something I read once.”
I’m sitting down. Watching Kee-lee slide into the front seat next to Amy. Listening to the radio go from country, to opera, to rap. “How far are we from home?”
“Two weeks by foot,” my father says. “You can do this.”
“Little boy,” Amy says, “I have to go.”
“We ain’t got no way to contact you,” I say. “We ain’t got the bag.”
Kee-lee pulls out the bag. He takes out the gun. “Nice, huh?” he says to the girl.
She starts the car up. “Get out! Now! And give me my phone!”
Kee-lee’s laughing. Thinking it’s funny. Pointing it her way. “We ain’t gonna hurt you, girl.”
Amy’s screaming. My father’s asking me what’s going on. “Nothing. We gotta go. We’ll call later.”
I throw the phone at her.
She’s fingering the numbers. “I’m calling the police.”
Kee-lee grabs the brown bag, then reaches down and knocks the phone out Amy’s hand. I grab the backpack and take off running. “Don’t call the police! Please don’t call!” I say, running into the middle of the road, almost getting run over by a truck full of cows.
Chapter 31
“WHAT’S THAT!?” Kee-lee’s almost sitting in my lap. “And that?” He’s holding tight to the brown bag. “I can’t see nothing. Light a match! Start a fire!”
I’m feeling round inside my backpack, blinking my eyes. Striking a match. Watching it go right out.
Hoo . . . hoo . . . hoo . . . Owls have big eyes. Big mouths too. Hoo . . . hoo . . . hoo . . .
Bang!
The gun is so close to my ear I can’t hear nothing for a few minutes. “Kee-lee!”
Bang!
Kee-lee’s shot the owl. He’s shot something that ran past our feet too. I think it was a possum. Its insides have busted and spilled out like sloppy joes made with too much sauce. Smoke from the gun floats like steam. My whole body’s shaking, like it did that time I had a fever and my mother made me sit in a tub of ice.
“Call my mother,” Kee-lee says. “Call my mother now!” He’s got the gun pointing at me. His finger’s on the trigger.
I hand him the cell. He don’t take it. He says for me to dial his mom. He’s almost in tears when I put the phone up to his ear. “It’s dark. And we ain’t got a bed, or tent, or nothing.”
I turn the flashlight on. Walk over to a tree bent down low. I break off branches and pull off flowers and make a tiny teepee with them. Kee-lee’s mother’s saying what my father said, I guess; because he’s trying to get her to understand that this ain’t right. That they don’t know what it’s like being out here alone. I pile leaves in the middle of the teepee and light a match.
Kee-lee’s screaming at his mom. “How we gonna call you? The cell phone’s almost dead.”
He’s threatening her. Holding the gun in the air and waving it. “I’m going to the police then,” he says, walking back and forth. “Telling them how y’all treating us.”
His mom hangs up on him. I call Cousin. His line is busy. I call my dad again. I ask him to come get us in the morning. I forget the name of the road we’re on, but we can get someone to tell us. At first I think he’s coming, because he asks if I left a trail on the way in. If I saw any guideposts. Then he says what he said before, what Kee-lee’s mother said: “You gonna be all right.”
Kee-lee and me keep seeing things: short fat things running deeper into the woods like they being chased. Big things—wolves, deer, a baby bear even, at least that’s what we think. “Something’s gonna eat us out here.”
My father laughs. “Where you from, boy?”
Before I can answer he’s asking another question. “Where are you at?”
I look around. “I don’t know.”
“Yeah you do.”
I try to give him the answer he wants. Before I do, he’s asking more questions.
“Would I do anything to hurt you?”
I ain’t sure.
Kee-lee sits by the fire, pointing the gun at a deer stopped across the road.
“Don’t . . .”
Bang!
When
I’m sitting down. Watching Kee-lee slide into the front seat next to Amy. Listening to the radio go from country, to opera, to rap. “How far are we from home?”
“Two weeks by foot,” my father says. “You can do this.”
“Little boy,” Amy says, “I have to go.”
“We ain’t got no way to contact you,” I say. “We ain’t got the bag.”
Kee-lee pulls out the bag. He takes out the gun. “Nice, huh?” he says to the girl.
She starts the car up. “Get out! Now! And give me my phone!”
Kee-lee’s laughing. Thinking it’s funny. Pointing it her way. “We ain’t gonna hurt you, girl.”
Amy’s screaming. My father’s asking me what’s going on. “Nothing. We gotta go. We’ll call later.”
I throw the phone at her.
She’s fingering the numbers. “I’m calling the police.”
Kee-lee grabs the brown bag, then reaches down and knocks the phone out Amy’s hand. I grab the backpack and take off running. “Don’t call the police! Please don’t call!” I say, running into the middle of the road, almost getting run over by a truck full of cows.
Chapter 31
“WHAT’S THAT!?” Kee-lee’s almost sitting in my lap. “And that?” He’s holding tight to the brown bag. “I can’t see nothing. Light a match! Start a fire!”
I’m feeling round inside my backpack, blinking my eyes. Striking a match. Watching it go right out.
Hoo . . . hoo . . . hoo . . . Owls have big eyes. Big mouths too. Hoo . . . hoo . . . hoo . . .
Bang!
The gun is so close to my ear I can’t hear nothing for a few minutes. “Kee-lee!”
Bang!
Kee-lee’s shot the owl. He’s shot something that ran past our feet too. I think it was a possum. Its insides have busted and spilled out like sloppy joes made with too much sauce. Smoke from the gun floats like steam. My whole body’s shaking, like it did that time I had a fever and my mother made me sit in a tub of ice.
“Call my mother,” Kee-lee says. “Call my mother now!” He’s got the gun pointing at me. His finger’s on the trigger.
I hand him the cell. He don’t take it. He says for me to dial his mom. He’s almost in tears when I put the phone up to his ear. “It’s dark. And we ain’t got a bed, or tent, or nothing.”
I turn the flashlight on. Walk over to a tree bent down low. I break off branches and pull off flowers and make a tiny teepee with them. Kee-lee’s mother’s saying what my father said, I guess; because he’s trying to get her to understand that this ain’t right. That they don’t know what it’s like being out here alone. I pile leaves in the middle of the teepee and light a match.
Kee-lee’s screaming at his mom. “How we gonna call you? The cell phone’s almost dead.”
He’s threatening her. Holding the gun in the air and waving it. “I’m going to the police then,” he says, walking back and forth. “Telling them how y’all treating us.”
His mom hangs up on him. I call Cousin. His line is busy. I call my dad again. I ask him to come get us in the morning. I forget the name of the road we’re on, but we can get someone to tell us. At first I think he’s coming, because he asks if I left a trail on the way in. If I saw any guideposts. Then he says what he said before, what Kee-lee’s mother said: “You gonna be all right.”
Kee-lee and me keep seeing things: short fat things running deeper into the woods like they being chased. Big things—wolves, deer, a baby bear even, at least that’s what we think. “Something’s gonna eat us out here.”
My father laughs. “Where you from, boy?”
Before I can answer he’s asking another question. “Where are you at?”
I look around. “I don’t know.”
“Yeah you do.”
I try to give him the answer he wants. Before I do, he’s asking more questions.
“Would I do anything to hurt you?”
I ain’t sure.
Kee-lee sits by the fire, pointing the gun at a deer stopped across the road.
“Don’t . . .”
Bang!
When
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