Nevertheless, he was plagued by one nagging question:
What if it didn't work?
Jake was poring over an atlas of New York, drawing various lines, circles, and crosses, shaking his head, erasing them, and drawing them again.
"We've got a big problem, Alex."
"What?" Alex was busy checking the food stores.
"Lake Ontario."
"I thought we were just going to go around it."
"Sure, if you want to go four extra states and another thousand miles."
"What if we did it farther north?"
"We'd still have to cross the St. Lawrence. We desperately need a new plan." Jake frowned, drew a line connecting Woodsbrook with Quebec, then placed several more crosses.
"I've got our plan already," Alex said, tossing two slices of moldy bread out of the treehouse. "We cross the St. Lawrence."
"And how the hell do you plan to do that? Get some fairy dust and fly across?"
"Look, Jake, I've been working on this for months." Alex took the pen and drew his own line, from Woodsbrook to a small stretch of river between Lake Erie and Lake Ontario. "We'll cross at Niagara Falls."
"We'd get caught. I don't have my passport. Mom keeps it in a fireproof box, and I never got the key."
"Don't you think I thought of that? I don't even have a passport. We'll stow away on a ferry and—"
"Whoa! Wait a minute! You didn't tell me we would be doing anything illegal!"
"It's not illegal. It's more like vaulting a turnstile. Everybody does that."
"Yeah, and everybody smokes, too. Just because a lot of people do it, doesn't make it right. Besides, we'll be smuggling ourselves across an international border. That's a federal offence. They'll think we're running drugs or something."
"If following the rules is that important to you, Jake, we'll go with the fairy dust plan."
"You're crazy."
Alex narrowed his eyes. "Maybe you should try living like me sometime. You'd want to leave too."
"Okay! But remember what I said. I'm only taking you as far as Canada. After that, you're on your own."
"I'll keep in touch."
"Say, Alex," Jake began, folding the map up and unfurling his sleeping bag. "What's so important about Canada anyway?"
Alex was counting the money he had stolen from Roland's safe. He returned it to the backpack, looking over at Jake. "Sawtooth."
Sarah didn't know how long she'd been asleep.
Ever since running from Edbrough, she'd collapsed in the forest on the outskirts of town, under a large tree, an oak or maple or whatever the heck grew around here.
She got up and groggily looked around. The moon shone through the leafless branches, a silver searchlight that reminded her only of what a mess she was in. She was alone.
Snow crunching under her feet, she walked a few feet and collapsed against a tree. I've slept too long.
Taking small steps and resting every few feet, she collected her thoughts enough to be able to walk.
Emerging from the forest, Sarah noticed a sign proclaiming the presence of Interstate 81. Another sign, smaller than the first, heralded the city limits of Woodsbrook, population 4,142, "technological capital of upstate New York". This proves, she thought, that you can put anything on a sign and hordes of morons will believe it. We have one technological company, and they're corrupt as hell.
Looking to her right, she saw the familiar hills that lay east of town, covered with snow and looking as alien as the craters on the moon.
A car roared by, spraying her with snow. Spitting ice from her mouth, she continued along the road. Her surroundings were looking more familiar now. She had been here once before, she remembered, when she was five and had wandered away from an orphanage field trip. She was near the park, a place she had been many times.
"What's Sawtooth?"
Jake was very tired. It had been a long night, and he was still wondering how he would explain to his father why he had looted the pantry and run off to Niagara Falls. Before he fell asleep, though, he wanted to hear Alex's explanation. What could be so important about a Canadian town he'd never even heard of?
"Sawtooth," Alex began, "is the puniest little town you'll ever see."
"Even smaller than Woodsbrook?"
"Much smaller than Woodsbrook. Population, 691. It's shielded by hills and forests in the northern part of Manitoba."
"How did you hear about this place? It sounds like it wouldn't be on any maps."
"It was in the news, a few months ago. The town's population is decreasing, its economy is plunging, and there's no space for a chip plant or strip mine."
"What's your point?"
"Anyway, the mayor had this great idea, and this is why I want to go there. He thought that if he let minors own property and have adult's rights, there'd be more people moving in and more money in circulation."
"Whoa! Really?"
"There you have it. Sawtooth is the only town in North America that treats anybody over ten as a legal adult."
Jake sat up in his sleeping bag. "Alex, I don't think you've really thought this through. How are you going to get there? How are you going to get the money for a house? What about food along the way? Lodging?"
"Now, that's the beauty of it. Ever hear of Ridge—
"Stop it, Alex!" Jake was unaware that he was yelling now. "These blueprints are all worthless! You were so focused on escaping that you never thought of what would happen after you did! You've planned everything around worthless Canadian burgs so far out in the wilderness it's impossible for a kid to reach them! I'm not listening to any more of your crazy schemes!"
Alex took a step back. "Jake, you aren't even going to be with me! What do you care?"
Jake took a deep breath. "I'm your friend, in case you hadn't noticed. I'm trying to protect you from yourself. Who knows what could happen to you? You could get injured. Attacked. Starve to death."
"I've thought this through, Jake," Alex said, climbing into his sleeping bag. "Ridge City is the key to the whole thing. Don't worry about me."
It had only been days Sarah last saw the oak in the center of the field, a consequence of the field trip coordinator's lack of creativity, but she had never seen it by night. The moonlight complemented the tree perfectly, illuminating it as a sentry over the rest of the park's meager plant life. It had always been her favorite tree.
It was hard to believe that it was only hours since she had last been at the orphanage. It felt like days.
In the more recent years their system had allowed her to visit the tree, she had noticed the beginnings of a treehouse. When she was seven, she had seen rungs nailed to the side of the tree; when she was nine, there had been a half-finished platform; the last time she had visited, when she was eleven, just weeks ago, she had seen the beginnings of walls. It would look good when it was complete. She might even be able to spend some nights there.
A rope was hanging over a tree branch, out of reach. Taking an icy rock from the ground, she threw it and knocked the rope down.
It couldn't possibly be occupied at this time of night.
She grasped the rope tightly and began ascending the rungs, one by one.
What she saw at the top came as a complete surprise to everyone.
Two sleeping bags were unrolled on the wooden floor, both of them occupied. The first boy appeared to be asleep, hunched up inside the bag to ward off the night's piercing cold.
The second, sitting up in his bag, was hard to describe, but looked oddly familiar. She remembered having seen him before, but couldn't place where.
The moment she reached the top of the ladder, the second boy started, rolled out of his sleeping bag and kicked his friend.
"Jake, wake up!"
Before Sarah could react, he grabbed her by the neck and slammed her down on the floor.
Alex had no idea who had infiltrated their headquarters, but he did know that under the circumstances, on the crucial night, it couldn't be anybody goo
d.
"Who the hell are you!?"
"Alex, cut it out!" Jake pulled him back, and he hit the floor hard.
"What are you doing here? How did you find us?"
Sarah didn't know what had happened; since she stepped into the treehouse, it had all been kind of a blur.
"Wait a minute," she said, an idea suddenly coming to her. "You aren't Alex Orson, are you?"
"How do you know?"
"You've been in the news."
"Crap!" The newspaper was the last place Alex wanted to be seen right now. Too much press meant people would be looking for him. He wondered why they hadn't sent anybody to take him yet—maybe Machry had something to do with it.
"What are you doing up here?" Sarah asked.
"I asked you first," Alex said, still watching for her to pull a gun on them.
She began tentatively, "I'm from the orphanage."
"So what?" Alex interrupted, "They want to use our treehouse as a parking annex?"
"No! I ran away! They took me to the adoption office, and this guy named Edbrough was threatening to arrest me…"
Alex had heard the name, but was still suspicious. "How did you get up here?"
"I don't know, I fell asleep for a while, then I followed the interstate and ended up here…I didn't think anyone would be up here. I just needed someplace to sleep."
"That sounds plausible," Jake said.
"I'm not sure. What are the chances that three people would be running away from home on the same night?"
Jake yelled, "I'm not running away! I'm only here so you don't get killed on the way to Canada."
Canada?, Sarah thought. That would be perfect. "You're going to Canada? Can I, um…"
"No, you can't come with us," Alex said. "Our supplies," he indicated the backpacks, "are stretched enough as it is. And besides, I'm still not sure if you're a friend or foe. Do you know my father?"
"Roland? I've never even met him. Besides, if he wanted to find you, he'd hire a tracker, not an eleven-year-old orphan with no training."
"She has a point," Jake said.
Alex hesitated. "Fine," he relented, "but we'll have to live on very rationed supplies until we get to Ridge City. Who are you?"
"Sarah Jones," Sarah said, extending her hand.
"You already know," Alex said, withholding his.
"Jake Harwell," Jake shook Sarah's hand.
"Here's what we're going to be doing," Alex said, unfolding the map. "First of all, walking, unless by some miracle we can get transportation. Second, we'll be taking this highlighted route."
Sarah studied the map, tracing the black line along I-81 and down a US road. The destination surprised her.
"Where does Niagara Falls come into this?"
"It's the easiest place to cross the St. Lawrence, and probably where we'll be parting. Jake is coming back here to Woodsbrook, and you," he looked up at Sarah, "will be on your own."
"Lighten up, Alex," Jake yawned, returning to the comforting warmth of his sleeping bag. "You should be glad we'll have an extra traveling companion."
"Hope you don't mind sleeping on the ground, Sarah." Alex unzipped his bag and climbed in.
Sarah rested her head on Alex's backpack, but felt a cold lump. An unpleasant thought occurred to her. "Alex, are you carrying a gun?"
"In case you hadn't noticed, Ms. Jones," Alex snapped, "we are all, as of now, official wanted criminals. In case you also hadn't noticed, it's midnight, and I'm trying to sleep. Good night."
They were all asleep within minutes, and the next morning was a hard one for everybody.
Alex, waking, watched the sun rise, and wished it was as easy for him to do the same thing. The sun, he figured, could rise assured that it would destroy everything that opposed it and would take hundreds of thousands of years to starve to death. He suddenly realized the stupidity of taking on this unwelcome fellow traveler. Briefly, he considered dragging her to the edge of the park while he was the only one awake; but Jake would disapprove. For some reason, his friend seemed to think the new recruit could really help them. Alex had yet to know why.
Jake beheld the dawn, and seeing Alex already awake, mused over what he had against Sarah. Granted, she would stretch their supplies, but companionship was important on journeys like this. Besides that, though, he had a strange feeling they would need her. Maybe she knew something they didn't…time would tell.
When Sarah awoke, Alex and Jake were already packing. Jake seemed eager to leave, but Alex—she wasn't so sure. He looked worried about something.
"I don't know," Alex was saying. "I'm having misgivings. Is leaving really the right thing to do…"
"You've got to be kidding me, Alex!" Jake sounded exasperated. "Why didn't you wait until a month ago?"
"It's the only place I've ever known. I…I've never even left. I'm just not sure I can do it."
"You sure were eager last night!"
"It's okay for you! You just have to walk a few hundred miles along I-81! This looked so much easier in the drawings! Do you have any idea how far I'll have to walk? Over a thousand miles! Through Canadian wasteland! It's hopeless!"
"What about Ridge City? You were telling me the entire plan revolved around Ridge City!"
"It's pointless! You were right! Ridge City is useless. A worthless Canadian burg."
"Damn it, Alex!" Sarah was unaware that she had risen. "You stockpiled food. You stole money. You took a gun, all right from under your parents' noses. And now you're just trying to walk out on us. Both of us."
Jake glanced at her, a little surprised.
"You," she said, raising her voice, "are my only hope of getting out of here. And what about Jake? Your best friend made a huge sacrifice for you. Because he believed in you."
Alex sat down on the floor and caught his breath. "You're right."
Alex didn't know what had gotten into him. At first glance, the plan seemed preposterous; three eleven-year-old children walking hundreds of miles on meager food supplies. But with a closer look at the details, it seemed just crazy enough to work. He'd just forgotten to look at the details.
His resolve hardened, Alex Orson rose to his feet. "We're ready. It's time to leave."
At the interstate, all three paused to look back at the tiny upstate New York hamlet that had given them asylum in an insane world for more than ten years. When you really look at it, Alex thought, Woodsbrook is a great town, despite its flaws. A great town, tarnished and ruined by a load of cruddy people, and threatened by a money-hungry corporation.
"Alex!" Jake called. "You ready to go? We're on a tight schedule here!"
See you later, Woodsbrook, he thought turning away for the last time.
CHAPTER 4
Roland's Visitor
Ordoñez waited.
His convertible idling in the parking lot of the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children, Ordoñez ran his hand over his map again. This was the place—but there didn't seem to be anyone here. Perhaps he was early?
It didn't matter. As long as the man he was looking for was the owner of one out of this meager selection of cars, he had not come in vain.
He exited, slamming his door, the sound echoing off the newly fallen snow. As he crossed the concrete, he heard the sound of another car pulling into the lot. It still didn't matter—he'd dealt with people like this before; he could do it again.
Henry Machry was worried.
Turning his white sedan into the familiar parking area, he noticed a man in the parking lot that he had never seen before, and that usually meant trouble.
The man was Hispanic and very tall. Machry was sure they had nobody fitting that description working at the Woodsbrook branch. It was very rare that you saw anybody Hispanic in this town at all. Maybe he was a visitor from another branch; possibly New York City.
Even so, Machry was vaguely apprehensive. It's nothing, he thought. Working in this job with sickos and child abusers for so long has probably made me jumpy.
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