Chapter Three
Like I said, I had no idea which way we were headed. I knew the interstate ran east-west through our town, but that didn’t help me much. The truck might be bound for almost anywhere. All I could do was hope it took me somewhere far from home but not too far from Texas.
I was afraid to poke my head up out of the lid and see the signs, because either the lid might blow away in the wind or else the driver (or somebody else) might see me and tell somebody. So I had to be content with not knowing for a while. I figured I’d find out soon enough, if I was patient.
It gets darned boring, just sitting around for hours inside a concrete tank with nothing to do and nobody to talk to. If you don’t believe me, try it sometime. There was nothing to see and not even anything to hear except the muffled traffic noises. I didn’t want to use the radio batteries unless I absolutely had to. I didn’t know when I might need them.
Enough light filtered down through the lid for me to read if I wanted to, so I laid down on the floor of the tank and stuffed my backpack behind my head for a pillow and read Robinson Crusoe for awhile till it started to get dark outside. It wasn’t real cold, not yet anyway. The concrete held in my body heat and kept it pretty warm inside.
I started to get hungry, so I ate an apple and a can of Beanie Weenies and some string cheese. I used the spoon on my Swiss Army knife to eat the beans, telling myself the whole time how smart I was that I remembered to bring it along. It would have been nice to have something to drink, but I survived without it.
After that, since I couldn’t read anymore, I gave in and turned on the radio for awhile. I thought maybe I’d hear one of the dj’s mention where his station was, and then maybe I’d know which way the truck was going.
After awhile I heard a station in Memphis, so I knew I was headed west. At least for now I was. That was a big relief, even though I knew the truck might turn some other way at any time.
I was getting drowsy by then, so I turned off the radio and tried to sleep.
It got darned cold inside that tank before morning came, let me tell you. I woke up shivering my toes off a long time before the sun came up. It was so cold I could see my breath in the air, even in the weak light.
I pulled out my extra clothes and tried to cover up with them the best I could, but it didn’t do much good. I laid there miserable and freezing for the rest of the night, sometimes dozing a little bit but mostly not. I think that was one of the most horrible nights I ever spent in my whole entire life.
The driver ended up dropping his load sometime early the next morning. It was still dark when I noticed him get off the interstate. He did some stop and start driving through town for a while, and then he parked the truck. I heard him disconnecting the trailer and felt the jerk when he pulled loose from it. The sound of the truck gradually moved away, and then everything was quiet again. Nobody had ever noticed I was there.
I waited just a little while, until I was sure the truck was out of sight, and then I stood up. I felt colder than a pair of brass underwear. I stuffed all my gear back inside my backpack, and then popped the lid off the tank with my fist and poked my head out to see what kind of place I was in.
The trailer was parked next to a bunch of others in a big lot by a warehouse. Or something like that; I couldn’t tell for sure what it was from the outside. It was just a huge gray building that looked like it was big enough to hold a football stadium. I didn’t see any people or machines moving around.
It was a frosty morning, with just a little bit of ice around the rim of some mud puddles on the parking lot. The sun was just barely up, and it was real quiet and still, like it usually is at that time of day. I shivered again and put on the other t-shirt from my backpack on top of the one I was already wearing. It wasn’t enough to keep out all the cold, but it helped a lot. I wished I’d brought a jacket. You always end up needing the stuff you forgot at the worst possible times, don’t you?
I let the tank lid slide down and hit the dirt, then scrambled out onto the flatbed. I jumped the last few feet to the ground, being careful not to twist an ankle. The parking lot was deserted, but I knew that probably wouldn’t last. People would be coming to work sooner or later and I needed to be well gone by then. It was Saturday, but that was no guarantee the place would be closed.
There was a tall chain link fence around the property, with no gate that I could see. I wouldn’t have minded climbing over it, except it was topped with barbed wire and that stuff hurts. I guess it was supposed to keep people out, but it did a real good job of keeping me inside too.
So I explored a little bit. That parking lot must have been big enough to land a plane in. It probably took me fifteen minutes to walk to the end of it, and I still couldn’t find any gate. I’m sure it must have had one, of course. The truck that brought me there must have got in somewhere, but I was blessed if I could find it. The only break in the fence I found was where the corner post met the edge of the building, and that wasn’t wide enough for me to squeeze through.
I was starting to worry. I could hear sounds now from the other side of the building, muffled booms and growls like somebody was running heavy equipment over there a long way off, and there was getting to be more traffic on the street. Somebody would find me inside the fence if I didn’t hurry up and bust out of there.
I stood there for a minute not sure what to do, then I remembered my trusty Swiss Army knife. It had a little pair of wire cutters on it. I didn’t know if they would be strong enough to cut chain link, but it might be worth a try.
I fished out my knife and opened it up. Those little cutters looked pitiful, I tell you. I didn’t think they would work, but I shook my head and tried it anyway. I figured I didn’t have anything to lose.
And you know, they did work, finally. I bet it took me five minutes to cut just one link in that fence, and my hand was hurting by the time it broke in two.
I threw my knife down in disgust and took a few steps to let the building block the wind from hitting me. There wasn’t much of it, but even that little bit was too cold for comfort. I stood there breathing warm air on my hurt hand and sticking it under my arm pit to make it feel better. Finally it did.
Maybe I could have cut my way out with those clippers, if I’d had a week to work on it. But I didn’t have that much time, so I needed to think of something else.
After awhile I got to looking at the fence a little closer, and I noticed there really wasn’t anything holding those links together. They were just long strands of twisted metal braided together and stretched tight. I guess I always knew that, sort of, but I never paid attention before. I never needed to pay attention before.
I took hold of the cut end of the link I’d snipped in two and moved it back and forth to make sure. It definitely wasn’t attached to anything. I pushed the tip of it down real hard and discovered that I could undo the weave of the fence if I was careful. It was sorta like braiding my sister’s hair, or unbraiding it I guess, except her hair feels a little nicer than chain link.
It still hurt my fingers and it wasn’t easy, and I still had to take the wire cutters to it one more time before I was done, but after about thirty minutes I opened up a hole I thought would be big enough for me to worm through.
I put my backpack outside first, then I stuck my head through the fence. So far so good. I had to push hard to get my shoulders through, but once that was done I thought I was home free.
Didn’t turn out that way, naturally. I was squirming my way through and the dadgummed fence snagged on my belt buckle. I don’t know how it happened, but I couldn’t move either direction. I struggled and kicked and got scratched and sweaty in spite of the cold, and by the time I finally broke free I ended up ripping a big hole in the front of my pants right next to the zipper. That made me mad, so I turned around and kicked that fence as hard as I could.
Probably not the smartest thing I ever did, cause the fence didn’t feel it, but you can bet your sweet cream I did. It
hurt!
So there I was with a sweaty face and a sore foot and holey pants, looking like I just came out of a fight with a bobcat. I was glad nobody was around to see me like that.
I patched the fence up a little so maybe nobody would notice it had been cut, and then I started walking south along the street. Nobody yelled anything while I was walking away.
The sun was up by then, and it was beginning to get just a little bit warmer. That was good, because the hole in my pants was freezing me to death. I held my backpack in front of me, partly to block the wind and partly to keep from showing off my boxers to the whole wide world. Mama still thought it was so cute to get me Spiderman underwear, and there was no way I wanted anybody to see that.
After I got far enough down the road to be out of sight of the warehouse, I started noticing cross streets now and then. I looked at the street signs, and that’s how I found out I was on Zero Street. I thought it was a strange name. It made me think of candy bars, but maybe that’s just because I was hungry.
I sat down on the curb and rummaged in my backpack to see what I could find for breakfast. I’ve got to tell you, the pickings looked mighty thin. I ate some beef jerky and a piece of chocolate, and spent fifty cents at a Coke machine to get a Mello Yello. It wasn’t a very good breakfast, I’m afraid. I sat there the whole time thinking about sausage and scrambled eggs.
There seemed to be a lot of industrial-type buildings around me; warehouses and factories and stuff like that, with a convenience store sprinkled in there now and then just to spice things up.
I walked into one of the stores, and the first thing I did was go in the bathroom and change my pants. I threw the old ones in the trash, because there was no way they could be fixed and I didn’t see any reason to lug them around for nothing.
As soon as that was done, I went up to the counter and asked to see the phone book. It was fabulously, deliciously warm inside that store, and I was in no hurry to leave. I sat down at one of the booths by the front window and opened the book. That’s how I found out I was in Fort Smith, Arkansas.
I wasn’t sure where that was, but there was also a map in the front of the directory. I was on the western border of Arkansas, kinda up toward the north.
That was a pretty cool thing to know, and it encouraged me. I was a lot closer to Texas than when I started out. But on the other hand, it was still an awful long way off. Getting the rest of the way down there was the problem now.
I wasn’t nearly in the rush I was when I was just trying to get as far from home as I could without getting caught, and I could afford to take some time to think about what I needed to do.
I didn’t think it would be a good idea to try to hitch a ride on another truck, for the simple reason that I could never be sure which way it was headed or where I might end up. What if next time I wound up in California or Yukon or something? It might turn out to be awful hard to get back from some of those places. It just wasn’t worth the risk. I was lucky to be as close as I was.
After a lot of thinking, I decided it might be worthwhile to buy a bus ticket this time. That way I could be sure where I was going and it wouldn’t take that long for me to get there. Nobody knew me here, and they hopefully wouldn’t have any reason to remember me unless I did something dumb.
I leafed my way through the phone book until I found the Greyhound station, then I went to one of the pay phones outside and called them.
The woman who answered the phone thought I was a girl at first and that aggravated me, but I kept my mouth shut and let her go ahead thinking so. I wanted information more than I wanted respect right then. She told me a ticket to Sulphur Springs would cost me about forty-five dollars, more or less.
That was bad news. I only had about half that much, and I wasn’t sure how I could get the rest, unless maybe I raked leaves or something. I couldn’t help noticing there were plenty of them to be raked.
I was fairly warm by then, so I gave the phone book back to the man at the counter and decided I better get started.
I hotfooted it down the street until I got to what seemed to be a residential type area with some nice houses. Most of them were already raked, but there are always a few places where people just don’t have the energy or the time to get it done.
I went up to one of those places and knocked on the door. It had a big brass knocker in the shape of a lion’s head, which was cool. I like unusual things like that.
At first nobody came to the door and I started to think maybe nobody was home. Finally I heard the door unlatch and creak open. There was a little old woman with blue hair standing in the doorway. She had on thick glasses with gold rims and didn’t seem to know why I was there.
“Would you like your leaves raked today, ma’am?” I asked politely. She looked me over and seemed to think about it a minute, like she was trying to decide if I was a bloodthirsty criminal or not.
“I’ll give you ten dollars,” she finally said. That was highway robbery, but I had to smile and say “Sure!” I needed the money too much to haggle about it.
It took me three hours to rake that darned yard. It was a big one, and it turned out to be a breezy day. The leaves kept blowing back across the places I’d already cleared up, which made it take ten times as long as it should have. When I was finally done, hot and sweaty and tired, I collected my ten dollars and moved on.
The rest of the day I only found two other yards that needed raking, and they were little ones. They still paid me more than that stingy old skinflint with the blue hair, though. I got fifteen dollars for each yard, which meant I had about sixty-three bucks in my pocket by the end of the day. That ought to be enough to buy the bus ticket I needed, with a little bit left over.
Cry for the Moon: The Last Werewolf Hunter, Book 1 Page 3