by April Henry
There had to be another way.
The front passenger door of the old car stood open. I threw myself back on the bench seat and started frantically scooting away. My heels alternated digging into the rotting upholstery and kicking at the snarling dog as he followed me. I was thankful for the hours I had practiced kicking the heavy bag in kung fu.
When my back hit the door, I groped behind me until I found the handle. I opened it while at the same time giving one last kick to the dog’s chest. It not only pushed him back, but it also propelled me out the door. I landed on my butt. I rolled under the door and then, lying flat, kicked it closed. Barking, Rex lunged at the window, single-minded in his pursuit.
I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the pain in my wrist. Putting my face close to the glass, I taunted the dog with my proximity. As Rex threw himself against it, I hoped the window was as unbreakable as the one in the RV.
And then before he could turn around, I ran to the other side of the car and slammed the passenger’s-side door shut.
The dog was trapped.
Rex’s growls began to alternate with barks. They were only partly muffled by the confines of the car. We had to get out of here before Sir showed up. I turned back to find Jenny.
She was sitting up, looking dazed. With my good hand, I reached out for her. “Come on, Jenny! Get up! We need to go. Now!”
JENNY DOWD
“You’re bleeding,” Savannah said.
When Rex attacked me, I’d stopped thinking. Even now that he was penned up in the car, every bark made me flinch. My whole body was coated with sweat, my heart was thumping in my ears, and my mouth tasted sour.
Savannah was wiping blood from her good hand on her pants. But it wasn’t her blood. It was mine. It was coming from my right wrist. The white skin just past the layers of clothes now had a dark hole in it, about as big around as a pencil. Blood was steadily leaking from it. When I turned it over, on the other side was a matching bloody hole.
Looking at it, I could sense my wrist was throbbing. At the same time, it didn’t really feel like my wrist or hand. It was now just this weak, useless appendage attached to my body.
With her good hand, Savannah pulled the towel from around her neck. “Here, help me tie this around your wrist to stop the bleeding.”
Together the two of us managed to tie a bulky knot directly over one of the holes. I barely registered the pain as she snugged the towel taut.
“Try to hold your wrist above your heart,” she said. “That will slow down the bleeding.”
I knew enough to nod at her words, but they were more a jumble of sounds than anything that made sense.
“We need to get out of here! That dog won’t shut up. He’ll wake up Sir for sure.”
Sir! That did get through to me. Cradling my wrist to my chest, I began to stagger forward in my best approximation of a run. I hadn’t walked more than a few steps in ten months, and I was already exhausted from getting as far as we had. Soon my muscles were trembling again, my lungs protesting.
As fast as we could, we traversed the graveled, potholed road toward the fence. A squat cinder-block building sat just on the other side. The junked cars were beginning to be in neater rows, and they looked newer and more complete.
Finally we reached the fence. It was at least ten feet high. A pair of gates made of the same chain-link material as the fence bisected the road. A heavy chain bound the gates together, fastened with a padlock. Like the fence, the gates had metal pipes running the length of the top, middle, and bottom. To help the gates hold their shape, a fourth pipe went diagonally from corner to corner.
The chain-link was already a formidable barrier, but both the gates and the fence were topped with four strands of barbed wire.
“How are we going to get over that?” Just looking at the wicked inch-long barbs, I felt overwhelmed. I was shaking from the cold, the running, and the fear flooding my thoughts.
“Just start climbing!” Savannah ordered. “I’ll figure out what to do about the barbed wire.”
Raising my hands over my head, I hooked my fingers into the wires of one of the gates. I ignored how the movement made my wrist bleed more. But when I tried to put the toe of my shoe into the links, it didn’t fit. I kicked off my shoes and then stepped up with one foot and then the other. I looked down. I was now a whole ten inches above the ground.
Reaching up with one hand and then the next, I transferred to higher handholds. Now it was time to climb my feet up, too. Leaning back, I pulled out one foot and set it higher up. Slowly, I followed it with my second foot. But the wasted muscles in my arms were barely cooperating. They wobbled and shook every time I shifted my weight.
I looked down. For all the effort it was costing, I was still only a couple of feet above the ground.
And then from behind us, I heard a shout.
DANIEL DIAZ
I tried to sleep, but it was impossible. It sounded like even Savannah’s mom believed that her boyfriend, Tim, had taken her daughter. And what could be more damning than your own girlfriend believing that you were the bad guy?
But I couldn’t shake the feeling that my dad and the other cops were taking all the puzzle pieces and forcing them together.
If Tim had taken Savannah, then it had to be because of their fight, because she had made him mad. In other words, the reason would be personal, rooted in their relationship. But if that was so, why would Tim also be following girls he didn’t know? I’d read about serial killers who started with a family member and then moved on to the wider world, but this was the opposite situation.
And there was something else. Someone else. Jenny Dowd, the girl who had disappeared from Island Tan in Beaverton ten months ago. One of the people I’d texted had reminded me about her. When I looked her up online, it turned out she looked like Savannah. And so did Courtney and Sara. It sounded like the girls at the middle school also had a similar look. All of them with long dark hair, pale skin, and blue eyes.
My dad had said that the totaled van with the license plate SVT 759 had ended up at All Autos salvage yard. Giving up on sleep, I got up and googled it. The pictures online showed hundreds of cars and trucks. Some looked new, others were stripped husks.
The Google reviews gave it an average of two and a half stars. It seemed like people loved the selection and hated the owner.
“This is not one of those places where you can pull your own parts. You can’t even go look at the vehicles you want parts from. The place was dead. Why couldn’t the guy at the counter have walked me back to see the condition of the vehicle that the part was coming off of? Possibly a company policy, but I didn’t see it stated anywhere. It’s a very small thing, but I won’t do business again there because of it.”
“While the selection was good, the owner … not so much. If I could rate it negative stars I would.”
“Owner was a real jerk. I wanted to go out and look at the vehicle, and he started screaming at me that it was his property and I needed to get off of it.”
Next to the last review was a photo of a man standing in front of a cinder-block building. One hand was raised in a fist, and the other was pointing at the viewer. He appeared to have been photographed in midrant. Just some middle-aged white guy with a bald head.
Even though the reviews didn’t give his name, suddenly I knew who he was.
A guy who did not want anyone on his property. A guy who would have access to all different kinds of beater cars. Who could probably fix cars even after they had been declared a total loss.
The guy who had been following girls.
The guy who had taken Savannah.
What if I woke my dad? Would he believe me if I tried to explain my thinking? He already seemed certain he knew the answer. And even if it was possible to convince him otherwise, how long would that take? It had been more than forty-eight hours since Savannah was taken.
So even if she was still alive, how long would that be true?
If Savannah was to
have any kind of chance at all, it felt like I had to be the one to give it to her. I could go out there, look for the white van. Look for her. Even look for signs of a grave. If I didn’t find Savannah, I still might be able to find evidence to convince my dad.
My parents were in bed. But they always left their keys on hooks near the front door.
Moving through the house on tiptoe, I grabbed a flashlight and then the keys to my mom’s car.
Not failure, but low aim, is the crime. In great attempts it is glorious even to fail.
—BRUCE LEE
SAVANNAH TAYLOR
As Jenny slowly climbed higher, I tried to figure out how we could get over the barbed wire without getting hurt. Or at least not too hurt. While there were gaps on the sides of the gates where they connected to each other and the fence, they were only a couple of inches wide.
The barbed wire wasn’t completely taut. Some of the strands sagged in the middle. The kung fu sash in my backpack! I could throw it over the barbed wire and then pull the ends down and back. That might compress the wires enough for Jenny to climb over. And then she could do the same for me.
But even as I pictured it, I realized it wouldn’t work. After Jenny went over, the sash would still be on this side and she would be on the other.
What about the Bruce Lee book currently stuffed down Jenny’s shirt? Could we lay it on top of the barbed wire? But it wasn’t big enough, and it was too stiff. It would only protect us from the top strand. We needed something that would drape over all of them.
And then the solution hit me. We were surrounded by cars. Cars with floor mats. Ducking into the nearest car, I grabbed the floor mat from the front passenger side. Made of carpet with a rubbery backing, it folded easily when I tried to bend it.
But there was no way I could climb the fence while holding on to the mat. Not with a broken wrist. With my bad hand, I pulled the bottom of my coat away from my other layers, then shoved the mat under and up so that it covered my torso. The stiff top edge pressed against my throat, right where Sir had held the Taser. He would surely do much worse if he caught us. That thought made me hurry to the fence.
Jenny had only made it about three feet off the ground. In fact, she had stopped climbing and was simply clinging to the fence, trembling so hard I could see it from several feet away.
“Come on, Jenny. Keep going!” I grabbed the fence next to her with my good hand and tried to step up, but I couldn’t get any purchase. Seeing that Jenny had toed off her shoes, I did the same. Then I jumped as high as I could. Like a monkey, I grabbed with my toes as well as my right hand. The mat threatened to slide loose, but I clamped it against my torso with the elbow of my bad arm. And then I kept clambering.
I had gotten about halfway up when there was a shout behind us. Sir was awake, and he knew we were gone.
We both shrieked in response. I had thought all my adrenaline was used up, but I could feel more flooding me.
Jenny turned to me, her face as pale as a ghost’s. “He’s going to catch us and kill us.”
“No, he’s not.” I tried to sound like I believed it. Moving as fast as I could, I stepped up one foot and then the other, clinging to the fence with my good hand. “Come on! Don’t stop. We are getting over this fence now!” I pushed up hard with shaking legs as I reached for a new handhold.
When I looked over, Jenny hadn’t made much progress. The pale green hand towel I had tied around the dog bite now looked black. How much blood had she lost? How much could she afford to lose?
And how long until Sir came for us? My head was on a swivel as I looked from Jenny to the gravel road and back again.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice broke. “I’m not strong enough.”
“Yes, you are. Look! Just take one more step up and then you can stand on that metal cross pipe.” Encouraging her helped me to ignore my own pain, to keep moving up myself.
Trembling, she did as I said.
“That’s excellent. You’re almost there. Now just reach your right hand up. Good. And now your left. We have to get over this fence before he comes.”
Even one-handed, I made it to the top before Jenny. Holding on to the metal pipe, I considered the strands of barbed wire. I needed to put the floor mat over them—and I also needed to hold on to the fence. To do both of those things was going to take two hands, even if one of them wasn’t working right. Jenny was clearly in no shape to help me.
I grabbed the top horizontal pole with my left hand, ignoring the grating jolt of pain from my broken wrist. With my right, I tugged the floor mat free of the sweatshirt. I had planned to put the narrowest part over the strands. Now that I was looking at the barbed wire, the mat seemed far too narrow. How could we hold on to it while also getting our legs over? Shifting my grip, I laid the mat down lengthwise. Then I pressed with all my might, making the wires dip.
Jenny was finally even with me. “You go first,” I told her. “Grab the mat with both hands and pull it down as hard as you can.” The barbed wire groaned when she put her weight on it, giving even farther. “Okay. Push on your toes and straighten your elbows. Good! Now swing your right leg wide and put it to the other side.”
But when she tried to push up, Jenny’s elbows buckled. After months of being locked away, she was simply too weak.
The sound of a motor made me jerk my head in the direction we had come from. An engine revved.
My heart crammed into the back of my throat as the white van came roaring out of the wall of crushed cars. It was heading straight toward us. The headlights blinded me.
I had thought he would come for us on foot.
But this was worse. He was going to run us over.
The past is no more; the future not yet. Nothing exists except the here and now. Our grand business is not to see what lies dimly at a distance, but to do what lies clearly at our hands.
—BRUCE LEE
SAVANNAH TAYLOR
I took a deep breath and then locked my teeth, preparing myself as best I could. With my left hand, I reached down, grabbed the back of Jenny’s pants, and hauled her up. The pain from my broken wrist was like a bolt of lightning that ran from my arm to my shoulder and then shot all through my body. The edges of my vision went dim.
But with my help, Jenny was able to straighten her arms and then lock her elbows. She threw one leg over the top of the fence and started to switch her grip.
I looked back. Horror swamped me. The white van was only a few yards away, its engine whining as it went faster and faster.
“Jump!” I yelled at Jenny.
She threw her other leg over the floor mat and then let go. Somehow she managed to land on her feet. She took one staggering giant step, two, and then sprawled like a rag doll.
Before I could even try to get over the gate, the van slammed into it. Just before my right foot would have been hit by the windshield, I pulled it up and out of the way. The chain locking the two gates together exploded. Both halves slammed back as if thrown open by a giant.
In a split second, desperately clinging to the metal pole at the top of the gate, I was spun one hundred eighty degrees. The gate slammed into the fence on the other side with so much force that it flung me loose. I landed hard on my butt, but I barely felt it. Instead, I scrambled to my feet and turned around. Had the van run over Jenny? I couldn’t see her, just the rear of the van and the red flare of its brake lights. Then the driver’s door banged open and Sir leapt out.
He spotted me. Lowering his shaved head like a bull, he ran straight at me.
I screamed as he dove at my legs. Too late, I tried to kick him. Before I could, Sir’s arms wrapped around my knees. He yanked my legs up, flipping me on my back. He didn’t loosen his grip as he slid his hands back to my ankles. After turning me in a half circle, he began dragging me back inside the salvage yard, ignoring my attempts to kick myself free. Sir was a black cutout against the spray of stars. Their light had traveled millions of miles to reach us. And despite their glow, those stars could
have died thousands of years ago.
Just like I probably would tonight.
Once we were away from the fence, Sir threw my legs down, then stepped over me and sat on my hips. His left hand pinned my right shoulder to the ground. I tried to buck him off, but he was too heavy. The corners of his mouth lifted, but it wasn’t a smile. It was a shape he made with his mouth.
He drew his right hand back. Silver suddenly winked at me. The knife.
Sir raised it over his head and then swung it down toward my chest.
Just as if I was blocking a strike in kung fu, I threw up my splinted left arm to deflect it. The tip of the blade caught in the thick magazine, but the force of the blow still made me cry out.
Before he could yank the knife free, I swung my arm back over my head as hard as I could. At the end I snapped my wrist, the way Sifu had taught us to throw a backfist. The move loosened the knife. It flew into the darkness, landing with a clatter on the gravel.
Sir just laughed and reached both hands for my throat instead.
Then someone called from behind him. “Oh no you don’t!”
He turned. It was Jenny. I didn’t even have time to be relieved that she was still alive. As Sir got to his feet, his hands balled into fists. I struggled to get up.
Jenny held something in her right fist, and now she swung it at his face. He easily stepped back out of the way. She kept slicing it through the air, keeping him at bay. There was silence except for all our breathing and a patter like raindrops that left dark freckles on his face. It was blood being flung off the makeshift bandage on Jenny’s wrist.
“What’s that you got there, girl?” He laughed, and now I saw what it was. It was the spork. “Oh, Jenny, give me that.” He reached out a hand for it, just as she kicked him the way I had taught her in the RV. A scooping barefoot kick between his legs.
