click" and determine that it came from the door a mere moment before it swings open a crack. You can see movement in the darkness beyond the door and then suddenly an eye is looking in at you.

You scrunch down deep. You have nowhere to run. You only hope that whoever—or whatever—it is isn't here to hurt you.

The door slowly creaks open revealing the monster! It's in the form of a short, dark-skinned woman with long black hair and a broad, warm smile pasted across her face. She's carefully balancing a wooden tray so that several dishes she has neatly arranged on it don't go sliding off and onto the floor.

"¡Buenos días!"

You eye her suspiciously from under the covers. What does she want?

"¿Tienes hambre?" she asks, nodding and motioning toward the tray with her lips. "eh … eat food?"

You nod slowly.

"¿Sí?" She whisks over beside the bed while you slowly unravel yourself from the blanket and push yourself back making sure not to let anything that shouldn't come uncovered. She sits beside you and gently places the tray on your lap—keeping her hand on the edge of it for balance.

Other than the short glass of orange juice and taller one of tepid milk you have no idea what any of this is, but it sure is delicious. You can't help but cram even more into your mouth before you've even had time to swallow the previous bite.

"¿Sabe bien? eh … es good?" she asks, smiling.

You give her a broad smile and a vigorous nod. "Mmm hmmm!"

When you can hold no more, you push back with a groan. "Thank you. That was the best food I ever ate."

She places the tray on the foot of the bed and then turns back to you and lifts the blanket before you even know what she's doing. You start. Extending her finger and gently touching one of the scars on your back she asks "¿Quien te hizo esto? eh … who hurt?"

You give her another suspicious look and decide that it probably wouldn't hurt to tell her. It's not like she'll be able to tell anyone else. She can't even talk right. "My mom…"

"¡Dios mío!" she says, looking at you in horror, "¿Tu madre?" She leaps from the bed and begins pacing back and forth with a wild look in her eyes. She's rattling on so fast that even she wouldn't be able to pick out her own words. She finally stops and turns to you. "Nadie te pegará más. Serás mi hijo ahora," she says in a steadier and more soothing tone. She rushes over and throws her arms around you—nearly dragging you from the bed—and gives you such a squeeze that she nearly crushes the air right out of your chest. "Estás a salvo aquí."

Days go by and turn into weeks, and weeks into months, months into years. You keep meaning to get back to your journey to the Grand Canyon, but you feel so safe here and Francisca is so, so nice. There's not one mean bone in her whole body. Jane would've really loved it here.

Someday—when you're old enough and have a car of your own—you intend to make good on your promise to Jane. But, for now this is…



— The End