It wasn't worth the risk to you so you head around the yard and make your way toward where the tracks resume. By the time a train leaves the yard, you find that it is moving much too fast for you to board it so you set off once again down the tracks on foot.

Every couple of hours you have to ditch the tracks and hide behind a boulder or in a shallow ravine until a train passes. This is the busiest set of tracks that you've been on and if anyone spotted someone your age out here alone they would certainly report it.

You have to take a break so you find a nice clear spot away from the tracks to kick back in and lean back on the bag. You have a sudden urge to pull out the card Jane made for you and look at the old postcards while you rest. You trace each line drawn in crayon on the page with your finger and think back to those few magical days. It seems like so long ago now. A lot has happened and every day that has passed seems to have steadily grown worse than the last. After you do this one thing, you should find someone nice to live with like Jane dreamed of. Surely there's someone out there that would love and take care of you, someone you can depend on. You carefully refold the letter and slip it into your pocket and put everything else back into the treasure chest before giving your eyes a rest.

You don't even notice when you start to drift off, but you are rudely awakened by a brutal gust and find that a strong wind has kicked up. The dust and sand scour your face and you can barely breathe even with your shirt pulled up over your face. You stagger around trying to find some kind of shelter behind a rock or something, but there doesn't seem to be anything nearby and you probably wouldn't be able to see one anyway unless you were right on top of it.

Your foot suddenly finds nothing but open air and you tumble headlong down a steep embankment. Your bag disappears as it goes one way and you go another. And then the world slips away into blackness.



You wake to find your arm twisted under you—your shoulder screaming out in agony. You have scrapes and tiny cuts from the side of your face all the way down your legs. It takes a couple attempts before you're able to roll over and sit up.

You push yourself to your feet and look up at the steep incline that you fell down and don't think you'd be able to climb back up there even if your arm wasn't throbbing like it is. You can see the coat caught on a rock protruding from the ground near the top. One of the plastic jugs tied to the sleeves is crushed and the other one looks like it just exploded when it slammed into the ground. You don't see your bag anywhere.

You pace back and forth along the base of the cliff looking for any trace of your stuff and finally have no choice but to give up. You head down the wash and hope that it doesn't dead end.

The feeling finally comes back in your arm. You can move it, but not without pain and there's a huge black and green bruise that goes from your shoulder to half way across your chest.

The wash spills you out on the edge of a two-lane highway and there isn't a car or a sign or anything at all except brushy desert and rocks for as far as you can see. The train tracks must be somewhere beyond the ridge behind you, but you'd never be able to get back to them that way. You look up at the sun and figure that you might as well keep following it since it has already led you this far.

You close your eyes, take a deep breath and then set off down the road.



You've been walking for hours when a car pulls out onto the blacktop from a gas station up ahead that you didn't even know was there. The hot blazing sun reflecting off the pavement has made you half blind and has given you such a raging thirst that it feels like no amount of water could ever hope to quench. You don't know if you'll even be able to make it as far as the gas station.

You're torn between whether or not to flag the car down when it gets close or to find somewhere to hide until it passes by.

You hide

You take cover and lie flat in some wispy brush. It's the only choice you have at the moment. It doesn't conceal you very well, but well enough since the car speeds by without slowing down.

You get back to your feet and stumble on.

The sandy, vacant lot is such a relief after walking down the sweltering blacktop for so long. The building is long and narrow and runs parallel to the highway. Along its front drapes a green and white awning and below that there are dark windows partially covered with plywood. There are two antique gas pumps with glass bowls on top for measuring out fuel standing a little more than a car's width from a glass door plastered with all manner of fliers.

You struggle to pull open the glass door. You hear a television blaring from within as you stumble inside.

"Can I have some water?" you hoarsely ask the beefy guy behind the counter.

"It's back by the soda fountain," he answers without looking up from his game-show. "Cups are five cents."

You blink. All your money is in your bag lost somewhere back in that canyon.

"C'mon! Who ever heard of shaving cream costing ten bucks?! You stupid moron!"

You turn around and fall against the door, forcing it open with your shoulder and stagger back out into the blast furnace.

Walking around the end of the building, you spot a coiled hose on the ground by the back corner. It's just what you need. You trot over and reach for the faucet, but the handle has been removed. You study it a minute before picking up the hose a little at a time—working the contents out to the end—and manage to get a good mouthful of scalding hot water. You fight the pain and as soon as it's cooled enough, you choke it down.

You can't go any further in this heat so you look for any kind of shade to get out of this blistering sun. You spot a low-lying rock a little ways up the hillside behind the building and judging by its angle it might offer some shelter from the sun. You drag yourself over to it.

It looks like it would be the perfect place for a den of snakes, but peering under the shelf you see no sign of anything. You wedge yourself underneath where you'll wait for nightfall before heading off again.



You open your eyes to find that you are shivering. The temperature has dropped considerably. If you don't end up freezing, it'll at least be a welcome relief compared to that awful sun.

After pulling yourself out, you stand and slink down the hill. Your feet are like bricks, but you have no choice other than to go on.

The gas station parking lot is deserted except for a run-down old pickup truck loaded down with all kinds of junk and covered with a tarp. It's parked in the shade of the pump lights around the corner of the building and you have to walk around it to get to the highway.

As you pass by it, its yellow license plate catches your eye. It says Arizona in green letters across the top and Grand Canyon State on the bottom.

You peek around the corner of the building and see an old hunched over Indian man with a pony tail halfway down his back stepping up to the cash register.

This could be your lucky break. You could try asking him for a ride, but what if he says no? Maybe hiding under the junk in the back and hope for the best would be smarter way to go. It won't be long before he's heading this way so you'd better hurry and make up you mind.