by Peg Kehret
Behind her, Shane shouted, “I’ve got you now, you little thief! You’ll never get away!”
Megan dashed toward the car. She saw that he had left the driver’s door open. She ran to it, got in, and slammed the door shut, quickly locking it behind her. She leaned across the seat and locked the door on the passenger’s side. The back doors, thank goodness, were already locked.
Shane reached the car and began pounding on the door. He pressed his face against the window and yelled at Megan. He began to kick the door, over and over.
His face contorted with anger. He hardly looked like the same man Megan had talked to about rescuing the cats.
He picked up a rock the size of a softball and bashed it against the window next to Megan.
He’s going to break the window, Megan thought. The glass will shatter, and he’ll reach through the opening and unlock the door.
The keys dangled in the ignition.
Megan had never driven a car. She had watched Mom drive, but Megan’s only experience behind a steering wheel was in the bumper cars at the county fair.
I have to try, she told herself. I can’t just sit here and let him smash the window and get to me.
Bang! Bang! He continued to hit the side window with the rock.
Megan turned the key. The engine sputtered and then stopped. She turned the key again. This time, the engine started.
At the sound of the engine, Shane pounded faster on the window. A crack appeared, and then another, and another. The window looked like a spiderweb, but it stayed in place.
Gas, Megan thought. I have to put my foot on the gas pedal. She pushed her right foot down on a floor pedal. The engine roared but the car stayed where it was.
Megan saw a short handle sticking out from the steering wheel. She thought she needed to move it to shift the car so it would drive.
She pulled down on the handle. The car rolled forward.
Shane ran alongside it, slamming the rock against the window.
Megan pushed on the gas pedal again. The car lurched ahead, went off the left side of the path, and ran over three small huckleberry bushes.
Shane jumped away from the car.
Megan yanked the steering wheel to the right. The car zoomed back across the path and off the other side, narrowly missing a tree. She turned the wheel slightly left, angling the car back to the path. Driving isn’t as easy as it looks, Megan thought.
Shane ran after her as soon as she was back on the path, but the path was too narrow for him to stay alongside.
Megan couldn’t go fast for fear of leaving the path and crashing, but she gradually pulled away from Shane.
Thunk! Megan jumped at the noise, thinking she had run into something she hadn’t seen.
Thunk! Thunk! Shane was throwing rocks at the car. The rocks hit the back window and the trunk. One flew completely over the car and landed on the hood.
It was hard to concentrate on steering the car when large rocks kept banging against it. She looked in the rearview mirror to see how far back Shane was. Just then the path curved to the right. Megan didn’t turn the wheel soon enough; the left front fender grazed an alder tree.
A branch knocked against the window next to Megan. The cracked window broke. Pieces of glass flew inward, gashing Megan’s face and neck.
She winced at the pain but kept her hands on the steering wheel as chunks of glass landed in her lap. She got the car back in the tracks.
Rocks hit the rear of the car less often; she was getting farther ahead of him. Picking up rocks to throw slows him down, she thought. You would think he could figure that out.
For the first time, she glanced at the speedometer; she was driving less than ten miles per hour, but on the bumpy hard-to-see path it felt as if she were speeding.
She came to a straight stretch of path and pushed the gas pedal down farther. After that, no more rocks hit the car.
The path seemed to go on forever. It must come out at a road eventually, Megan thought. It has to! But when? How long would it take?
Her eyes ached from staring so intently at the path. Her fingers were stiff from holding the wheel so hard, and her face hurt where the glass had cut her.
She longed to stop the car and examine her wounds, but she couldn’t take a chance that he would catch up. If he got there now, with the window broken, she had no way to keep him out.
16
Ten minutes after Megan started down the hill in the car, she bumped across a shallow ditch and on to a paved road. She turned right, pulled to the edge of the road and put her foot on the brake pedal. The car jerked to a stop.
She switched on the overhead light and looked at her face in the rearview mirror. The cuts hurt but none seemed deep enough to require stitches. She knew she was lucky that no glass had hit her eyes.
She looked around for some kind of landmark so that she could direct the police to the path up the hill. She saw only woods on both sides of the road.
I’ll have to leave a marker on the side of the road, she thought. Otherwise they’ll never find the path–or Shane, or the envelope full of money.
She put the car in park, turned off the engine, and took the key out of the ignition. She got out of the car, opened the trunk, and removed the empty red gasoline container. She set it on the side of the road where it would be clearly visible to anyone driving down the road.
When she got back in the car, she saw the telephone on the seat. This road is more open than the forest was, Megan thought. Maybe the cellular signal can get through from here.
Once again she pushed 9-1-1, and this time the lighted panel showed the numbers she had dialed. She pushed “Send.”
Her call was answered instantly.
“My name is Megan Perk, and I was in the hot-air balloon that left the festival.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you now?”
“I don’t know. The balloon landed in a clearing just on the other side of Desolation Hill. I followed a path down the hill, and I’m on a road but there aren’t any cars.”
“Every police officer in the county is looking for you. Are you alone?”
“Yes, but I’m in a car.”
“Where is Shane Turner?”
“I got away from Shane and drove his car down the hill.”
“By yourself?” The voice sounded incredulous.
“Yes.”
“Can you describe the car?”
Megan felt a small surge of pride as she replied, “It’s a white Ford sedan. License number: K as in kitten, K as in–” She started to say Kylie but instead said kitten again. “B as in balloon, five thirteen.”
“Stay where you are. We’ll find you.” Static crackled on the line. The voice faded briefly, then came back. “Megan, are you still there?”
“I’m afraid to wait where I am,” Megan said. “I don’t know how far behind me Shane is, and he’s really angry. He threatened to kill me.”
“Lock the car doors. Stay inside.”
“He broke the window. I’m going to keep driving.”
“The sheriff is on his way. So is the highway patrol.” The voice faded again, and then the line went dead. The lighted panel on the phone turned dark.
The battery is probably run down, Megan thought. It didn’t matter. She had told the dispatcher as much as she could about her location.
She was too nervous to wait where she was. Shane might not be too far behind. She had driven slowly, and now she had used several minutes talking to the emergency dispatcher. Shane could come out of the woods on to the road at any time.
She started the engine and drove away. It was easier to drive now that she was on a regular road, so she pushed on the gas pedal until the speedometer said twenty miles per hour.
Shane would never catch her now. Relief eased the tension from her aching muscles.
She was certain that the gasoline container would lead the authorities to the path, but she wondered if she would e
ver be able to find the envelope full of cash. She realized she had not even mentioned the money to the dispatcher.
I have a whole lot to tell the police, Megan thought. I need to tell them about the money, and that Shane burned the balloon, and how to find the path where Shane is. I need to show them the note he left me about the cats.
A distant siren broke into Megan’s thoughts. They’ve found the right road, she thought.
Megan looked ahead but saw no lights coming toward her. The siren got louder. And louder.
Finally Megan realized that the sound came from behind her. She slowed the car, looked over her shoulder, and saw headlights. Headlights and flashing red lights!
Megan slammed on the brake, not caring if the car jerked or not.
Seconds later, two highway patrol cars stopped beside her. The officers rushed toward her as Megan got out.
“Are you okay?” one officer asked.
“Yes,” Megan said, although now that the danger was over, her legs shook. She leaned against the car.
“Your mother is going to be one relieved woman,” the officer said. “She’s been frantic!” He radioed the information that Megan was safe.
Megan sat in the squad car and told the officers everything that had happened. Two more police cars arrived. They stayed long enough to hear about the path and the red gasoline container near it; then they took off in search of Shane.
“We set up a temporary headquarters at the airport,” one officer told her. “Your mother is waiting for you there.”
As he turned the car around, Megan realized she had been driving in the wrong direction.
During the ride, the police continued to question Megan. They were astonished when she told them about the envelope full of thousand-dollar bills.
When the squad car pulled into the airport, Mrs. Perk and Kylie ran out of the terminal to greet Megan. They were followed by a paramedic, and a man and woman Megan didn’t know. She recognized him as the man who had yelled at Shane as the balloon took off.
Mrs. Perk hugged Megan. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” Megan said.
Her mother had the medic examine her anyway.
He checked Megan thoroughly and treated the cuts on her face. When he left, Mrs. Perk introduced the couple with her as Brice and Ruthann Colby.
“Shane burned up your balloon,” Megan said.
“What?” Mr. Colby said.
“He wanted you to think it crashed.”
“Oh no!” Mrs. Colby said.
“I should not have hired him,” Mr. Colby said. “I knew he’d be trouble.”
“It’s my fault,” Mrs. Colby said. She began to cry. “I thought the anger-management class and the counseling he got in prison had helped. I thought he had changed.”
“He changed all right,” Mr. Colby said, his face red with anger. “He added kidnapping and arson to his list of crimes.”
“I’m so ashamed of my brother,” Mrs. Colby said. “I never dreamed he would harm a child.”
“He’s mentally unbalanced,” Mr. Colby said. “He gets so angry that he goes completely out of his head.”
The police interrupted, to tell them Shane had been caught.
“What will he be charged with this time?” Mr. Colby asked.
“Abduction of a minor. Probably arson. Maybe theft–we’ve had no big robbery reported, but Megan says Shane had a large amount of cash in his pocket, and he was carrying identification for a William Bradburn.”
“How much cash?” Mr. Colby said.
“Almost twenty thousand dollars.”
Mrs. Colby gasped. “Where would Shane get that much money?”
“Not from any legal source,” Mr. Colby said.
“It might be a good idea to audit your company’s accounts,” the officer suggested.
“I’ll do that,” Mr. Colby said. “I’ll take a look yet tonight.”
17
“I thought that bad man was going to hurt you,” Kylie said. “I was so scared that I couldn’t even sing.”
“I was scared, too,” Megan admitted.
“He was a dirty rotten rat,” Kylie declared. “He deserves to go to jail.”
Megan agreed.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Kylie said. “I would be lonesome without you.”
Megan hugged her sister. In spite of Kylie’s endless songs and chatter, she knew she would be lonely without Kylie, too.
Mrs. Perk said, “I told the Colbys about the cats, and about how Shane pretended to be Brice.”
Mr. Colby said, “I called Dale Burrows and told him not to clear the field.”
“I’m a member of Feline Friends,” Mrs. Colby said. “We have what we call a TNR program for feral cats: trap, neuter, and release. We use humane traps to catch them. They’re treated for any disease they have and neutered so they won’t produce kittens. If they’re too wild to be tamed, we let them go again in a place where there are no predators or traffic.
“We also have volunteers who take cats, including adult cats, into their homes for socialization. Once the cats are used to being handled, we put them up for adoption. All of the cats you found will be either placed in homes or released in a safe place.”
“That’s great,” Megan said.
Mrs. Colby continued. “We’ll pick up those kittens first thing tomorrow morning. Feral kittens are often sick. They may need antibiotics and supplemental feedings with an eye-dropper. They may need heat lamps or hot pads to keep them warm. Some feral kittens even need subcutaneous feedings.”
“I’ll take care of Dinkle,” Kylie said. “I’ll keep him warm.”
“The kittens need to stay with the mother cat for now,” Mrs. Colby said.
Instead of going to work Friday afternoon, Lacey Wilcox drove to the police station.
She went to the nearest desk and said, “I have information about that hit-and-run accident where the woman died.”
An officer led her into a private office.
“I was driving the other car,” Lacey said. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she explained what had happened with the spilled soda. “I panicked,” she said. “I’ve never been so scared.”
The officer looked stern. “You should not have left the scene,” he said.
“I know. That’s why I’m here. I’m sorry about the accident, and I’m sorry I ran away.” No matter what happened now, Lacey thought, she had finally done the right thing. “I didn’t think we had collided hard enough to injure anyone,” she said.
“The crash didn’t kill the other driver,” the officer said.
“The newspaper said she died.”
“The autopsy showed that Mrs. Leefton died of a heart attack. A man mowing his lawn noticed her driving erratically about a block before the intersection. He watched and saw her run the stop sign. He said she never used the brakes, even after you honked at her. The death was not your fault, and the accident was not your fault, either.”
Lacey realized that if she had not admitted her part in the accident, she would never have known about the heart attack. She would always have carried the guilt of thinking she had caused a death.
“I’ll have to ticket you for leaving the scene of an accident,” the officer said, “but since you turned yourself in, the fine will be reduced.”
All Lacey could say was, “I won’t lose my job. I can still go to college.”
Early the next morning, Officer Rupp arrived to drive Megan to Desolation Hill. “You don’t lead a dull life, do you?” he said, when Megan opened the door.
She gave him the note that had been left in the field. “I thought the note was from the driver of the tan car. It turned out to be from Shane Turner.”
“You should have called me immediately,” Officer Rupp said. “People who write threatening notes are dangerous.”
“I found that out,” Megan said.
She also gave him the clipping about Lacey Wilcox. “I think she was driving the tan car,” Megan said
.
“You’re right. I’ve already talked to her.”
Officer Rupp drove past the airport. Megan saw two balloons from the festival rise into the air. Watching them, she shuddered with remembered fear.
When they turned off the road onto the path up Desolation Hill, Megan watched carefully for the place where she and Shane had pushed through the underbrush.
She missed it on the way uphill, and they got all the way to the charred remains of the balloon. As they drove back down, Megan spotted the broken branches and trampled weeds. “There!” she cried. “I think that’s where we were.”
With Officer Rupp following, she found the big fir tree that she had hidden behind. Reenacting the drama of the night before, she crouched down, and dug her fingers in the dirt.
Seconds later, Megan stood and held out the envelope full of money.
“Brice Colby will be happy to see this,” Officer Rupp said. “He examined his company’s books last night and learned that someone wrote an unauthorized check for over fifteen thousand dollars this week, plus a seven-hundred-dollar check two weeks ago. Both checks were made out to the owner of a nonexistent cement company.”
“Can you prove it was Shane?” Megan asked.
“The bank where he cashed the checks had a surveillance camera. The whole transaction is on film.”
After Officer Rupp took her home, Megan got out her bag of cat food. She was anxious to go to the field. Even though Mr. Colby had told the bulldozer driver not to continue clearing, Megan was nervous. She wanted to see for herself that the cats were safe.
“Can I go with you?” Kylie asked. “I want to see Dinkle.”
Megan started to say no, then remembered Kylie’s remark that being lonesome wasn’t any fun.
“You can come,” Megan said, “but you’ll have to be quiet so you don’t scare the cats.”
Kylie looked surprised. “I’m always quiet,” she said.
When the girls arrived at the field, Mrs. Colby and three other volunteers, all wearing thick elbow-length gloves, were there. The bulldozer was gone.
Claws and Pumpkin were in cat carriers, waiting to go to foster homes. Claws meowed and scratched at the carrier door; Pumpkin sat calmly, staring out.