“That’s enough,” West said.
“No. She’s right. He’s greedy. Do you think I don’t know my own father?”
Clover split a glare between West and Bridget. “You should have told us.”
“You’re right,” Bridget said. And then directly to West, “I should have. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
Jude went to the door between their rooms. “We’re going to have to talk about this eventually. But there’s no time right now.”
Clover stood and stared at West until he said, “Please, Clover.”
“This is my room.”
She was right. But he wasn’t about to leave Bridget alone with his blunt, pissed-off sister right now. “Go talk to Jude. I’ll be in soon.”
She glared at him another minute, like she might argue, and then stalked off and slammed the door behind her.
chapter 17
If you are not too large for the place you occupy, you are too small for it.
—JAMES A. GARFIELD, SPEECH AT SPENCERIAN BUSINESS COLLEGE, JULY 29, 1869
“The plan is simple,” Jude said. “We get as close to the gate as we can without being seen. Waverly drives up, causes a scene, and we sneak out into his van.”
Clover had a sudden attack of second thoughts. Maybe they should wait until tomorrow, to be certain that Waverly was aware of his part of this simple plan. Maybe her time-loop theory was wrong. They might be better off really making sure he knew the plan, rather than assuming they’d told him in some other time line. What was a day, really? She tried to calm down before she let those thoughts come out of her mouth. She wouldn’t be able to take them back, and they would make everyone else doubt her.
They had a date with Waverly at nine. She’d picked the time, because whatever after-dark procedures happened at the gate would be settled by then. The guards would assume they were in for a long, quiet night and might be easier to take by surprise. All she could do was hope that in some other version of tonight, she’d told Waverly the same time. And he’d be there. He had to be.
Because West was right. This wouldn’t work twice. They might not even make it back to the Dinosaur after curfew.
If his hair standing on end all over his head was any indication, her brother had been giving this a lot of thought, too. “Wear dark clothes, and hats if you have them. Maybe we can even figure out some way to darken our skin. Maybe the ash from the rocket stove.”
“Ashes all over your pale faces ain’t going to make you less noticeable,” Christopher said.
“It’s a mission. And we have to get it right.”
“Christopher’s right. A bunch of white kids in blackface will draw attention,” Jude pointed out. “It’s not even dark out yet.”
“Okay, fine. Whatever. Has anyone been to the gate at night?”
No one spoke up.
“There are floodlights,” Clover said, closing her eyes to picture the gate. “I’ve only been there during the day, but there are lights.”
“Maybe someone should go scout out the area. See where we can hide,” Jude said.
“We don’t have time for that. Clover’s seen the gate, up close, inside and out,” West said. “It’ll have to be enough. There’s something else to think about. Isaiah might be there.”
Clover shook her head. “I saw him on the day shift.”
“Just be prepared, in case.”
“Who’s Isaiah?” Phire asked.
“My friend in the guard.”
“Well, that’s okay then, right? He’s your friend.”
“I don’t know.”
It took them almost ninety minutes to get to the gates. The timing was perfect. Church bells all over the city rang to announce curfew fifteen minutes before they approached the gate. Clover was relieved to see that her memory hadn’t failed her. There were floodlights attached to the guard stations right inside and outside the gate. Even though it was still just dusk, the lights were turned on. They seemed to be mostly for the comfort of the guards. They were angled downward, rather than casting a wide circle of light.
The guard on the city side sat in a chair with his back against the guard booth, examining his fingernails with his hat pulled down low over his forehead.
Clover and the others crouched and moved through the trees. One by one, with West in the lead and Christopher in the rear, they slipped along the wall to the place where the guards had parked their Company van and knelt behind the vehicle.
Jude looked at his watch and whispered, “Two minutes.”
The watch belonged to his brother. He wore it like Clover wore her mother’s shoes. Clover petted Mango’s head, to keep him calm. She felt a little sick. If this went badly, it would be on her. Her idea might get her brother killed. It might get Jude and his friends sent back to Foster City. Or worse.
They might all end up in front of the squad. Her father might shoot—
“Clover,” West hissed. “Stop.”
She forced herself to stop rocking, one hand on the van, the other tight around Mango’s lead and resting on his head. She stood up just enough to see the closest guard through the van’s windows. He looked up just then, and she ducked. “I was wrong.”
“What?” West asked.
“It’s Isaiah.”
West lifted his head and then sank back against the van. “It’ll be okay. Nothing changes.”
They squatted there for what seemed to Clover like a hundred years. He’s not coming. He’s not coming. But then she heard an engine approaching and the night was split by a long, loud bleep of a horn. “It worked. I can’t believe it worked.”
Clover stood up and saw Isaiah drop the book he’d been reading when Waverly started his racket. He stood up too fast and knocked his chair over. She barely heard him say, “What the hell?”
“Here we go,” Jude whispered.
“Someone in a Company van,” the other guard said. That wasn’t Isaiah.
“Well, Jesus. He doesn’t need the horn.”
The other guard joined Isaiah on the outside as the van came to a stop in front of them.
“Wait,” West said.
Finally, he started toward the wall at a fast, silent pace. They all followed. One of Clover’s hands was caught up in Mango’s leash and the other flapped like it had a mind of its own and wanted to detach itself from her body.
She was the weak link. She was going to get them all killed, because she couldn’t do this.
Jude slipped his hand around her flapping one and squeezed it. “Breathe,” he said. “We got this.”
West held an arm up, then lowered it quickly and went through the gate with Bridget in tow, slipping around it to the left. The twins went next. Jude pulled Clover, who brought Mango with her, one hand being led and the other leading.
Phire and Christopher were right behind her with Emmy.
They would have made it. The plan worked flawlessly. Except a rabbit darted out of the woods and across the road in front of the van just before Emmy made it into hiding. Mango barked just once. He was a good dog and well trained. He didn’t try to run after the rabbit. He just couldn’t help announcing it.
Phire had gotten up the incline into the trees and turned back to help his sister, but it was too late. Isaiah turned toward Mango’s bark. Maybe even recognized it, even though he couldn’t see them in the trees. He did see Emmy, though. Isaiah grabbed her around the waist, up against him, just as Christopher yanked her brother deeper into the trees.
The little girl squirmed and reached toward where Clover watched in horror. “Let go of me! Phire! Phire!”
“Stop kicking me!”
“I don’t want to be a ghost! Phire!”
Christopher put a hand over Phire’s mouth and managed to quiet him before they were all caught. West whispered in the smaller boy’s ear, “Wait a minute.”
“Phire!” Emmy screeched again when her brother didn’t come for her.
“Where? Where’s the fire?” Isaiah indicated with his head for the other gu
ard to check inside the gate.
“I don’t see nothing,” he called.
“I swear to God, little girl, if you don’t stop—ouch!” Emmy had her teeth in Isaiah’s forearm, and even then he didn’t let her go. He shook her instead, until she loosened her jaws.
“What’s wrong with you? You want to get eaten by a bear out here?”
The second guard came back and picked up the gun he was issued to keep himself from being eaten by the same bears Isaiah had warned Emmy about.
“Who’re you with?” Isaiah asked. “What’s your name?”
“What the hell are you doing outside the gate?” The other guard looked at Emmy. Clover was willing to bet this was the first time he’d ever seen anyone other than Mariners and their crew on the other side of the gates.
“Phire, help me!” Emmy bit Isaiah again, on the wrist this time, and he let her go, but when she tried to run to the woods, he yanked her back.
“I told you, you don’t want to go there. And you bite me again, you’re going to get a visit from the tooth fairy.”
Christopher grunted, and Clover thought maybe Phire had bit him, too. West waved and whispered for the twins, Bridget, Clover, and Jude to circle through the woods to the rear of Waverly’s van.
“Let Phire go,” he said. “It’s okay. He’ll be quiet, won’t you?”
Christopher waited until Phire nodded his ability to stay calm, and then they all took off. As Clover took her turn running to the back of the van, she saw her brother step into the light and skidded to a stop. “Oh, no.”
“It’s okay,” Jude whispered, pushing her along. “He knows what he’s doing.”
Waverly kept up on the horn, but he didn’t look back at them as they piled into his vehicle.
“Isaiah,” West said.
Clover maneuvered herself so she could see West and Isaiah through the van’s windshield while she hid behind the driver’s seat. She was acutely aware of the man sitting in it. Could smell him and hear his breathing, even over the sound of the horn he never let up on. But she watched Isaiah put his hand on the baton at his hip. It didn’t shake and there was no hesitation. For a split second, Clover was sure her brother was going to be executed right here.
“Let her go, Isaiah,” West said. “Please.”
“Jesus Christ, West, what are you doing here?” Isaiah looked over his shoulder, and then toward the woods where they had all been hiding. “What the hell is going on? Who is this kid?”
Emmy threw her arms up and kicked back, hard, catching Isaiah in the knee. Isaiah, whose attention was divided, stumbled backward; his center of gravity shifted and his leg buckled under him. She wiggled away and threw herself at West, wrapping herself around him when he lifted her. Clover covered her mouth with her hands and leaned into Mango, the pressure of his heavy body keeping her from screaming. “No, no, no,” she whimpered.
“Wait, Clover. Watch.” Jude was behind her. Close, but not touching.
Somehow Phire had come around behind the second guard. Clover didn’t see him, but she saw the guard go down to his knees when a rock hit the back of his head. The kid was a dead-on shot. Isaiah went down with the next stone. Phire dove into the van and was followed seconds later by West and Emmy. Christopher pulled the back door closed.
“You know,” Waverly leaned out the open driver’s-side window and called to the fallen guards, “I don’t think I need to get in the gate after all.”
“What? Wait a minute,” Isaiah called, rubbing the back of his head and coming to his knees.
Waverly put the van into reverse and waved through the windshield at Isaiah, who looked unsure as to whether to help the other guard, who was still lying on the ground, or chase the van on foot.
“Well, you kids sure know how to make an entrance,” Waverly said after he had the van turned around and they were speeding away from the gate. “Or was that an exit? Yes. It was an exit. A spectacular one, too.”
“We’re going to be caught,” Phire said. “That guard knew West. He saw Emmy.”
“He thinks we’re in the woods,” West said.
“He’ll figure it out!”
“I don’t think so. Not right away, anyway.”
Christopher knelt near the back of the van’s cargo area and looked out the small rear window. All the seats had been removed, but Waverly had put blankets down over the bare metal floor for them. “No one is chasing us.”
After a while, the adrenaline ran itself out and the chatter in the van quieted as Waverly drove. “I can’t believe you showed up,” Clover whispered, mostly to herself.
“Did you really doubt me?”
“Yes,” Clover said. “We have to get off the highway.”
“Don’t worry, we will.”
chapter 18
The only thing new in the world is the history you don’t know.
—HARRY S. TRUMAN, AS QUOTED IN PLAIN SPEAKING: AN ORAL BIOGRAPHY OF HARRY S. TRUMAN BY MERLE MILLER
“Where we going, anyway?” Phire asked. “We could ankle it faster than this.”
“We’re driving forty miles per hour. And you walk at about one tenth that rate. Not much faster than that.” Waverly didn’t move his hands from the steering wheel or look back as he spoke. “Of course you could jog, or you could run, but even then you might go five, maybe seven miles an hour, and not for very long. We’ll be there when we get there, as my mother used to say. And not a moment before.”
Clover watched the shadowy trees, caught in the van’s headlights, as they drove until her stomach turned over and she had to look away. The lake would come up on their left soon, but she wasn’t sure they’d see it in the dark.
“Are you okay?” West asked her. He sat between her and Bridget, leaning against the side of the van.
“You could have been killed.”
“But I wasn’t.” He tried to put a hand on her arm, but she yanked away from him. “Isaiah wouldn’t hurt me.”
“That other guard would have. In a heartbeat. And you don’t know what Isaiah would do. He’s a guard, West. It’s his job to stop people from coming in and out of the city.”
“I’m fine.”
Clover pulled her knees up under her chin. It was crowded, cold, and uncomfortable in the van. “I’m not.”
“Try not to worry so much, Clover,” Waverly called back. He didn’t even pretend not to eavesdrop. “You’re going to love the ranch.”
“Don’t you think Isaiah probably connected you to the van, West?” Clover asked.
“Isaiah couldn’t wrap his brain around any of this if I told him flat-out.”
Emmy had fallen asleep with her head in her brother’s lap and stretched just then, her small foot connecting with Mango’s hip. The dog lifted his head, startled, but didn’t make a sound.
“Almost there,” Waverly said, turning the van off the highway.
Five minutes later, the van stopped. They were there. Not that Clover could see where there was. “Where?”
“Our ranch, of course. You’ll have to wait until morning to really see it.” Waverly turned down a long drive and then stopped and cut the engine. He turned around in his seat to look at them. “I can hardly wait until you do.”
Ned Waverly was sixty-three years old. He had curly graying hair growing in shoulder-length tufts around the edges of a bald scalp. He wore a purple t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans cut off at the knee. When he got out of the van and came to let them out, Clover glimpsed open-back leather sandals with two straps over the tops of his feet.
He was lean with a potbelly and stood several inches taller than West. Taller even than Christopher. He looked like the pictures she’d seen of him, only less well groomed and far more casually dressed. And with considerably less hair on top. More on the sides. They all climbed out of the van and stretched. The rush of adrenaline, followed by a long car ride, had taken a toll. Clover guessed that, except for her, none of them had ever been in a car that they could remember.
The air smelled s
trongly of pine and had a chill bite to it that surprised her. When she looked up, Clover was stunned by the blanket of stars above the ridge of treetops just barely illuminated by the night sky. She’d had a dusk curfew her whole life. Clover had never been outside this far past sunset, except in her own backyard.
She squinted her eyes, trying to see more of the ranch, but it was no good. “There’s a house, isn’t there?”
Waverly swung his flashlight ahead of them. “That way. Vamanos, mis amigos.”
“Hablan Español?” Jude asked.
“Not much. Or well.” Waverly started down the path and they followed, fumbling their own flashlights out of their packs as they went.
“This guy is weird,” Jude whispered to Clover as he cranked the handle on his, then clicked it to life.
“Takes one to know one,” Waverly called over his shoulder.
The dirt path led to a large, wooden house. Clover caught glimpses of other buildings and strange structures as the flashlights flitted over them, and then Waverly opened the door and held it while they filed in.
He flipped a switch and electric light flooded the room. “Just for tonight, girls on the left and boys on the right. We’ll get you set up in your places tomorrow.”
“We got our own rooms?” Emmy asked. “Are they upstairs?”
“No, no, those stairs don’t lead anywhere.”
Emmy rubbed at her eyes with the palm of one hand and seemed ready to question that, but just followed the twins to the girls’ side of the room.
“You have electricity?” Clover asked. They were in some sort of big living room, with a fireplace in one wall and heavy wood furniture pushed out of the way to make room for thick cushions on the floor.
“Electricity, of course, but no wasting. Fuel is precious, you know. Contentment consists not in adding more fuel, but in taking away some fire. That’s Thomas Fuller.”
“Thomas Fuller wasn’t a president,” Clover said, mostly to herself.
“No. But Jimmy Carter was. He said, ‘Put on a sweater.’ Damn shame we didn’t listen to him, isn’t it? Damn shame.” Waverly waved her away to the girls’ side. “I’m afraid you’ll have to use the bushes just outside the door if you can’t wait until morning. Can’t go roaming around here at night, when you don’t know where you’re going. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my! Okay, just bears, but they’re bad enough. Good night, children. And welcome home.”
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