Running Out of Time

by Margaret Peterson Haddix

  It was all so confusing, Jessie felt like sitting down and bawling for her ma and pa, like a child even younger than Katie. Then she remembered something Pa said whenever Nathan or Bartholomew tried to eat a whole slice of bread in one gulp: “You bite off more than you can chew, ‘course you’re going to choke. One bite at a time. And that goes for thinking things, too, not just food.”

  So. What was the first thing Jessie needed to do? She glanced back at Mr. Neeley’s building. As long as she stood right outside, he could easily find her when he discovered her missing. She had to get as far away as she could.

  Slowly, because her legs hurt so much, Jessie began walking. She dodged behind buildings and turned as many corners as possible, so Mr. Neeley and anyone else looking for her would have a hard time following her path. At first, she thought she’d be trapped in Mr. Neeley’s apartment complex forever, because all the buildings looked the same and she couldn’t tell if she was getting anywhere or just going in circles, passing the same buildings over and over again. Then she reached a big street where the buildings were all different and cars zipped by in rows of six or eight. Could Jessie get one of them to stop and take her far away from Mr. Neeley? If she did, could she trust whoever stopped for her?

  Jessie’s legs shook more and more with each step. When she stumbled on a twig and half fell, half sat down, she decided to stay there. Just for a minute. The ground was hard as stone, but Jessie didn’t care.

  “You don’t need to sit way over there,” someone said. “I don’t bite.”

  Startled, Jessie looked around for the source of the voice. She’d been too tired to notice before: An old woman sat on a bench in what looked to be a three-sided glass house, only about two feet away.

  “Really,” the old woman said, “you don’t have to wait on the sidewalk. There’s room in here. That’s what the bus company built these for, you know.”

  Jessie stood up, because the woman seemed to expect her to. Cautiously, she went over and sat beside the woman.

  “You don’t normally ride this bus, do you?” the woman asked.

  “No,” Jessie said, hoping that was the right answer.

  “I didn’t think so. I tell you, the nine o’clock is always late. Always. That’s why my daughter refuses to ride the bus. ‘Not dependable,’ she says. But I say, no car’s that dependable either. Breaks down when you least expect it—”

  Jessie saw that this woman was as big a talker as Mrs. Green back in Clifton. Everyone said Mrs. Green would talk to a stick if no one else was around. Jessie wondered how long she was supposed to sit listening.

  “—oh, there it is. Almost on time, for once.” The woman pointed up the street.

  Jessie saw a big vehicle stopped about a half mile away, with people stepping in and out. The “bus” was kind of like the school vehicles Jessie had seen back at Clifton, the ones she’d thought were limousines.

  “Well,” the woman said. “Since you’re not a regular, let me ask you this: Do you have exact fare? They’ll give you change if they have to, but the drivers don’t like it…. Say, aren’t you a little young not to be in school right now?”

  Jessie was saved from answering because the vehicle pulled alongside the three-sided house. The woman got up. Jessie wasn’t sure what to do.

  “Hurry,” the woman said. “Tony’s driving—he doesn’t wait.”

  “Where’s the, uh, bus go?” Jessie asked.

  “Downtown, of course. They all go downtown, and you have to get a transfer to go anywhere else in the city…. Aren’t you coming?”

  Jessie hesitated. Could this bus be some sort of trap? Could Clifton’s men have known she would walk to this intersection? Or could the bus be an easy way to get far away from Mr. Neeley’s building?

  Jessie’s legs ached so much, she decided to take her chances. She followed the woman onto the bus.

  “I’m Mrs. Tyndale, by the way,” the woman said when Jessie settled into a seat beside her. “Would you believe I’m sixty-five? My daughter swears I don’t look a day over forty, but you know how daughters can be—flattering you even when you know it’s a lie. She’s just jealous because lots of times, people think we’re sisters. That’s what she gets for spending all those hours out in the sun when she was a teenager, lathered in baby oil—”

  Jessie listened only enough to be polite. She wanted to think about what she was going to do when she got downtown, but the bus was even noisier than the bread truck had been, and it made her head ache even worse than before. The bus sped forward and stopped, sped forward and stopped, over and over again. The jerky rocking motion made Jessie dizzy. She closed her eyes.

  “You tired?” Mrs. Tyndale asked. “Bet you stayed up too late watching TV. That’s what my grandkids always do—”

  Jessie wished Mrs. Tyndale would be quiet. Then, even on the jerky, noisy bus, maybe Jessie could go to sleep. That was what she suddenly wanted more than anything else in the world. But no—Jessie forced her eyes open. She had to get help for Katie and the other sick children. Jessie might be out of danger, but the other children weren’t. She looked Mrs. Tyndale over carefully, taking in the woman’s frizzy white hair, her wrinkles, and her odd, stretchy-looking green pants and top. Could Mrs. Tyndale help? She didn’t look like she knew anything about medicine, but maybe, maybe—

  “Mrs. Tyndale?” Jessie said as politely as she could. Her throat was dry and raspy, and she realized she hadn’t had anything to drink since the KFC restaurant the night before. She swallowed painfully. “Could you tell me how to find a phone number for someplace?”

  Mrs. Tyndale looked puzzled.

  “The phone number for what? Isn’t it in the phone book? Or directory assistance?”

  “What’s that?”

  Mrs. Tyndale frowned. “Don’t they teach you kids anything in school nowadays?” She began to talk about dialing O—or maybe another number that would be in the phone book or on a pay phone. Jessie didn’t entirely understand, even though Mrs. Tyndale seemed to be recounting every single time she’d called directory assistance: “And one time when I was at the mall, I had to call my husband because he was late picking me up, and I couldn’t remember his work number—it just fell straight out of my head—”

  Jessie waited patiently for Mrs. Tyndale to finish. Outside the bus’s windows, the buildings got even taller. Jessie realized the bus had reached downtown now, where almost all the buildings were skyscrapers. Many of the people who had packed the bus’s seats and aisles were getting off. A knot of panic tightened in Jessie’s stomach. How much longer would it be before Mrs. Tyndale left? And there was so much Jessie still didn’t know…. Desperately, Jessie interrupted the old woman, even though she would have been spanked in Clifton for such behavior.

  “Can you tell me what a news conference is?”

  Mrs. Tyndale blinked. “Where did you grow up, child, not to know that?” Fortunately, she didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s kind of refreshing, though—most kids your age know more about that kind of stuff than my generation does—”

  “So what is a news conference?” Jessie asked.

  “Oh, you know, when someone has something they want the whole world to know about, they’ll call the media—all the newspapers and TV and radio stations—and they’ll tell all of them to send their reporters to a certain place at a certain time so they can announce their big news all at once. And then the newspapers print the story and the TV and the radio broadcast it, so everyone knows—”

  Jessie tried not to look as confused as she felt. How could such a news conference help Katie and the other children? Jessie couldn’t think of a way to ask Mrs. Tyndale without telling her everything. Mrs. Tyndale did seem nice—but so had Mr. Neeley. Mrs. Tyndale chattered on. Heartsick, Jessie stopped listening. The bus turned a corner and pulled up in front of the state capitol. It had impressed Jessie the night before, but now she didn’t care.

  “Look, honey,” Mrs. Tyndale said. “Over by the capitol. There’s some politi
cian holding a news conference, just like you were asking about. That’s where I’d hold a news conference, too, if I had anything to announce—right there on the capitol steps. Then it’d show up real dramatic on the six o’clock news—”

  Jessie looked where Mrs. Tyndale pointed. A man stood on the steps, and a group of other men and women clustered in front of him. Some in the group held strange-looking boxes on their shoulders, kind of like the cameras back in Clifton. Others seemed to be writing on their hands, or some bit of paper in their hands.

  The strangeness of the sight scared Jessie, but she made a sudden decision. Nothing was going to make sense to her, so she’d just have to find a phone and do the best she could calling the board of health and the news conference.

  “I’m getting off here,” she told Mrs. Tyndale when the bus pulled to a stop.

  “Well, it was nice talking to you, honey,” Mrs. Tyndale said. “If you hold a news conference, let me know so I can watch it.”

  She chuckled as if she’d said something funny.

  Jessie stepped off into a crowd. There seemed to be more people on that corner than in all of Clifton. And they were all pushing and shoving. Jessie almost lost the resolve she’d felt on the bus, but she turned to a young woman beside her.

  “Please, ma’am, where’s a phone?” Jessie asked.

  The woman didn’t answer.

  “Where’s a phone, please?” Jessie asked again, to anybody.

  “I’d try up at the capitol,” a man said, but he didn’t even stop walking long enough for Jessie to say thank you.

  Jessie shrugged and began pushing her way through the crowd, to climb the big stairs to the capitol building doors. The doors were heavy wood, more than three times as tall as Jessie. Inside, everything was big, too. There were shiny brass chandeliers, more stunning than anything Jessie had ever seen. The floor was marble, and huge statues lined the walls.

  Jessie felt very, very small and scared.

  The hallway was empty except for her and a woman in an official-looking uniform by a side door. She looked like the guards back at Clifton, so Jessie didn’t go near her. Instead, Jessie walked the length of the hall and then up and down steps before she found a row of phones tucked away in a cubbyhole.

  “Okay,” Jessie whispered to herself, to build her nerve. “It’s okay.”

  She decided to try the board of health first, because it at least sounded like it had something to do with medicine. Still, she hesitated. She reminded herself that she’d managed to call Mr. Neeley the night before. But she had had the number for him—and he had turned out to be evil. Did she have to use the phone?

  Jessie thought about how Katie had looked up at her so trustingly, back at the schoolhouse. Katie—and Ma and all the sick children—were depending on Jessie. She had to try her hardest.

  Trembling, Jessie pulled out a book labeled Indianapolis Yellow Pages from beneath one of the phones. Everything seemed to be in alphabetical order, with numbers alongside, but she couldn’t find anything called “board of health.” She remembered the thing Mrs. Tyndale had called “directory assistance.” She dialed 0.

  “Do you mean the city health department or the state one?” a voice on the phone said when Jessie explained what she wanted.

  “State,” Jessie said, with more confidence than she felt.

  The voice gave a number and disappeared. Feeling a little better, Jessie dialed again.

  “You have reached the Indiana State Board of Health. All lines are busy. Please hold.”

  “What do you mean?” Jessie asked. “Why don’t you just talk to me? I’m from Clifton, see, and—”

  “Hello?” a different voice said.

  “Hello?” Jessie said uncertainly.

  “Is anyone there?” the voice said.

  Jessie decided she really did hate phones.

  “Yes,” she said. “I was trying to explain about the epidemic in Clifton. It’s diphtheria, and Mr. Neeley said he was going to call you for help, but he didn’t, and—”

  “Excuse me,” the voice said. “We’re very busy. This is a child calling, isn’t it? If there is an actual communicable disease report to be made, we will accept it only from a qualified physician. Good-bye.”

  “But—” Jessie said.

  There wasn’t an answer, just a buzz.

  Jessie tried calling again.

  “This is the same kid, isn’t it?” the voice said when Jessie tried to explain. “Is this a prank call? We’ll call the police if you don’t stop.”

  Jessie hung up. Why wouldn’t the woman listen to her? Tears blurred her vision. If she tried again, the woman would call the police. And maybe the police would tell Mr. Neeley, or take her back to Clifton….

  Jessie slumped to the floor beside the phones. The only possibility left was a news conference. But how could it help? Mr. Neeley had a radio and TV What if the news conference just let him know where she was?

  Jessie rested her aching head against the wall. Could she hold the news conference and then get on another bus before Mr. Neeley showed up? She felt too dizzy to make any plans. She wiped her tearstained face on her T-shirt sleeve.

  “I’m too scared to do this,” she whimpered. She closed her eyes. Unbidden, the image came to her of the night of Katie’s birth. Jessie had only been seven then, but Ma had let Jessie help Mrs. Ruddle with the delivery. Pa said Jessie was too young for such a thing, but Ma said, “She’s seen the horses and cows and cats plenty of times. It’s no different.” Only, it had been different. At the end, Jessie was left holding clean, tiny Katie, wrapped in a warm blanket. And Katie had reached up and grabbed Jessie’s braid, almost like she knew her already. Since then, Jessie had always secretly considered Katie her favorite of all her brothers and sisters—she thought if the cabin burned down and she could only save one person, it would be Katie.

  If she’d risk going into a burning house, she had to risk a news conference. She didn’t know what else to do.

  Unsteadily, Jessie pulled herself to her feet. Trying not to think what would happen if the news conference failed, too, she opened the Yellow Pages book and found a listing for newspapers. There were lists of TV and radio stations, too. Jessie painfully cleared her throat, preparing to make herself sound older. She planned a speech an adult might say. Then she dialed the first number.

  “There will be a news conference on the steps of the capitol building in a half hour,” Jessie said into the phone.

  “About what?”

  Jessie thought for a minute. She didn’t want to give too much away now—

  “Terrible problems at Clifton Village,” she said. “And an evil man who’s planning a murder.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Jessie sat at the top of the tall steps to the capitol and rested her chin on her knees. She didn’t know how long it would be before the news conference was supposed to start, because she didn’t know what time she’d called all those newspapers, TV stations, and radio stations. She’d lost count of how many places she’d called—she’d used almost all her coins—but a couple of the newspapers had said, “We don’t cover news conferences. We’re just advertisers,” and a couple of radio stations had said, “We don’t do news. We’ve got an all-music format.” Would anybody show up?

  Maybe everybody had known she wasn’t an adult. Maybe Jessie should figure out something else to try, to get help for Katie and the others. She didn’t know what, though. Everything outside Clifton was too confusing.

  Shivering despite the bright sunshine, Jessie reached into her pack for the windbreaker jacket. But it wasn’t there—she must have left it at Mr. Neeley’s. She still had food in the pack, only a little mashed, and she hadn’t eaten since the night before. But she wasn’t hungry. The thought of hard bread or jerky made her throat close over. More than anything, she just wanted to close her eyes, go to sleep, and wake up safely tucked in her bed back in Clifton, with Ma hovering over her with hot soup and lemon tea for her sore throat.

  Jess
ie closed her eyes, but opened them again quickly in case Mr. Neeley had somehow found out where she was because of all her phone calls. She didn’t want him sneaking up on her. But instead of Mr. Neeley or Ma’s familiar face, Jessie saw two men walking up the steps with the strange boxes—cameras?—she’d seen from the bus, at the politician’s news conference.

  So someone believed there was a real news conference!

  The men paused a few steps below Jessie. Another man and a woman joined them.

  “Hey, Joe,” one of the cameramen said to the third man.

  “Know anything about this ten-thirty news conference?”

  “Just that we got a mysterious message. It sounded like a prank call, but after that weird announcement from Clifton Village, my editor wanted me to check it out.”

  Jessie started. What weird announcement from Clifton Village?

  Another woman joined the group.

  “Who’s holding this news conference?”

  The others shrugged.

  “Nobody knows,” one of the men said. “I’m sure it’s not the Clifton Village PR people.”

  “They wouldn’t talk to you either, huh?” one of the women said.

  “Just one quote, over and over: ‘All the information we wish to divulge is in the fax.’ It makes no sense—why close a multimillion-dollar tourist attraction for no reason?” the man asked.

  “You don’t believe the excuse of ‘an unexpected need for maintenance and upkeep’?”

  Another man snorted. “No. That’s why I have better things to do right now than stand around waiting for a news conference that’s never going to happen. I bet the Clifton Village people called this just to throw us off. If someone isn’t here in five minutes, I’m leaving.”

  “Fine, Bob,” a woman said. “You leave. We’ll get the story. Doesn’t the threat of murder intrigue you?”

  Jessie sat still, trying to make sense of everything. Was Clifton Village being closed? Did that mean the children with diphtheria would get treatment that wasn’t “authentic”? Or—did it mean some had died? Jessie felt more confused and scared than ever. The reporters’ talk buzzed in her ears. Nobody paid any attention to her. What if they ignored her when she started talking?