He got up and paced around the small room.
Concentrate! he told himself. Just because people were looking for him did not mean he would be found. He just had to think.
He took his wet sleeping bag out of his backpack and placed it over the table to dry. He retrieved his still-damp clothes from the dressing room and hung them off the chairs. He looked in the refrigerator for any food that he could carry with him. He selected some packaged veggies and dip, a slice of pepperoni pizza, and a questionable-looking piece of birthday cake, and packed them in the outside pockets of his backpack. It was like the time they predicted a really big blizzard in Boston. He and his mom went into preparation mode, buying canned goods and water, getting out the candles. He knew he was preparing now; he just didn’t know for what.
Streetlights lit up the store well enough for Jack to see without the flashlight. He grabbed one of the dry L.L. Bean sleeping bags and began to curl up on the couch in the staff room. That’s when he noticed it: BO — his own! Even though he’d been out in the rain all day, he was really beginning to stink. Maybe it was time to take a sponge bath.
About twenty scratchy, soapy paper towels later, he crawled into the sleeping bag and turned the TV on, but he didn’t hear a word that was spoken. His mind went in circles.
He knew that the moment he came out of hiding or was found, his life would change forever. He would no longer live with his mother. He would no longer live two bus stops away from Nina, and maybe no longer even go to Curley Middle School. He thought of Nina — Nina, who should have known that even hinting that his mother wasn’t taking good care of him, hinting to his grandmother, of all people, could ruin everything.
His thoughts turned to his grandmother. She had looked older — older and worried. But the worried part, that was probably just for show. His mother had told him that ever since she was a little girl, her mother had tried to control her, tried to destroy her life. “She’s crazy, Jack,” his mother had said. “You have to trust me on this.” Now, once again, his grandmother was trying to take him away from his mother. And this time she’d probably succeed.
It would serve Mom right, Jack thought, but immediately regretted it.
He reached for his still-unnamed elephant. His mom was spinning, and she couldn’t be held responsible for what she did during the spinning times. Maybe he could find a way to get to the Bahamas, too. Maybe they could live there, where people wouldn’t know anything about them and wouldn’t even consider taking him away from her. They could live in a hut on the beach. Catch fish. Maybe after thinking about what she had done, she’d stay on her medication forever. (She had promised that before. Still . . .)
He thought of getting back on the computer and blasting Nina but had heard that people could be traced by their computer activity. Now that he knew they were looking for him, he wouldn’t be signing on to his YouPage again.
He had to have more time to figure things out. How could he travel without being seen? Maybe in the dark. He could travel at night now and not during the day. But the thought of walking the dark roads at night, by himself, made him shiver.
If only there was a subway in Maine, or a bus system like the Island Explorer for the rest of the state. He didn’t have money, but he could have stowed away.
There had to be a faster way to travel.
Wait a minute . . . what about a bike? There were all those bikes in the front of the store. No one would expect a missing kid to be riding a bike somewhere. Especially if he was wearing a helmet! And his identity would be well hidden beneath a helmet. He wouldn’t have to travel at night after all.
He went back out front and inspected the bikes by flashlight. There were six bikes there — two about the right size for him — and none of them were locked. Boy, things sure were different in Maine.
Light suddenly flashed into the store.
Jack ducked behind the bikes and turned his flashlight off. A car had pulled into the parking lot, and its headlights had swung into the store.
His heart threatened to leap right out of his chest.
Had someone seen him? Seen his flashlight beam and called the police? Did they think he was robbing the store?
A man got out of the car and tried the door. The rattle echoed in the building. Was it a cop? The glaring headlights made it hard to tell.
Jack held his breath; still, the flashlight shook in his left hand. At any moment he expected a voice from a bullhorn to tell him to stay where he was.
The sound of a radio — a walkie-talkie radio — came from the car. It had to be the police, didn’t it? The officer went back to the car, slammed the car door behind him. Jack lifted up his head and watched the now-visible cruiser move on.
He let out a gust of air and sat there, his head resting on his knees, until he could no longer feel his blood banging against the walls of his veins.
A dog barked in the distance.
And I was worried about eating the gummy worms, he thought. If I get caught stealing a bike, I’m going to juvie.
Was it worth it? Was stealing a bike worth the risk?
One of the things his mom always said when teachers and guidance counselors started poking into their business was, “Can’t they see what a good kid you are? Can’t they see that I’m raising you right?”
Would stealing a bike mean that Jack had proved the opposite? Maybe he was turning out to be a bad kid after all.
But what were his choices? Without the bike, he would have to walk at night. Wouldn’t that be more dangerous? He could explain, he reasoned, that with the bike, he was being smart, playing it safe — doing what his mother had taught him.
He pulled himself up and went back to the computer to figure out logistics. He hadn’t biked in a long time — not since the time he and his mother rented bikes and rode around Jamaica Pond. And that was a really easy ride. He pulled up a map of the area. He could take the Maine Turnpike home, but he remembered seeing a sign: no bikes, horses, or walkers allowed. Plus, he’d probably be more noticeable riding along a major highway. So he investigated the minor routes and finally decided on Route 1. He’d try to get to Bucksport — which was about twenty miles away — tomorrow. Jack printed the map.
He knew he was being ambitious; he’d have to leave pretty early if he planned to make it that far. Would the employees notice a bike was missing, or would they think it had been sold? He realized that right now, anyone could tell that there’d been an intruder. An intruder who had used the microwave. He got up and straightened up as much as he could. He threw the frozen-food packages and the empty Tupperware containers into the bathroom trash. He grabbed the empty gummy-worm box and did the same with that. He changed into his own clothes and placed the borrowed ones back on the rack. With any luck, the only thing they would notice was the missing food — and hopefully not until lunchtime.
A helmet. He needed a helmet. He hadn’t seen any out front, but maybe they had some in the storeroom. He was just about to give up when he noticed a couple of used helmets — one for kids and one for adults — on a shelf near the door. They probably offered the use of those helmets for test rides of the bikes. He tried on the smaller of the two helmets. It would work.
Jack set the computer alarm and left the office door open. Then he curled up on the office couch. He would begin riding at 6:00 a.m.
Riding the bike was scary at first. He had to go through the center of town and didn’t know the rules. Should he be riding on the sidewalk or in the street? And what were the laws for intersections? Was he supposed to continue riding, or was he supposed to get off the bike and walk it across? Did he need to wait for the light to turn green, or could he just cross if there were no vehicles coming? At this hour there were hardly any cars, but still, the last thing he needed, now that he was not only running from the police but had stolen a bike, was to be noticed.
He decided to walk across a major intersection. Surely, no one could fault him for being extra cautious. When he got to the other side, he faced
his next challenge: Main Street, a road he couldn’t avoid, was one long, steep hill — one he had to go down.
He could picture himself losing control of the bike and crashing into one of the cars parked along the side of the street. Or, worse, hitting an oncoming car head-on. He decided to use the sidewalk — and his brakes. Almost immediately, he started speeding down the hill. He panicked and braked hard, nearly catapulting over the top of the handlebars. He started again and braked more gently, easing himself down the hill.
Below him was a bridge. Great, he thought, I’ll get to the bottom of the hill, only to bash into a guardrail and go toppling into a river. But he didn’t. With only a little wiggling as he rode next to the railing, he crossed to the other side.
He was through Ellsworth and on his way.
Jack could tell from the map that there would be long parts on the ride with no interesting towns or sights to see, but he couldn’t believe how quickly the city turned into country and how amazingly boring the country road to Bucksport was. “Woods and fields and trailers, woods and fields and trailers, woods and fields and trailers,” he recited, letting the sound of his own voice be entertainment.
Jack might have dreaded that first big hill in Ellsworth, but it got to the point that he was praying for hills now just to break up the ride. Slopes gave him the chance to coast for a while, and he was gaining the confidence to fly down them. And little by little, he began to figure out the gears on the bike. At first, he was using far more energy on inclines than he needed to. Later, he realized that if he downshifted while coasting, he would gain more traction at the end and would therefore not have to work quite so hard on the next climb.
Not used to biking, his legs felt tight after a couple of hours of riding. He decided to take a break and slip into the bathroom at the gas station up ahead, on the corner of an intersection. He could rest his legs and fill up his water bottle. He parked his bike next to two Dumpsters and left the helmet on the handlebars. He thought of leaving the helmet on his head, since it made him feel more hidden, but (a) he’d feel dorky, and (b) it might give people an invitation to ask him questions about his bike ride.
A woman was purchasing a gallon of milk at the counter, which gave Jack the opportunity to slip into the restroom unnoticed. When he came out, a sunburned man was waiting by the door. The man looked down — down at Jack’s wrapped finger (why had he bothered to rewrap it?) — and then up at his face.
“Excuse me,” said Jack, moving past the man fast enough to avoid questions, slowly enough to avoid suspicion. He heard the restroom door close behind him and hoped that that was the end of the man’s curiosity.
Jack had wanted to take out his map before hopping on his bike, check out his location and the distance he’d traveled, but he didn’t dare pause. What he did know was that he was inland now, and the day was beginning to get really hot. He went from wearing his long-sleeved shirt and jacket to just the long-sleeved shirt to his short-sleeved one instead. On one hill, he peeled off his shirt altogether. By the time he reached the Orland River, he knew he was going in. Only problem was, the Orland River was right on the edge of town. Could he take a swim on a Thursday, in the middle of the day, without anyone noticing him? He’d have to stay out of sight of drivers, walkers, and anyone who happened to look out a nearby window at the river below.
He parked his bike in the woods near a bridge, then slid down the embankment and into the water. Although it felt a little creepy under the bridge, he remained there in the semidarkness, where he wouldn’t be seen. He swam from one side of the bridge to the other, hoping there weren’t snakes or leeches in this river, and boy, did it feel good.
After the swim, he lay down on a sun-baked rock in the woods to dry off. Then he ate the food he’d packed. All of it. He did think it might have been smarter to save some of the food for later, but so far, he’d been able to get food pretty much whenever he needed it, and right now, he was starving. He could always find some more bottles, raid another garden, or hide out in another store. Heck, maybe he’d choose a grocery store tonight!
He didn’t feel much like riding after his break, but he knew he’d better keep going. People might have guessed he’d spent the night in L.L. Bean by now. He needed to get as far away as possible.
Finally, he reached the town of Bucksport. His skin was beginning to feel stretched tight over his face and shoulders, and he suspected a sunburn. Putting on his shirt made his shoulders hurt, confirming his suspicion. Jack was so tempted to stop here, to visit the library, which was surely air-conditioned. But it was simply too risky. He didn’t dare use his homeschool excuse — not now, when people were on the lookout for him.
As Jack crossed a bridge in town, he saw a large castle-like structure in the distance. He stopped and pulled out his map: Fort Knox, the map said. Ha! He’d heard of Fort Knox. That was where all the gold was kept. But he was pretty sure that that Fort Knox was in the South.
This one looked awesome, and like the perfect place to escape from the sun for a few hours — the sun, and the darn deerflies that buzzed around his head every time he came to a stop. That is, if he could get inside, he thought as he batted the pests away.
After crossing the bridge, he came to another, one that was perhaps the tallest, coolest bridge he’d ever seen. It was sparkling new, with gleaming silver cables that went up to two towers, one of which, Jack could tell by the windows at the top, was an observation tower. The old bridge still spanned the wide river, just below and to the right of the newer one. Glancing down at the narrow double lanes and the barely waist-high, rusty guardrail on the old bridge, Jack was awfully glad for the renovation. Still, the sheer height of the new bridge made his heart race as he crossed.
Unfortunately, as he pedaled closer, he could see that in the middle of the road, there was a booth at the fort entrance, with several cars in line, waiting to pass through. He glanced up at the sign towering beside him: it was a state park; admission was required. For a moment, he thought of giving up and going back to Bucksport to find a place out of the heat, but the fort had looked so amazing from a distance, and he figured he’d be much safer there, since most vistors would be tourists — people who were less likely to be watching the local news.
There wasn’t a fence around the park, he noticed as he looked around. And there seemed to be only one person manning the small booth. Perhaps you only had to pay if you needed parking. Maybe walkers and bicyclists could go right in.
As much as he wanted to believe that might be true, Jack knew it wasn’t likely. He knew if he walked his bike up to the booth, he’d be asked to pay, but he couldn’t: even if he had had the money, he couldn’t have risked being recognized. He would have to sneak in.
Jack left his bike and his backpack leaning against a tree along the side of the park, grabbed his water bottle (boy, he couldn’t get enough water today), and zigzagged across the lawn, trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible. He reached the back of the fort and then, keeping close to the cement wall, slipped around to the front entrance.
A rush of cool air welcomed him as he ducked inside. It was dimmer inside, too, but he could make out cannon-gun ports, large open chambers, spiral staircases, and long, dark hallways. Too bad he didn’t have his flashlight. He would have loved to explore all the nooks and crannies of this place.
Jack wandered the halls, taking it all in. For the first time since he’d left the campground, he actually forgot that he was hungry. That he had a broken finger and a sunburn. That his mother was missing and that he’d been left in a campground two states away from home. For a while, he was nothing more than a soldier protecting the valuable Maine coast. He raced up one corridor and down the next. He positioned himself behind real cannons and pretended to fire away. It was nice to be the only kid here; he didn’t have to feel like he was too old to play games like this. But oh, how he wished Nina were here to see it!
Then he remembered what Nina had done and took it back.
The lower
rooms in the fort were even darker and cooler, and water dripped down some of the walls. Although they were initially dark and creepy, it was in these dank cellar rooms that his burned back felt most comfortable.
At one point, he dragged his hand against an outer wall to keep from getting lost in the darkness. The granite felt at times smooth and dry, at other times rough and damp. Jack was picturing worms and mold coating these walls, when wham! he bumped right into another, much larger person in the dark.
The man laughed a deep, howling laugh. Jack’s heart skipped a beat, and he took off running.
“Hey, kid!” the man yelled. “Come back! I didn’t mean to scare you.”
But Jack didn’t stop, which might or might not have been a good decision. Speaking to strangers could get him recognized; not speaking could raise their concern — or at least their curiosity.
Once around a couple of bends, Jack slowed down. He continued exploring but was careful to watch where he was going. Eventually, he heard the voices of other kids and knew that school must be out. Sure enough, he passed a troop of Cub Scouts, screeching as they entered a dark powder room at the base of the fort. Since these were locals and more apt to know about him, he figured it was time to get his stuff and be off.
Exiting the same way he’d come in, Jack raced toward the clump of trees where he’d hidden his bike. But it wasn’t there — nor was his backpack. Was he in the wrong place? He searched in different directions, looking around the entrance from increasing distances. He kept coming back to the same place, where he was fairly certain he’d left his things. It wasn’t until he noticed the empty veggie-and-dip wrapper, the one he’d stowed after eating by the river, that he knew that he was in the right place. He was in the right place, and everything he’d carried — his extra shirt, his jacket, his flashlight, his sleeping bag — was now gone. Along with the bike.
All Jack had left was a water bottle, the clothes on his back, and one small, plastic elephant.
Small as an Elephant Page 9
