by Simone Pond
As the train starts up again, I fall against Noah. He holds me tight to keep from knocking into the crates. Once again, our faces are entirely too close. He stares down his nose at me, smirking. I pout and back away from him; only a few inches in the tight space. He sits down, keeping his knees bent since there’s not enough room to stretch out. I remain standing, tottering back and forth, while pressing my palms against the crates to keep steady. The effort it requires is exhausting.
Noah tugs my pant leg. “Are you planning to stand the whole way to Savannah?”
“There’s not enough room for both of us to sit.”
“Sure there is.” He grins, patting the space between his legs.
I scoff and look away, but the second we go around a bend, I lose my balance and my forehead bashes against one of the crates.
“Stop being so stubborn and sit down.”
“Fine.”
I crouch down in front of Noah so that we’re face-to-face. I’m not sure how to maneuver through this awkward situation. We go over a bump, and I fall against his chest. Irritated by my inability to cooperate, he grabs my waist and flips me around, forcing me to sit in between his legs with my back to him. The warmth of his body feels good against my damp clothes. I stretch out my legs and try not to lean back against him, but the rhythm of the chugging train soothes me like a lullaby. Fatigue takes hold, and I can’t keep my head up any longer. I rest against Noah’s chest and let sleep win.
*
The train jerks to a stop, jolting me awake. I tug Noah’s sleeve. “Why is the train stopping? We can be in Savannah yet,” I whisper.
He rubs his eyes, waking up. “We must be in one of the Carolinas.” Nudging me out of the way, he stands and heads toward the open door of the boxcar and peers up and down the tracks. He’s in such deep in thought he doesn’t hear me call his name.
I tug his sleeve to get his attention. “I’m thinking we should stay put. This is probably just a quick stop along the route.”
He points across the tracks to the sign hanging above the doors to the station. “I think we should get off here in Camden.”
“Why in heaven’s name would we do that? What if we get off and another train doesn’t come? No coins. No passports. Doesn’t seem very prudent. Or smart for that matter. What’s going on with you?”
“I remember my brother mentioning Camden before. Maybe he frequented one of the speakeasies here? We should at least give it a shot.”
I hold his arm. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Of course, you don’t think it’s a good idea. It’s not about your precious brother. And you counter anything I say. Stubborn and prideful.”
Heat rushes up my neck, and I clench my fists to keep from slapping his face. “I’m just weighing the possibilities is all. We don’t know that your brother ever visited Camden, but we know my brother is in Savannah.”
“I’m willing to take the risk. This isn’t just about you.”
Before I have a chance to say anything, Noah jumps off the train and runs toward some nearby bushes. I refrain from shouting and carefully jump down to go after him.
Noah’s hunched behind some bushes. I plunk down next to him and punch his shoulder. “What was that?”
“Don’t have a conniption fit.”
“The last time you did your own thing, you were swept down the river.”
“I know I’m right about this, just trust me.”
The train’s whistle blares, and smoke rolls up into the clear blue sky. The wheels of the iron giant start rolling forward.
“You better hope there’s another train coming.” I punch his shoulder again.
Noah shrugs unapologetically.
Before I have time to think things through, I leave his side and dart from the bushes, chasing after the train. But it’s picking up too much speed, and my fingertips barely graze the handle of the boxcar. I push harder, but it’s just going too fast. One last shrill whistle from the train as it chugs off, leaving me in the dust.
“You were going to leave me?” Noah catches up to me, panting.
“I didn’t want to, but you didn’t give me much of a choice! What if we can’t find anyone who can help us?”
“We’ll figure out something when we get to Camden.”
“This one’s on you, Noah Brenson.”
His eyes widen, and before I can ask, I’m being knocked to the ground by the weight of another person.
“Got you!” a man’s voice shouts in my ear as he cuffs my hands behind my back.
Noah starts to back away, but stops in his tracks.
“You stay right where you are,” the man yells, cocking a gun in Noah’s direction.
Noah raises his hands in surrender, and the officer who knocked me down rushes over and cuffs him. After the deed is done and we’re both standing with our hands cuffed behind our backs, the young deputy puffs out his chest, gleaming with pride over his big catch of the day. He can’t be older than eighteen or nineteen; his face is still round with baby fat. Using his gun, he directs us to his patrol car hidden on the other side of the bushes. If my hands were free, I’d smack Noah upside his head for not listening to me.
“Don’t tell him anything,” Noah warns as the deputy nudges us forward.
I have so many things I’d like to say, but I just murmur, “Way to stick together, possum.”
12
(still 9 days remaining)
On the way to station, Noah and I sit in the backseat of the patrol car not speaking. Deputy Daines informs us we’re in Camden, South Carolina, which we’re already well aware of. We’re a lot farther south than I thought, so we were making good time—until that know-it-all Long-Timer messed up everything. Noah’s stare is burning into me, but I look out the window, ignoring him as we drive through the rural part of the Camden town grid. Roadside houses line the road and farms stretch over the rolling hills. I’m as angry as a southern hurricane, so he can go ahead and twist in his trousers. Thanks to him the probability of finding my brother before my DOD isn’t so great.
Inside the local police station, Deputy Daines makes a grand entrance like he’s expecting a hero’s welcome or something. But his portly sidekick is napping with his feet kicked up on the desk. The young deputy shoves us into the same cell—the only one they have—and slams the gate, locking us in. The commotion startles the snoring officer. He jolts awake, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He looks like an older and rounder version of the deputy. I’m guessing they’re kin.
“Looky at what I caught, Sheriff.”
The sheriff rolls himself to standing and readjusts his belt buckle from underneath his rotund belly. “Let’s see what we’ve got.” He ambles over to the cell and studies us like two caged animals. His nametag says “Daines” so my assumption is correct; they’re related.
Deputy Daines stands nearby, proudly lifting his chin. “Two deadbeat Borders trying to hop a train,” he brags.
I step forward to protest. “Um, we’re not—”
The deputy hits the bars with his billy club. “Hush your mouth, young lady. You don’t wanna trifle with me.”
Noah backs away and situates himself on the bench, resigned to this unfortunate bullshit.
“What should we do with them, sir?”
Sheriff Daines stares at me, squinting his eyes and drawing all sorts of conclusions. “First of all, they ain’t Borders.”
Deputy Dipshit perks up. “What?”
“They got DODs. If they was Borders, they wouldn’t have no dates. Hold your wrist up, miss.”
I follow his orders and lift my right arm, displaying the inside of my wrist.
“Well, look at that. You don’t got much time left.” The deputy chuckles like my impending death is amusing.
“Where are you from?” Sheriff Daines asks.
“North.”
“Where north?”
“Richmond. We’re on summer break. We lost our passports in the river.”
Noah groans, then he stretc
hes out along the length of the bench, resting his hands behind his head. I give him a pleading look for some assistance, but he rolls on his side and faces the wall. I’m so infuriated, I stick out my tongue like a impetuous brat. How can he be so lackadaisical when he knows how little time I have? If he gave a damn about me, he’d do something.
The sheriff chuckles. “Son, I hate to break it to you, but these are two regular kids traveling without passports. Nothing special. Leave ‘em overnight and call on their folks in the morn, but you ain’t getting no credit for a Border capture.” The sheriff moseys over to the exit. “I’m headin’ out early today. You keep an eye on things till tomorra.”
Deputy Daines kicks the cell bars in remonstration and huffs back over to his desk in the corner. He flips through a newspaper, glaring up at me like I’m an terrible person because I’m not part of the resistance.
I tap Noah’s shoulder. “Can’t you call your father?”
“Out of the question.”
“Could you maybe mention his name? I’m sure that would help.”
“Not happening.”
“You’re just gonna lay there and do nothing while my time slips away?”
“I was planning on sleeping until they let us out tomorra.” He lets out a yawn for emphasis.
My eyes start to sting with hot tears of frustration. I sink down to the cold cement, defeated. The deputy is picking something off the bottom of his shoe with intense focus and flicks whatever it is into the trash. Without wiping his hands, he grabs a donut and bites the thing in half, getting white powder all over his beige uniform. Something about his demeanor reminds me of Knack, and strikes me as someone who might need a little special attention.
“Hey, Deputy,” I whisper.
He raises his brows. “Yeah?”
“I have a proposition.”
He stares at me, the wheels slowly churning, then walks over. “You got a what?”
“A proposition.”
“What are you getting at, young lady?”
My patience is wavering, but I give him one of my fake sugarcoated smiles. “His father,” I point to Noah, “happens to be a very wealthy and powerful man. If you release us for this misunderstanding, he’ll make sure you’re handsomely rewarded.”
Deputy Daines, being smarter than I’ve given him credit for, shakes his head and chuckles. “I ain’t falling for that malarkey. But I might consider something else. A trade.”
I pat down my pockets already knowing that anything I have to barter is floating downstream somewhere.
He motions to Noah. “I did catch a gander of your fella’s pocket watch. That might help persuade me.”
“He’s not my fella,” I blurt out.
Deputy Dipshit laughs and picks at his teeth with a wooden matchstick. “You give me that watch, and I’ll let you out. Judging from your DOD, seems like you could use the extra time.”
Noah’s asleep, snoring lightly. Something inside me whispers it’s okay to sneak the watch from his pocket and give it to the deputy. But I know how much it means to him. “The watch isn’t mine to give,” I say.
“Sorry then, no deal.”
He struts back to his desk and snatches up the pink donut box. Turning it sideways, he gathers up the crumbs into one corner, then lifts the box letting the tiny bits of donut avalanche into his mouth. I know the only thing that matters to this chowderhead is gaining the respect of his fellows, which seems impossible on his own accord. But I might be able to help him out …
“Deputy Daines,” I call out.
“What is it now?”
“What if I gave you a speakeasy code?”
“Now what would I want with a speakeasy code?”
“You could raid the place and arrest some actual bad guys. I bet you’d get a write-up in the paper.”
He studies me, narrowing his eyes. “You really got a code?”
I nod. “Yes, sir.”
“How do I know it’ll work?”
“You can enter it into your computer and see what comes up.”
“Lemme me think on it.” He paces around the office, chomping down on one wooden matchstick after another.
I nudge Noah’s arm, waking him up.
“What’s going on? Is it tomorra already?” he jokes.
My mood is too sour to feign politeness. “Get up.”
“I’m trying to get some rest before we start hitting the streets of lively downtown Camden for speakeasies.”
“Fine. Stay here if you want, but I’m about to be released.”
With that, he sits up. “How’d you pull that off?”
I hold my finger over my lips to shush him. “I’ll explain later.” I return to the cell gate, resting my head between the bars. “Well, Deputy Daines? Have you made a decision?”
“Gimme the code,” he says with a grunt.
“Open the lock.”
“Not until I know that code works.”
“Okay, but if it works, you better hold up your end of the bargain.”
He nods, and I spew out the numbers.
“Hold yer horses, young lady. Let me get a piece of paper.”
It takes four times to scribble the correct sequence, then he settles in front of the sheriff’s computer and starts typing at a snail’s pace. My muscles tense with each dragging second.
“Well, I’ll be darned!” he shouts. “It works. Opened up a bunch of chat rooms. I got locations for the whole doggone town. I’ll be a hero for sure!”
True to his word—unlike some backpedaling deal-breakers I know—Deputy Daines unlocks the cell and lets us out. Noah gets up and slugs behind me.
I shake the deputy’s hand. “I hope you’re able to take down a few bad guys.”
Enthusiasm sparks in his eyes. “I’m taking them all down! Y’all need anything for the road?” he asks.
“We sure could use a couple coins to help us get back home.” I lower my eyes pitifully in hopes to tug at his heartstrings.
He digs into his pocket and hands over a few pieces of silver. “Now, go on and get before I change my mind.”
It’s dark outside. Gas lamps glow on each street corner in the quaint downtown square. I march ahead of Noah, still stewing and keeping my distance. After a block, he grabs my arm, making me stop in front of one of the shops closed for the night. I yank out of his grip, but he presses me up against the shop window, his eyes growing darkly intense with either anger or hate. “Can you slow down so we talk?”
“In case you’ve forgotten, I don’t have much time to work with. First of all, you didn’t listen to me about staying on the train, then you did absolutely nothing to help in the slammer. Not even a measly thank you for getting us out of the quandary you got us into in the first damn place.”
“Just stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop hollering for a second. I can’t think straight.”
“I’m not hollering. I’m explaining. There’s a difference.”
“Can we talk like civilized people?”
“It’d help if you were actually civilized,” I shout, drawing some attention from people passing by.
“Look, I have a good feeling about this place. Let’s stop bickering and feel it out.”
Arguing is futile. We’re already here. I nod amicably. “Okay. But next time let’s make sure we’re both in agreement before we jump out of boxcars. And what was with you at the station?”
“I was thinking.”
“It looked more like sleeping. We’ve burned through a lot of hours. Hours I don’t have.” I look down at his boots, avoiding his eyes so he can’t see the fear in mine.
“If you want to know the truth, I was freaking out. I’ve never been to jail before,” he says.
I have a vivid memory of the first time I got hauled to jail during a speakeasy raid. I remember wanting to curl up and die. My father picked me up and didn’t talk to me for a few days, which was worse than being locked behind bars.
Noah lifts my ch
in, making me look directly into his eyes. My breathing quickens, and my chest gets all warm. His jaw is clenched tight, but his eyes are soft and tender. Why is he looking at me like this? When he’s made it perfectly clear I’m just a no account Fly with a death wish. Suddenly, the air is too thick to breath in, and my head becomes woozy. I lean against the window for support. The gas lamps, shops and people fade away as though the volume has been turned down. Everything becomes perfectly still—except for my trembling heartbeat. Except for the light dancing in Noah’s eyes. Somehow we’re the only living, breathing beings in the entire universe. I’ve never been kissed before, but this moment sure seems like a prelude.
“I’m sorry, okay?” he says in a husky tone.
I stand there stupefied. I’m terrified he’s going to lean down and kiss me, but more afraid that he won’t. Then he releases my shoulders and steps away. The ground feels solid again. The buzz of the city square comes back to life. I let out a massive sigh, grateful I didn’t just make the worst mistake of my life. I don’t have time to fall for Noah Brenson.
I smile, keeping things friendly. “Let’s forget about it and move on. We have a few coins to buy some information and maybe a ride to Savannah.”
“You sound surprisingly optimistic.”
“Someone has to be.”
“Since I screwed up, I give you free rein to make the next suggestion.”
“That’s awfully kind of you,” I laugh, rolling my eyes. “Let’s start at that tavern across the street. Looks seedy enough.”
13
(still 9 days remaining)
Inside the tavern, the locals are jovial and cheery. Laughter and spirited banter fill the atmosphere, welcoming us into the fold. Without wasting any time, I head straight to the back, where illicit or under the table dealings can typically be found. I’m hoping to run into someone who knows my brother’s whereabouts. And preferably someone who can give us a ride to Savannah. In the far corner, a group of men are playing poker at a round table. Though they’re a bit rough and tumble, they look like professionals. Along the perimeter, onlookers place bets among themselves. Clearly, laws against gambling aren’t strictly enforced in Camden, South Carolina.