Runaway Twin

by Peg Kehret

“How soon does it come?”

  He consulted a large, round wall clock. “About fifteen minutes. Don’t miss it; it only comes by once a day.”

  I thanked the man, and went back outside. Before the door closed behind me, I heard the music swell again.

  The gas station provided a rectangle of shade that felt several degrees cooler than the air beside the road. I was tempted to wait there, but I feared I wouldn’t see the bus in time if I didn’t stand close to the road.

  When Snickers started to follow me, I pointed to the shade and told him, “Stay!” There was no reason to make him swelter out in the hot sun while I watched for the bus. He lay down beside the building, and I wondered again about his past. Who had trained him? He kept his eyes on me as I walked to the edge of the road, but he didn’t try to follow me.

  As the mid-morning sun beat down, waves of heat echoed up from the asphalt. Sweat trickled down my neck, but I didn’t bother to wipe it off. Thoughts of my room at Rita’s house sneaked in the back door of my mind. Her house wasn’t air-conditioned, but Rita closed all the windows and pulled the curtains shut early each morning to keep out the sun, so the house stayed cool. In the evening, she opened the curtains and the windows to let the breeze blow through. She called it Nature’s air-conditioning, and it worked.

  Voices approaching brought me out of my memory. I turned to see three boys emerging from behind the gas station. All wore jeans and T-shirts. The two in front, who looked about sixteen, swaggered and punched each other as they walked, full of their own importance. One was tall and lanky, with biceps that shouted “I lift weights!” His sidekick had an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth.

  The third boy was younger, maybe ten or eleven, and he lagged behind the other two.

  The boys stopped when they saw me.

  “Well, now, looky here,” said the tallest one. He pointed at me. “Somebody new has come to town.”

  “Maybe we should introduce ourselves,” said the second one. “I’m Hunker. This here is Zooman.” He pointed to the tall boy.

  “Hi,” I said, then looked at the younger boy.

  “I’m Randy,” he said.

  “We’re the welcome committee,” said Zooman.

  Something about the older boys made me uneasy. Zooman’s eyes were blank, and he seemed to look right through me. I wondered if he used drugs. Randy shuffled his feet and kept glancing nervously at Zooman and Hunker, as if he needed their permission to breathe.

  I forced a small smile but did not say my name.

  “What’s in the backpack?” Zooman asked.

  “Extra clothes. I’m going to visit my sister.”

  “Taking the bus?” asked Hunker.

  “That’s right.”

  “If she’s taking the bus, she must have bus fare,” said Zooman, “and maybe some cash for while she’s at her sister’s house.” He stepped closer, with Hunker beside him. Randy stayed behind, making a circle in the dirt with the toe of his sneaker.

  I clutched the backpack’s straps and watched the boys warily.

  “You owe me ten dollars,” Zooman said.

  “For what?”

  “I’m the one who gives permission to catch the bus here. Ten dollars is the permission fee.”

  “No way,” I said.

  “You’re refusing to pay the permission fee?” Zooman said, sounding as if he had never heard of such an outrage.

  “Then we’ll have to take it ourselves,” Hunker said.

  I stared at the boys but said nothing.

  “Hand over the backpack,” said Zooman.

  I shook my head no.

  “Didn’t you hear him?” asked Hunker. “The man told you to give him your backpack.”

  My thoughts raced. Should I scream? Would the man in the gas station help me? Would he even hear me over his radio? Should I try to fight? Maybe if I kicked Zooman in the groin, he’d back off and the other two would follow. Or maybe that would only make them angry and they’d really hurt me.

  I glanced up the road. No bus. No cars. No people.

  Zooman held out his hand.

  “Now,” he said.

  “This is a public road,” I said. “Anyone can catch the bus here.”

  “Not without paying me first,” he said.

  Zooman and I stared at each other for a second. Then he lunged at me and grabbed hold of the backpack. He yanked so hard that one side slipped off my shoulder. I held on to the other strap and yelled, “Help!”

  Hunker ran around behind me and tried to slide the other strap down my arm. I kicked at Zooman and missed.

  A flash of brown and black fur shot out from beside the building, the loud barks startling all of us. Hunker dropped my arm. Zooman let go of the backpack.

  Snickers rushed to me, then stood beside me, facing the boys, with his teeth bared. A menacing growl rumbled from his throat.

  “He’s trained to protect me,” I said. “Take one step toward me, and he’ll go for your throat.”

  The three boys backed away.

  “Hey, we were only kidding,” Zooman said. “We wouldn’t really have taken your money.”

  “Yeah, right,” I said.

  “Nice doggy,” said Hunker.

  Snickers growled louder. He sounded vicious.

  “Lucky for you he only attacks when I tell him to,” I said. “Otherwise the three of you would be hamburger.” I slid my arm through the strap and settled my backpack where it belonged.

  The boys inched farther away, sliding their shoes on the dirt as if they wore skis.

  I patted Snickers’s head. “Good boy,” I said. We’re even now, I thought. I saved Snickers from a life of begging for scraps, and now he had saved me from being robbed and possibly beaten.

  When they were about fifteen feet from me, the three boys turned at the same time, like a school of fish, and ran down the road. As I watched them, I saw the bus approaching in the distance. The boys dashed toward it, shouting and waving their arms.

  Oh no, I thought. Don’t tell me they’re going to take the same bus I am. If they get on, maybe I should try to find June and stay at Myrtle’s house another night.

  The driver stopped beside the boys and opened the door, but they did not board the bus. I couldn’t hear what the boys said, but the door quickly closed again and the bus drove forward. I saw the boys watching me and wondered what they had told the driver.

  I waved my arms over my head. The bus slowed but didn’t come to a complete stop.

  As it rolled up beside me, the driver shouted through an open window, “The next time you kids flag me down when you aren’t going anywhere, I’m calling the cops!” Then he stepped on the gas and pulled away.

  “Wait!” I shouted. I ran a few feet after it, but the bus kept going.

  While I watched the rear of the bus grow smaller in the distance, I heard the three boys laughing hysterically as they loped off in the opposite direction.

  I stood there with the sun beating down on me and wondered why some people are so mean. Those boys knew that if they hailed the bus but didn’t get on, the driver would be unlikely to stop for me. I could see why the driver assumed I was with them; what I didn’t understand was why the boys wanted to make me miss my ride. Was it because Snickers had foiled their attempt to rob me? Did causing trouble for me make them feel superior? Or was it simply that they were bored and unhappy and not smart enough to figure out better ways to use their time?

  I sighed. There was no way I would wait here twenty-four hours for another bus to arrive. I didn’t want to spend twenty-four more seconds in the same town with those delinquents. I really didn’t want to go back to Myrtle’s, either, even if I could find June. They lived in the wrong direction. I wanted to continue my journey. I wanted to find Starr.

  “Looks as if we’re going to do some walking again today,” I told Snickers. I went back in the gas station.

  This time the man saw me enter, and he turned the radio down. “Miss the bus?” he asked.

&nbs
p; “The driver didn’t stop. He thought I was playing a trick and didn’t really want to get on.”

  “Were the Jenley boys out there again?”

  “Three boys waved at the bus before it got to me, but when it pulled over, they didn’t get on.”

  “Yep. That would be Will Jenley’s two boys and their cousin who’s visiting from Alabama. They flag that bus down two, three times a week and then run off when the driver stops. I keep telling them, one of these days the driver’s going to get fed up with their shenanigans and sic the law on them. Teach ’em a lesson.” He shook his head. “Not the brightest bulbs in the box, those Jenley boys.”

  The one shelf in the glass counter held a few candy bars and other snack items for sale. There weren’t any Twinkies, so I bought a Milky Way and a package of salted cashews. Then Snickers and I set off down the road together.

  I glanced frequently over my shoulder, in case the three stooges decided to follow me, but I didn’t see them again. Like most bullies, they disappeared as soon as there was a chance that they might get hurt themselves.

  As I walked, I thought about what could have happened if Snickers hadn’t come to my aid. I didn’t think Zooman planned to hurt me, but he would have stolen all my money. He might have let me keep the backpack with my clothes in it, since he probably had no use for girl’s clothes, but without any cash I’d have been in terrible trouble. I realized it wasn’t smart to carry all of my money in one place.

  As soon as I got away from town, and was certain nobody could see what I was doing, I stopped. I sat on the side of the road and opened my pack. First I poured some water in Snickers’s bowl. The Milky Way was starting to melt, so I ate it. Then I folded some of the twenty-dollar bills into tight rectangles and put them in my shoes. When I slipped the shoes back on, I could feel the mounds of money under each foot’s arch.

  I wished I had a dog collar with a little container on it like rescue dogs wear in the mountains. If I had one of those, Snickers could carry some cash, too. I unsnapped the leash and put it in my backpack. Since Snickers stayed next to me, leashed or not, it didn’t seem necessary to use it when no one else was near.

  While Snickers finished slurping his water, I stuck some money in my jeans pockets. If anyone stole my backpack now, I’d still have enough funds to keep traveling. I’d still be able to find Starr.

  With the cash distributed, we set off again. I never thought I’d be the kind of person who talks to her dog, but as we walked along, I found myself telling Snickers about my early memories of Starr.

  “We used to lie on a blanket in the yard and watch for shooting stars,” I said. “That’s when Grandma first sang ‘Twinkie, Twinkie, Little Star’ to me, and I had a giggle fit and couldn’t quit laughing.”

  As we plodded along the shoulder of the road, I tried to empty my mind of everything except memories. When people get hypnotized they sometimes remember events from long ago that they hadn’t even known they could recall. I hoped that if I concentrated on scenes from my early years, new images might flood into my brain and give me some fresh clues about exactly where we had lived. It didn’t happen, though. I only replayed the few events that I’d remembered all my life.

  I soon ran out of my meager supply of family memories, so I told Snickers about Rita. “She got me a library card right away so I could read whatever I want,” I said. “She let me use her computer, and trusted me not to look at sleazy stuff. When we shopped for clothes, she let me pick out my own and told me I looked pretty. If I had stayed there, I was going to have tennis lessons.”

  Snickers was a good listener.

  “If I ever write my autobiography,” I told him, “I’ll skip all the years between when Mama died and when I went to live with Rita. I’ll only tell the good parts of my life. First I’ll write about Mama and Grandma and Starr; then I’ll write about Rita. Next I’ll tell how I found you, and finally I’ll report the happy ending where I’m reunited with Starr. After that, I’ll be so busy having fun and doing everything with my twin sister and you that I won’t have time to write more chapters in an autobiography.”

  Snickers stopped walking. He looked around and whined.

  “You can’t be tired already,” I said.

  Snickers looked up at the sky and gave a short, high bark.

  I followed his gaze and realized that the sky had grown darker while I was absorbed in my thoughts. A bank of clouds filled the sky ahead, darker clouds than I had ever seen. They had an odd greenish tinge, the color of an old sea turtle.

  I realized the temperature had dropped, too. Even though I’d been walking at a steady pace, I no longer felt warm.

  “Is it going to rain?” I said. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

  Snickers whined again.

  9

  A wind rustled across the road, and drops of rain spattered on my head and shoulders. Snickers poked my leg with his nose, as if urging me to hurry.

  I know animals sometimes sense bad weather approaching before humans are aware of it. Maybe a severe storm was headed this way. I scanned the countryside around me for some place to take shelter. I saw rows of cornfields and, about fifty yards ahead, a big tree on the side of the road. Not too far beyond the tree, a ramshackle shed leaned sideways, as if trying its best to fall over. Probably it had once housed a tractor or plows or other farm equipment. Now it looked abandoned.

  Even though its walls looked less than sturdy, the shed did have a roof, and right then Snickers and I needed a roof over our heads.

  As I hurried toward the shed, the rain turned to hail. I ran, holding my arms over my head, as Snickers trotted beside me. A flash of lightning lit up the dark sky. Thunder followed the lightning. I wondered if Snickers had heard far-off thunder that my ears couldn’t hear, and that’s why he had barked.

  Hail the size of gum balls pelted us, stinging my arms and the top of my head, as if the pieces had been shot from guns. Snickers yelped. By the time I reached the big tree, the ground was covered with round white ice balls, making it impossible to run. I tried to remember if you’re supposed to stay under a tree during lightning, or get away from trees. I wasn’t sure, but when I stood close to the tree trunk, most of the hail got deflected by the tree’s branches before it could hit me or Snickers, so I stayed there. It seemed better to remain under the leafy canopy than to let huge hailstones pound us and risk turning an ankle or falling while we ran to the shed.

  I knelt on the ground beside the tree trunk, with Snickers beside me. I took off the backpack. I put Snickers’s muzzle on my legs, bent over him to protect his head, and held the backpack over my own head.

  Some of the hailstones still hit us, but they were slowed by the leaves and did not strike with as much force as when we were out in the open.

  The lightning and thunder continued. One huge lightning bolt zigzagged straight down, as if flung to earth by an angry god. Others bounced from cloud to cloud, seeking a place to penetrate. The wind increased. The earth vibrated. I could feel Snickers trembling.

  “It’s okay, boy,” I said, trying to convince myself as well as my dog. “It’s only a thunderstorm.”

  But was it? I had never experienced such a high wind before.

  I had always counted seconds in a thunderstorm to estimate how close the lightning was: one, one thousand; two, one thousand. I’d been told that each second that elapsed indicated one mile; if I could count two seconds between the lightning and the thunder, it meant the lightning was two miles away. The thunder now followed the lightning with no space between them. Flash, boom! Flash, boom! The storm was no longer somewhere in the distance. It was here, beside us, all around us. I buried my face in Snickers’s fur and pressed myself against him.

  The wind whipped through the tree above my head, stripping leaves from the branches. My ears popped the way they do if I ride downhill really fast on my bike.

  The hail stopped as abruptly as it had started, perhaps blown away by the strong wind.

  Crack! A la
rge branch snapped off the tree and fell onto the road.

  Even with my backpack on my head and my palms pressed against my ears, the howling wind seemed to come from a boom box whose volume was on high.

  Snap! Another branch broke off, this one dropping to the ground beside me.

  Snickers began to pant, his sides heaving and his tongue hanging out of his mouth. His drool soaked my pant leg.

  The noise increased to a roar. I raised my head to look toward the bank of greenish clouds that I had seen earlier, and gasped.

  A tornado!

  Beyond the shed, a funnel cloud whirled its way from sky to earth. I couldn’t tell how far away it was. Not far. The tornado came toward me across the cornfield, its long, narrow funnel dangling down, twisting like a snake held by its tail.

  I had seen enough nature programs on television to know I could not outrun a tornado. Besides, the wind was now so strong that I knew I would not even be able to stand up, much less run. I leaned hard against the tree trunk, slipping one hand through Snickers’s collar to keep him close and grasping one strap of my backpack with the other.

  Maybe the tree would act as a shield, protecting us from the storm’s fury. If it didn’t—if the tree was uprooted—I didn’t think Snickers and I could survive.

  The noise grew louder. It sounded as if a train track had been installed between two corn rows, and the train was rushing toward me at full speed.

  The twister came closer.

  Another branch snapped off, but this time instead of falling to the ground it flew across the road like a huge bird. I didn’t watch to see where it finally landed because I heard a different noise, like fingernails scraping a chalkboard but magnified a thousand times. As I looked toward the noise, I saw the roof come off the old shed. A long, flat piece of rusty corrugated tin lifted up like a magic carpet and skimmed across the rows of corn, flattening them. It banged to the ground once, then rose again and continued its destructive journey.

  Without the roof, the shed walls collapsed. If I had taken shelter there, the walls would have come down on Snickers and me. The center of the funnel swerved away from us after it hit the shed, but the edges swirled with such intensity that I felt as if Snickers and I were Dorothy and Toto in The Wizard of Oz.