by C. G. Cooper
Maybe they were sitting in their cars.
I waited. No more lights. No more sound.
Impossible. There was nowhere else to go. I guessed that the guards could’ve snuck off another way, but where? And why?
I had to know. The vehicles were still sitting in the open, and they were my chance. Maybe there was a clue.
I sat for an extra minute, listening to the leafless branches overhead clicking together like a skinny skeleton tapping its fingers. Once the coast was clear, I stepped around the tree.
I got one step. My other foot never followed.
A hand clamped down over my mouth and dragged me backward.
Chapter Eighty-Four
Roiling terror gripped me as I froze in the powerful grasp. I fully expected my head to get twisted around, my neck snapped, and my body left for buzzards to pick at in the thaw.
The twist never came. In fact, the pressure on me eased as I recognized the sweet smell coming off the man. He was large and looming.
“I’m gonna take my hand off your mouth now.”
Terror turned to relief.
“Carlisle,” I breathed in a rush as the hand slipped from my mouth. I turned and wrapped my arms around him.
“I’m sorry I scared you.”
“It’s okay,” I lied.
He held me out at arm’s length. “What are you doing out here, Jimmy?”
“I followed the last car.”
“I saw that.”
“You did?”
“I was lying right over there. Didn’t know it was you.”
Then the obvious question hit me. “What are YOU doing here?”
“I found it.”
“Found what?”
He held out his hand, palm up. The key.
Chapter Eighty-Five
“You found the door!” I said.
“I did.”
“And it led here?”
“It did.”
“But won’t they know you’re gone? How will you get back?”
He pointed to where the guards had been not long before. “Gotta wait until they get back.”
“I don’t understand. What are those guards doing?”
“I’m not sure although I have an idea.”
“What is it?”
“Don’t worry about that now. You need to get home. Don’t want to take any chances with your parents.”
I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to see where the guards had gone, see where Carlisle had slipped out of prison. I felt safe with him nearby. Something told me nothing would happen to me as long as he was with me.
“I’m staying,” I said stubbornly.
“Jimmy, you have to listen to me. These men, these new guards, they’re not like the ones you know. They’re mean and don’t give a flip if you’re the warden’s son. I have a feeling that if they find either one of us, they’ll kill us.”
That woke me up a tick. “But . . . they work for my dad. They—”
“The warden didn’t hire these guards. They were forced on him.”
I’d never heard of such a thing. Sure, there had been employees Dad had been stuck with in the past, but Dad always made the rules. The prison was his domain.
Before I could argue, Carlisle pulled me down to one knee and pointed to the clearing. The guards were back, making a racket as they came.
“Seems like we should have the others do this for us,” a voice said.
“Yeah, we’re not getting paid enough for this shit.”
Mr. First Voice didn’t try to quell the dissent this time. Maybe it was because of whatever job they were there for was done. Or perhaps he was tired of herding a bunch of misfits. I was in elementary school, and I could readily attest to that.
There were no goodbyes. Everyone climbed into their respective vehicles and took off at staggered intervals. We sat in silence until Carlisle was sure we were alone.
“You need to get home,” he said.
“But I want to help.”
“You have, and you will help again. I need you to do me a favor. In the morning, I need you to act like you’re sick. Fake it. Stay home. Can you do that?”
“Mm-hm,” I said. I’d played sick plenty of times.
“Good. Don’t say anything to the warden. At least not yet. I think I have an idea of how we can stop these guys. And you’re not gonna like this, but I think it’s better if we let it run its course a bit, to catch the bad guys. You okay with that?”
I saw no holes in his plans, save one. “Can you get back inside?”
“Jimmy, if I couldn’t, I wouldn’t be here right now. I’ve got less than a year left in this place. I don’t mean to ruin that no matter what foul plans these guards have set.”
That sounded good to me. I didn’t want Carlisle to get in trouble. To be honest, I didn’t see the real fear at that moment. Facing mortal danger was not something my ten-year-old self was prepared for.
But it would soon be, and then some.
Chapter Eighty-Six
I didn’t have to try too hard to fake sickness the next morning. After my all-night scavenger hunt, my body needed the rest.
“Let me take your temperature,” Mom said, feeling my forehead. I moaned and rolled over. “Look at this. You’re soaked. Come on; let’s run you a bath.”
“I can’t get up.” I was milking it now, throwing in a grimace for good measure.
Luckily, Mom fell for it hard. “Well, okay. But if you need me, just call.”
I raised a hand weakly, and it flopped back down onto my side.
“Poor baby,” Mom whispered.
I watched through a crack in the curtains as Mom pulled the car out of its parking space and made its way down the long drive. She was taking Larry with her on an errand run and said she’d be back within two hours. She told me to sleep and drink fluids. I did neither.
Instead, I got dressed and went to the greenhouse. Carlisle was already there.
His clothes were disheveled, and he was scrounging around his desk when I entered.
“I’m here,” I said.
He didn’t say anything to me; he just muttered something to himself.
“Carlisle?”
Still nothing. Still rummaging.
“Carlisle,” I said more emphatically now.
He held up a hand like you do when you’ve got a thought in your head that you don’t want to forget. I watched him run his hand along the underside of his makeshift desk, down along the cinder block legs, inside the compartments.
“What are you looking for?”
Finally, his hand came out clutching a worn navy-blue book roughly the size of his hand. It went straight into his pocket, and he sat down with a huff. “Good,” he said, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm.
“Did you find it?”
“Find what?”
“What you were looking for.”
He looked at me like I’d just asked him the most insane question every imagined. Then his eyes softened, though they were red-rimmed from what I presumed was lack of sleep.
“Sorry, Jimmy. My mind’s a little jumbled right now. A lot to do. And yes, yes I did find it.”
He didn’t explain further even though I sat there waiting. Ultimately, the silence was too much.
“Carlisle, what’s going on?”
He rose and poured himself a glass of water. The first glass disappeared in one long gulp. The second went down in three. Satiated, he seemed to realize what he looked like because he started straightening his sleeves and buttoning his shirt the rest of the way.
“We don’t have much time, Jimmy. It’s worse than I thought.”
“Carlisle!”
He paused. He looked at me. “What is it, Jimmy?”
I tried to steady my breathing as my words came out in spurts like hiccups.
“I need . . . you to tell me . . . what’s going on.”
He told me, and it sent tingling shivers of ice through my body and down to my toes.
Chapter Eighty-Seven
“So, you understand?”
I nodded. “How will these guys do it?”
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that we stop it.”
What Carlisle had explained to me could’ve easily been a movie made for the big screen. Maybe River Phoenix would play me.
“I need to tell my dad.”
“Nuh-uh. You can’t tell the warden. Not now.”
“Why not?”
I was no tattletale, but I’d figured that was the reason Carlisle told me everything. I never went to my dad for anything. But this . . . this had consequences for everyone.
“We’ll tell him, but not right away.”
I didn’t think that was smart and told him so.
“Look, Jimmy, what you have to understand about your dad is that if he finds out about this, he’s duty-bound to do something. Do you understand what that means?”
“Sure, that he’s got to act.”
“Exactly. Warden Allen’s a man who believes in black or white, no gray in between. Now, if we want to make sure the bad apples get caught, we have to be careful. I have a sneaking suspicion that if the bad apples were to catch wind of us snooping, they’d just tuck tail and run. Or worse, they’ll change their plans, and we won’t have a shot. I’ve got enough friends in this place that can make it happen. I need you to stay quiet for just a bit.”
There were so many reasons not to do what Carlisle said. I feared for him. I feared for me. Heck, I feared for my dad, and that wasn’t something I could ever remember doing. He was The Warden. Prisons called him in to fix this kind of thing. Shouldn’t he be responsible for fixing this mess?
“Okay. I won’t tell Dad yet.”
“Good. Now listen. Here’s what we’ve gotta do . . .”
Chapter Eighty-Eight
Carlisle explained that the way he’d gotten out of the prison and then back again was a tunnel no one seemed to know about. Not even the longest-tenured inmates who’d been there a lot longer than Carlisle knew about it. There were few secrets within prisons walls, especially one as monumental as a possible escape route.
“I think a long time ago they used it to bring in supplies and maybe even new inmates,” Carlisle said. Then he went on to explain what he thought was going on. “I couldn’t find the bags, but I did find another door. It was locked. I’ll bet they stashed their things in there. It’s gotta be stuff they’re smuggling in and out. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”
This made sense to me, also. Dad said one of the things that prisons would always battle was contraband of all kinds. From drugs to nail polish, prisons had voracious appetites for legal and illegal goods alike. But this, a secret tunnel and new personnel to ramp up smuggling, that was something I’d never even heard guards whisper about.
Carlisle said he’d set things in motion from inside the prison. By the time the last bell rang, everything would be taken care of. He didn’t tell me exactly how he would accomplish this feat, and I didn’t ask. Better not to know some details. Because let’s be honest, if things went sour, and the Feds descended on our unpretentious prison, a ten-year-old boy wouldn’t survive interrogation. I held no illusion of standing up against bright lights and barking agents.
So, my job was to wait. Wait and listen.
Mom came home, and I did my best Ferris Bueller sick routine. Sick but not too sick. Lethargic but not too lethargic.
Dad came home twice, never once checking on me. I heard his voice in the living room, smelled a whiff of smoke. I thought of running in there and telling him to be careful. Still, I didn’t. That wasn’t the plan. The plan was to grab the bad guys and send them off to wherever bad guys went when they were too bad for Dad’s prison.
So why couldn’t I shake the idea that something was terribly, terribly wrong?
Chapter Eighty-Nine
The last bell sounded, and I sat up straight in bed. My sick act was slipping, and I didn’t care. I needed to do something. Carlisle was probably organizing a rebellion inside the prison, and here I was sitting in bed, faking the Asian bird flu, or whatever and trying to read a book. Mom wouldn’t let me watch television.
My mind went where it liked to go, to the worst possible scenario. Carlisle was probably chained to a wall and getting ready to spill the beans under threat of a cat o’ nine tails lashing. Then they’d come after me. Or would they come after Dad first? I had to do something. But what?
My feet hit the floor, and I was out of my pajamas and into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. Do you know those alarm bells that clang inside your head when bad things happen? Well, those were knocking into each other like a medieval church bell.
Shoes on, I went to the kitchen where Mom was making dinner.
“Mom?”
She didn’t look up from the carrots she was peeling.
“Yes, James?”
“I was thinking of going for a walk before dinner.”
Now she looked up. “You go for walks now?”
“I just . . . felt like some fresh air.”
“It’s dark out.”
“I know.”
“It’s cold.”
“I need some fresh air.”
She was going to protest, but my savior came in the most unlikely form.
“I wanna go,” Larry said from the living room.
“No,” I said. Larry was another complication I didn’t need. I tried to come up with an excuse. “I won’t be out long. And it’s cold.”
“I think Larry should go with you. He’s been indoors all day.”
“Yay!” Larry was already running for his shoes and coat.
“Come on, Mom.”
“Don’t you ‘come on Mom’ me. I wasn’t going to say anything, but ever since . . . well, ever since Kenji got sick . . ."
“He died, Mom,” I said quietly.
“I’m sorry. Yes. Ever since Kenji died, you’ve been different with your little brother.”
I had, although, I wasn’t going to admit it. How could I tell my mom that I felt guilty for not spending more time with Kenji? I felt guilty that he was dead, and I was alive. I felt guilty that despite knowing my lost time with my friend, I still didn’t want to spend real time with my little brother.
“Okay, I’ll take him,” I said grudgingly.
“Good. Be back in an hour.”
“I thought you said dinner was gonna be ready in thirty minutes.”
“I don’t see why you two can’t spend a little extra time together. Be nice to Larry, okay, James?”
“Sure, Mom.” Then added under my breath, “Whatever.”
Larry came hobbling back, trying to zip up his winter coat. I bent down to help him.
“You’re a good brother,” he said.
“Who told you to say that?”
“No one.”
I rolled my eyes and off we went, General Washington and his little baby brother.
Chapter Ninety
The winter air was revitalizing like a tonic, and I needed to clear my head. Larry was holding my hand.
We went to the greenhouse first—no Carlisle.
“Dammit,” I whispered.
“Dammit,” Larry repeated.
“Don’t let Mom and Dad hear you say that.”
“Why?”
“It’s a curse word.”
“What’s a curse word?”
“Something that makes your parents’ ears bleed when you say it.”
He let out a whine. “No.”
“If you don’t want it to happen, then don’t say it.”
We went to Carlisle’s tiny office. The place was clean of clues.
“What are we looking for, Jimmy?”
“Nothing.”
“Where’s Carlisle?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re looking for something.”
“I know, brat. I’m looking for a book. I let Carlisle borrow it.”
“What book?”
�
�How to Kill Your Little Brother.”
Again, the whine. “What are you looking for?”
“Stop asking me stuff, alright?”
“Sometimes I bring Carlisle sugar,” said Larry.
I looked at him. “What for?”
“For the hummingbirds.”
“I didn’t know that.”
He nodded with solemnity like it was the most critical job in the whole world. “I put it in a napkin for him. He makes it into the red stuff and puts it in the bear bottles.”
Carlisle had never once mentioned it. I’d seen the honey bear bottles, of course. He’d fashioned makeshift hummingbird feeders out of a bottle and some string. Maybe that’s what Harley had been scrounging around for all those months before.
“That’s really cool, Larry.”
My brother’s chest swelled with pride.
“Hey, listen,” I said. “I need to go on a long walk, and I’m not sure you can keep up.”
“I can keep up.”
“It’s pretty far, like over a mile. I have to run.”
“I can do it.”
I sighed and searched for any excuse to leave him behind. He’d be perfectly safe in the greenhouse, but unless I could produce something spectacular for him to play with, there was no way he was staying. I had work to do—lifesaving work.
“Okay. But if you get tired, I can’t bring you back.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
Chapter Ninety-One
True to his word, Larry never once complained. I had to slow my pace at times and help him around a drop or rise that was too much for his little legs. But he set his jaw sternly and chugged along for the rest of it.
We made good time. The moon seemed to be giving an extra boost of light despite its small form. Slowing as we neared, I put a finger to my lips.
“We need to be extra quiet now.”
“Okay,” Larry whispered back.
The tunnel entrance was just past the next rise. I strained to hear any commotion on the wind. Nothing.