the trunk lid, which Hacker busted with his metal rod. I hang out in the backseat—excuse me, living room—and scurry like a squirrel into the trunk whenever I hear a noise. Which is almost all the time. I tied a piece of string to the inside of the backseat so I can close it from inside the trunk. I’ve got it down to five seconds. Richie won’t even know I’m here.
After the dream I couldn’t get back to sleep. That’s two nights in a row of not sleeping, and it’s wearing me down. I’m so thirsty I can’t lick my lips. I finished the water justa minute ago, two sips for me, one for Cassie. It didn’t help. My stomach is cramping and I’m starting to smell like a bloater. I look in the rearview mirror. A wild animal stares back at me. Dirty face streaked with engine oil, red zombie eyes, hair like a bird’s nest. If Mom saw me now she’d run away or probably just die. It’s official. I’m a total cave troll.
To cheer myself up I open my backpack and empty the treasures I’ve found onto the seat. Mom was a big fan of writing things down, so I make a list.
STUFF I HAVE
2 screwdrivers, 1 Phillips, 1 flat
1 sleeping bag
1 pair smashed glasses
1 cigarette lighter
1 flashlight pen
1 pocketknife with a broken blade
2 nearly empty packs of cigarettes
1 sm. bottle with 18 pills (-azithro-something)
1 makeup mirror, 2 tubes red lipstick, a hairbrush
3 comic books (2 Spider-Man, 1 Aliens vs. Predator)
2 totally empty water bottles
2 paper clips, 1 sewing needle, 1 thing of yellow thread
2 bites of chocolate (thanks to Grandma Bloater!)
1 kitten
1 briefcase
1 gun (I think)
Then I make another list.
STUFF I NEED
Food and water
Toilet paper
Toothbrush and toothpaste
A shower
Shampoo with conditioner
More chocolate
I really, really like chocolate.
So now what? I try opening the briefcase but can’t pop the lock with a screwdriver. I decide it’s not safe to keep the case in the car, so I hide it under the trash in the garbage can next to the green door. I could try sneaking into the hotel, but I don’t like that idea—too many scary people come out of those green doors. I’d rather take my chances in here. But I have to do something. The food I have left wouldn’t fill a Dixie cup. I heard the body can live without food for days, maybe even weeks, but I don’t know about water. It
seems
like less—a lot less. I think Cassie is starving, too. There’s nothing but bone under skin when I pet her. She hardly ever wants to play anymore. I know I should get supplies, but my heart isn’t in it. I have this creepy feeling that Richie set a trap. He’s waiting around the next corner, behind the next car. And when he catches me he’s going to take the metal case. And then he’s going to feed me to the aliens. Every time I close my eyes I seehis snakeskin boots. I hear that lady scream “No!” just before the flash of light. So I don’t do anything.
It’s like I’m a long-necked chicken. I sit in my new home waiting for the farmer with the ax.
DAY 13: PROSSER, WASHINGTON
Blue-Light Special
The screeching sound again, this time in the middle of the night. I twist like a worm on a hook in my bed, then pull my knees up to my chest and wait for it to end. Or wait to die—whichever comes first.
It stops, sort of.
A blue light seeps into my room. At first it’s just a curiosity, maybe a reflection off something. But within seconds I know it’s something much bigger. It fills my room. The light is so intense that my eyelids can’t stop it. And my hands—I see the veins, like I’m turning into some translucent jellyfish. This can be only one thing. I get out of bed and look out the window. The PODs are glowing, each one as bright as a blue sun. It hurts to look at them, even for a second.
Dad slams into my room. He isn’t wearing a shirt. I see through his skin to shadowy organs underneath. Liver, kidney, a pulsing heart. His head is a screaming skull.
“Don’t look
After the dream I couldn’t get back to sleep. That’s two nights in a row of not sleeping, and it’s wearing me down. I’m so thirsty I can’t lick my lips. I finished the water justa minute ago, two sips for me, one for Cassie. It didn’t help. My stomach is cramping and I’m starting to smell like a bloater. I look in the rearview mirror. A wild animal stares back at me. Dirty face streaked with engine oil, red zombie eyes, hair like a bird’s nest. If Mom saw me now she’d run away or probably just die. It’s official. I’m a total cave troll.
To cheer myself up I open my backpack and empty the treasures I’ve found onto the seat. Mom was a big fan of writing things down, so I make a list.
STUFF I HAVE
2 screwdrivers, 1 Phillips, 1 flat
1 sleeping bag
1 pair smashed glasses
1 cigarette lighter
1 flashlight pen
1 pocketknife with a broken blade
2 nearly empty packs of cigarettes
1 sm. bottle with 18 pills (-azithro-something)
1 makeup mirror, 2 tubes red lipstick, a hairbrush
3 comic books (2 Spider-Man, 1 Aliens vs. Predator)
2 totally empty water bottles
2 paper clips, 1 sewing needle, 1 thing of yellow thread
2 bites of chocolate (thanks to Grandma Bloater!)
1 kitten
1 briefcase
1 gun (I think)
Then I make another list.
STUFF I NEED
Food and water
Toilet paper
Toothbrush and toothpaste
A shower
Shampoo with conditioner
More chocolate
I really, really like chocolate.
So now what? I try opening the briefcase but can’t pop the lock with a screwdriver. I decide it’s not safe to keep the case in the car, so I hide it under the trash in the garbage can next to the green door. I could try sneaking into the hotel, but I don’t like that idea—too many scary people come out of those green doors. I’d rather take my chances in here. But I have to do something. The food I have left wouldn’t fill a Dixie cup. I heard the body can live without food for days, maybe even weeks, but I don’t know about water. It
seems
like less—a lot less. I think Cassie is starving, too. There’s nothing but bone under skin when I pet her. She hardly ever wants to play anymore. I know I should get supplies, but my heart isn’t in it. I have this creepy feeling that Richie set a trap. He’s waiting around the next corner, behind the next car. And when he catches me he’s going to take the metal case. And then he’s going to feed me to the aliens. Every time I close my eyes I seehis snakeskin boots. I hear that lady scream “No!” just before the flash of light. So I don’t do anything.
It’s like I’m a long-necked chicken. I sit in my new home waiting for the farmer with the ax.
DAY 13: PROSSER, WASHINGTON
Blue-Light Special
The screeching sound again, this time in the middle of the night. I twist like a worm on a hook in my bed, then pull my knees up to my chest and wait for it to end. Or wait to die—whichever comes first.
It stops, sort of.
A blue light seeps into my room. At first it’s just a curiosity, maybe a reflection off something. But within seconds I know it’s something much bigger. It fills my room. The light is so intense that my eyelids can’t stop it. And my hands—I see the veins, like I’m turning into some translucent jellyfish. This can be only one thing. I get out of bed and look out the window. The PODs are glowing, each one as bright as a blue sun. It hurts to look at them, even for a second.
Dad slams into my room. He isn’t wearing a shirt. I see through his skin to shadowy organs underneath. Liver, kidney, a pulsing heart. His head is a screaming skull.
“Don’t look
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