“Hi, this is Jennifer Wilder. . . .”
Jake waited for the beep.
“Mom?” he whispered. “Are you there? Mom, pick up.”
There was no answer. Jake told himself not to panic. There were plenty of good reasons why his mom might not be answering. Maybe she was out at the supermarket.
“We’re on a bus headed to Chicago,” he said, glancing at Taylor’s sleeping form humped over on the seat next to him. “We get in to Union Middle School at around noon tomorrow, okay? You could meet us there, if you want . . .”
Jake fought the growing suspicion that something was badly wrong. He gabbled out the number of Marty’s phone, told his mom he loved her, and hung up.
Afterward he lay back and closed his eyes, savoring the comfort of the bus and the gentle hum of the engine. I wish Dad were here, he thought uneasily. Dad would know what to do.
Despite his anxiety, Jake slowly surrendered to the night and let his mind drift as the bus rolled through the gathering darkness.
With a jerk, Jake woke to the sight of cloudy skies reaching all the way to the horizon, and Taylor jabbing him in the side.
“Ow! Quit it!” he complained, pushing Taylor away from him.
“Time to get up, Bro. Look where we are.”
Jake had slept the whole night as the coach had made its way across the country. Through the coach’s smudged window, Jake could see the odd snowflake begin to fall as they passed the sign for Chicago, Illinois.
“We’re nearly there!” Taylor said.
Jake groaned, still in a haze of sleep.
“Where are you guys going to stay?” Tess asked, leaning over the aisle between the seats. “We’re nearly there.”
“Nowhere,” said Jake. “We have to keep moving.” He said nothing about their mom maybe meeting them at the school. He wasn’t even sure she’d gotten the message.
“Well, listen,” Max interrupted, “we live pretty close by. Maybe you could come stay with us?”
“Thanks, but we can’t stop.”
As the coach pulled into the school parking lot and unloaded the passengers, the band members did their best to bunch up around Jake, Taylor, and Cody, hiding them from view. By the time they walked down the bus steps, all the bags and instruments were already stacked up in the parking lot next to the coaches. Taylor and Jake grabbed their backpacks and snowshoes, and turned to say quick good-byes to Marty, Max, and Tess.
“Thanks for your help,” Jake said.
“No problem,” Max replied.
“Yeah, it made the trip a lot more exciting,” Marty said.
Tess smiled sadly. “Good luck, guys. If things don’t work out in Pittsburgh, maybe you can move to Chicago?”
Taylor laughed. “We’ll keep it in—”
“Hey!” a voice suddenly yelled. “Stop right there. Police!”
They all turned to see two men striding toward them, wearing long coats and dark glasses despite the overcast weather. One had dark hair and stubble, the other straw-colored hair that stuck out like a haystack. Jake caught sight of what might have been a gun under the unshaven man’s coat.
“It’s the cops!” Max gasped.
“How did they know?” asked Marty.
“Jake and Taylor Wilder? You need to come with us,” called the policeman with dark hair as they approached.
Before anyone could react, Mrs. Ratzlaf came barreling over. “You two! I knew you were trouble. Don’t move!”
Taylor gripped Jake’s arm in panic. “Jake, what do we do?”
Jake’s mind raced, even as his body stood frozen in stark terror. Now it’ll all come out. Bull’s death . . . the money . . . Dad . . .
He thought about running. Maybe they would make it halfway across the parking lot, but not much further. The cops had nearly reached them now. Even if Jake and Taylor managed to outrun them, the police would call for backup.
“Come on, Jake!” Taylor wailed. “Quick—we need to run!”
Jake put his arm around his brother and hugged Cody tight with the other arm. “No,” he said in a hollow voice. “No more running.”
17 Mrs. Ratzlaf’s heavy hand clamped down on Jake’s shoulder. “I knew these two weren’t who they said they were,” she announced to the approaching men. “Max and Marty, you have not heard the last of this! I’ll be speaking to your parents!”
“I’m sorry,” Jake told the boys. “Really.”
Max shrugged, looking down at the ground. “I’m not. It was fun.”
The stubbly man gave Mrs. Ratzlaf a tight-lipped smile. He pulled a badge out of his coat, flashed it quickly, and tucked it away again. “Detective Lorenzo, ma’am. This is my partner, Detective Blake.”
Blake nodded. Jake noticed he was chewing something. Gum, or tobacco? Either way, it made Jake a little queasy to watch.
“These two boys—” Mrs. Ratzlaf began, but Detective Lorenzo hushed her. “We’ll deal with them, ma’am. I’m sure you’re very busy.”
Mrs. Ratzlaf narrowed her eyes. “They lied to me! Don’t I even get to know who they are?”
Lorenzo and Blake looked at one another.
“Well, I dunno who they claimed to be, but their names are Jake and Taylor Wilder,” Lorenzo said. “They’re runaways. There’s been some trouble at home, but everything’s okay now.”
“Yeah, everything’s just peachy,” Blake chimed in, and grinned. Lorenzo gave him an irritated look. Blake shrugged and shut up.
“What do you mean, trouble?” Mrs. Ratzlaf demanded. She still had her hand on Jake’s shoulder.
“Well, uh . . .” Lorenzo shuffled uneasily. “It seems their mom got mixed up with some nasty people. Criminals, you know? And these boys thought she was in danger, so they came all the way back from, uh, wherever they were. To help.”
“But it’s okay now,” Blake said, cracking his knuckles. “Boys, your mom got your message, and she’s come all the way to Chicago to meet you.”
“She has?” Taylor burst out. “Jake, did you hear? Mom’s okay!”
The two cops beamed.
Jake didn’t even crack a smile. Something wasn’t right.
“So, if you two boys would just come with us,” Lorenzo said, holding out his hand, “we’ll take you straight to your mom. Won’t that be great?”
Mrs. Ratzlaf relaxed her grip on Jake.
“You should have told me something was wrong,” she told him. There was real concern in her voice. “I could have helped you.”
Jake hung his head. He couldn’t think of what to say, so he said nothing at all. Grudgingly he followed Lorenzo and Blake through the parking lot, Mrs. Ratzlaf’s eyes boring into the back of his head the whole way.
Taylor couldn’t stop grinning. “Mom’s in Chicago, Jake! We’re finally going to see her again!”
“Yeah,” said Jake.
“How did she know where we’d be?”
“I called her while you were asleep,” Jake said. “Left a message on the answering machine. I wasn’t sure she’d got it. . . .” His voice trailed off.
As they walked through the parking lot, shepherded by the two men, Jake’s thoughts swirled in his mind. A troubling suspicion had started to form. Was he just being paranoid?
If Mom is really here in Chicago, why didn’t she come to meet us herself?
They reached a shiny black car with tinted windows. Blake spat out the gum he’d been chewing and opened the door for them. “Get in, kiddos.”
Cody wriggled and barked in Taylor’s arms. “Easy, boy!” Taylor laughed, petting him.
Lorenzo climbed in and slammed the door. “Keep that mutt under control, okay?” he snapped. “I don’t want to have to clean up no mess, you understand?”
“Oh . . . okay,” said Taylor. “He’ll be fine.”
“Give the kid a break, would ya?” Blake said, giving Lorenzo a warning glance. “He’s been through a lot!”
Lorenzo grunted and started the engine.
Jake sat in the back with his pac
k across his legs. His heart was pounding now. He was sure they were in more danger than they’d been since Bull was alive. His mind raced.
Something’s not right. Mom didn’t want to go to the police even to speak to Officer Grasso.
What was going on? Was that even a real badge Lorenzo flashed?
He licked his lips and tried to act normal. “So, where are your lights?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Huh?” said Lorenzo.
“Your roof lights. The ones that flash.”
There was a long, long pause. Cody whined. Lorenzo pulled out into traffic. Eventually he said, “Er . . . they’re in the trunk.”
“Yeah,” Blake added. “We’re undercover cops, so we’ve got those stick-on magnetic lights.” He leaned back, satisfied with his answer.
Jake wasn’t satisfied at all. What kind of cops didn’t have their lights ready to go? And why would they go undercover to pick up two kids?
The fear that had been growing now suddenly exploded into full-blown terror. Jake was certain that these two men weren’t cops at all.
Taylor was talking to Cody in a low whisper, trying to calm him down. Jake’s mind whirred as loud as the car’s engine as he tried to piece everything together.
Who could have known we’d be arriving in Chicago on that bus? he asked himself. When he’d phoned home yesterday, nobody had answered. So he’d left a message. A message that anyone could have listened to.
In a flash he knew.
Valenti and his men were in the house yesterday! He must have been there and heard me leave my message. Then he called up two thugs in Chicago and gave them our names and our descriptions. And enough information to make their story convincing.
Jake looked out the window. They were in slow-moving traffic, heading over a bridge. And it wasn’t the police driving them but criminals.
His mind went into overdrive. He thought about flinging the door open and running, but Taylor was a problem. He’d totally bought these guys’ story.
Jake dug his water bottle out of his pack and took a swig. His hands were shaking. I need to warn him.
Blake twisted round in his seat, giving Jake a fake smile. “So, buddy. You got any special souvenirs in that pack of yours?”
The money. He knows we’ve got Bull’s money.
It took all of Jake’s effort to keep his voice steady. He replied, “Just a half ton of deer jerky. You want to try some?”
“No thanks, I’ll pass.”
Lorenzo seemed to have an idea. “Hey, you kids must be hungry if all you’ve had to eat is crap like that. I’m going to take us to a diner, okay?”
“But what about our mom?” Taylor protested.
“Your mom’s fine, kid, I told ya. We’ll go see her straight after we’ve had something to eat. I promise.”
They were heading out of central Chicago now. The buildings were looking more and more run-down.
Wherever these two are taking us, Jake thought, it won’t be a diner.
He tried to guess what would happen next. Valenti’s men might hold them hostage and use them to force their mom to do whatever he wanted. Or they might go through their bags and find the money. . . . Would that be enough to keep their mom safe anymore? She knew too much now. They all did.
Jake made up his mind. They had to escape. But first he had to warn Taylor.
Suddenly he had an idea.
Blake looked back suspiciously. “What you got there, kid?”
“Just my journal,” Jake said innocently, pulling the notebook out of his pack and pretending to flip through the pages.
Blake turned back toward the road. Jake desperately flicked through the pages until he found what he was looking for. After the coyotes had attacked him, he’d drawn a sketch of them, prowling and mean-eyed. He showed it to Taylor.
“Hey, remember these guys?”
Taylor chuckled. “Of course I do.”
Jake pointed to the words he’d written under the picture. I didn’t see them coming until it was too late. I should have known I was in danger. He nodded slightly toward the criminals in the front seat and fixed Taylor with an intent stare, until a flicker of understanding crossed his brother’s face.
“Do they remind you of anyone?” Jake said.
“Oh yeah.” Taylor looked up at Blake and Lorenzo. “I know what you mean. You were lucky to get away, huh?” He gave Jake a quick nudge in the ribs.
“Uh-huh,” Jake murmured. “Would you know what to do, if we got into another jam like that one?”
“Stick together, and get the heck out of there,” said Taylor quietly.
“Hey, what are you two squawking about? Lemme look at that thing,” Blake demanded, suddenly curious.
Jake reluctantly passed him the notebook. Blake riffled idly through the pages, as if he were just passing time. But Jake could tell he was looking for a clue to where the money was.
Jake held his breath. He hadn’t written anything about Bull or the money in there, so he knew Blake was wasting his time. It was just a record of their wilderness adventures, and the survival lessons they’d learned. But he still didn’t want Blake’s dirty fingers pawing at it.
Eventually Blake tossed it back to them, disappointed. “Not bad. You can draw, kid.”
“Thanks.” Jake tucked the notebook away, praying Blake hadn’t smelled a rat. He knew they were running out of chances.
A few blocks further on, Jake finally saw his opportunity. Lorenzo swore under his breath and stopped the car.
A traffic light up ahead had just turned red, and traffic had slowed to a crawl. There were cars blocking the road ahead of them, behind, and in the other lane.
Now or never.
As the car began to move forward again, he wrenched at the door handle and shoved the door open. “Taylor, go!” Jake yelled. He grabbed his pack and scrambled out of the car onto the sidewalk and ran.
Behind him, Taylor did the same, still holding Cody in his arms. Lorenzo started to yell, and Blake threw open the passenger door. The traffic ahead of the car was moving now, but their car wasn’t. Angry horns started to honk.
Jake glanced back. Taylor, to Jake’s horror, was struggling with his pack. Cody fell from his arms and came bounding after Jake.
“Leave it!” he hollered. “Run, Taylor. Just run!”
Taylor’s face screwed up with effort as he sprinted after Jake. The abandoned pack sagged half out of the car.
Lorenzo gunned the engine and drove the car off the road and onto the sidewalk, out of the flow of traffic. Pedestrians jumped out of his way, shouting in alarm.
“Hold it right there!” Blake screamed. He had something in his hands . . . something black, metallic, and lethal. “FREEZE!”
18 The two boys ran down the sidewalk without looking back. Any second now Jake expected to hear the sharp bang of Blake’s gun and for the world to go dark. Death had never seemed so close, not even in the wild. He had to find cover.
To his left he spotted an alley between two buildings. Urging Taylor to follow, he turned and ran down it. Dumpsters half-blocked his path, and trash crunched underfoot, but he ran on, gasping, with Cody and Taylor right behind him.
Yells and screams from the street behind told him Blake and Lorenzo were chasing them.
The alley opened up into a busy street, with cars rushing past in both directions. Jake knew he had to put more distance between himself and the men.
“Keep going!” he yelled to Taylor. “Cross the road!”
The second there was a lull in the traffic, Jake ran.
A horn blared.
From behind came a sickening thump, then a shrill yelp of pain.
Jake knew what had happened without having to turn round.
Taylor cried out in despair: “Cody!”
The little dog lay, his legs twitching, in the road. The car that had hit him had come to a stop a few yards ahead. There was blood on Cody’s muzzle.
“Cody?” moaned Jake. “No!”
Jake dashed back into the road and gathered Cody up into his arms. The dog was shivering, forcing a whine out with every breath.
“You’re going to be fine, little guy,” he said, although he was far from sure that was true.
“Is he dead?” yelled Taylor.
“He’s breathing. But he’s hurt pretty bad.”
The two boys ran the rest of the way across the street and looked back at the alley they’d come from. Blake came staggering out and looked left and right, hunting for them.
“Go!” Jake urged. They ran, dodging back and forth to avoid the people coming the other way. Jake’s pack jolted and whacked against his back, and the straps dug into his shoulder. Cody felt heavy in his arms, like the limp rabbit he’d once carried back to his dad’s cabin. There was a reason why people used the words “dead weight.”
Stop it, he told himself. No more death.
“Jake,” Taylor gasped, “where are we going?”
“I don’t know!” Jake yelled. “Just run!”
Jake had no idea where in Chicago they were. It looked pretty built-up, so they were still within the city limits, but there were discount stores among the shops, and some vacant lots with peeling handbills plastered across the boards. In an area like this, Jake thought, you could easily take a wrong turn and end up somewhere shady. If someone ripped his pack away from him, they’d get Bull’s money, and the boys’ last hope of saving their mom would be gone.
His chest was aching with the effort of running. He couldn’t tell if Cody was still breathing or not.
Got to go to ground, he thought. That was what hunted animals did. Before they collapsed from exhaustion, they bolted for a safe haven.
None of the shops looked like good places to hide. They might be able to push into a fast-food place and hide in the bathroom, but if Blake saw them go in, he’d just flash his fake badge to the management, then drag them out. They could run down another alley and try to hide in a Dumpster. It would stink, but they might be safe. Or they might be trapped like cornered rats.
Then Jake saw it, parked down a side street—their hiding place. It was a custom pickup truck, shiny black with flames and skulls painted down the side. There was a tarpaulin over the cargo bed, with one corner loose.
The Journey Home Page 10