Runaway (4 page)

So I'm down a dollar, but I still have half the burger, which I'll save for breakfast. It's cold enough outside to keep it from rotting, but I hope it doesn't attract bears. Though I doubt there are bears in Aaronville. Dogs, sure. But if one of them comes sniffing around, I'll share.

         

So you want to know what I did all day?

Well, I'm not going to go into a ton of detail because I don't want to waste my whole night writing again, but basically, I went into the library, where I used the bathroom, read the paper, got quizzed up by a librarian (I told her I was homeschooled and that I was doing an assignment), “borrowed” a paperback book that looked pretty good (but wasn't), read the whole thing out in the sunshine at a park (which was really more like a strip mall of grass), walked to the outskirts of town, and discovered (
ta-da
) train tracks!

And guess what?

They run east-west!

Oh, crud. Those same goth kids from last night just came in and spotted me.

They're looking at me and whispering.

And evil-goth-kid laughing.

         

I'm out of here.

         

May 26
^th
, 10 a.m.

There are probably only four goth kids in this whole podunk town, and of course their idea of fun is terrorizing the town's only gypsy. Too bad for them I've got a lot of experience ditching people: goth kids, cops, store managers, pizza delivery boys…. The way I do it is, I cut and run, then I hide and hold.

It's the “holding” part that's hard. Even five minutes of holding still seems like an eternity, but you've got to make yourself do it for at
least
half an hour. It's the key to getting away. If you come out too early, you'll get caught, guaranteed.

The goth kids were plenty ticked off when I lost them. I could hear them shouting at each other, “She went this way!” “No, dude,
this
way!”

I held still for like an
hour
before finally going back to the library bushes, but the whole thing made me jumpy. I didn't sleep very well at all. I woke up about twenty times.

And since I'd already overstayed my unwelcome in Aaronville, I packed up early this morning, ate my half-a-burger, and hiked down to the town's 7-Eleven, which I'd walked past the day before.

I waited for the prework rush, when all 7-Elevens (even the one in Aaronville) get busy. I had a mental list already made: pop-top cans of meat, protein bars, and Gatorade. No filler food like candy and cookies—Spam will take you a lot farther than Oreos.

I'm sure you've noticed that 7-Elevens have shoplifting mirrors and cameras everywhere, but I've learned about timing and positioning and how to avoid getting caught. And in all the food runs I've made (which I'm sure you'll be horrified to learn is way more than I can remember), I've only been busted once.

I bit my way out of that one.

Anyway, I went into the 7-Eleven, keeping the rules of lifting in the front of my mind: Find the mirrors. Find the employees. Act normal. Don't linger. Don't dart your eyes around. Don't get greedy. Be smooth.

I also attached myself to an adult, without getting so close that she noticed. She made for great cover as I slipped things into my jacket pockets.

The last rule is: Buy something. You've got to, or why'd you come in?

So I stood in line with all the rush-hour people and bought myself a pack of gum. Sugar-free peppermint. When you run out of food, it really helps with the hunger pangs.

Then I walked out and hiked to the outskirts of town, and now I'm down at the railroad tracks.

Waiting.

         

May 28
^th
(2 long days later)

Hollywood movies are stupid. They make it look like
anyone
could jump on a train, but that's a lie, you hear me? A stupid, romanticized lie.

Probably like Hollywood itself, now that I think about it.

Which, by the way, is the
last
place I want to wind up.

Who wants to be homeless in Hollywood?

But forget that. I don't want to talk about Hollywood. I want to talk about reality. Reality is, you don't just hop on a train. Reality is, you can
kill
yourself trying, which is something I found out the hard way.

I'd been waiting the whole day for a train to come by because it's not like I had a train
schedule
or anything. There's no depot or switching yard or whatever in Aaronville. There's just a track that cuts around the south end of town.

So when I finally heard a rumble in the distance, I'm all, Okay! Here comes the train!

I'd found a place I thought would be good for swinging on board, and I was chomping at the bit to do it. The train sounded just like a train's supposed to:
chuga
-chuga-
chuga
-chuga-
chuga
-chuga-
chuga
-chuga…. And once or twice the whistle would blow:
woo-woooo!

I was stoked!

But the closer it got, the louder it got and the bigger and heavier and
deadlier
it seemed.

I still jumped out from my hiding place and ran toward the train as the locomotive blasted by. But I couldn't run fast enough, I couldn't grab high enough. I tried over and over again, but the cars kept barreling by. The train was so loud. So big. So
fast.
And then I tripped on one of the railroad ties and almost landed
under
the train.

It was the scariest thing I've ever done (and that's saying something!). I crawled away from the tracks, and when the train had thundered by, I just sat on the ground, shaking.

I probably sat there for a whole hour, shaking. I thought about going back into town, but I didn't want to push my luck. Little towns are full of busybodies, and I'd already hung around too long. So when I finally quit shaking, I got up and started following the railroad tracks west.

I can hear you now: Holly! What were you
thinking
?

So here's what I was thinking: To the west are hills. Hills mean
up
hill. Uphill means the train will slow down. A slower train means the Stowaway Gypsy can get on board.

It seemed like a pretty good plan.

At the time.

I walked along the tracks until it was almost dark, eating and (especially) drinking as little as I could stand.

No train came by the whole rest of the day. The temperature dropped quick after the sun was down, and since I'd been walking and sweating,
I
got cold quick when I stopped to make camp.

I wasn't sure what kinds of animals were lurking around, hoping to sink their teeth into tired gypsy meat, so I climbed up to an isolated ledge on a big rock formation. I decided that yeah, I'd be pretty safe up there, so I collected a little arsenal of rocks, left them on the ledge, then climbed down and gathered wood for a fire.

Fire is what saved the caveman, you know that? If it wasn't for fire, the human race would have died off ages ago. We're wimps! We've got no fur, we've got no fangs…but we've got fire. And for your information, Ms. Leone, the crumpled pages of a lousy novel make a great fire starter. I'm telling you this because I think if you were ever stuck out in the woods overnight, you'd probably have a book with you. You told us over and over that you don't think you could
live
without books, but the ironic thing is, you'd probably
die
before you'd think to rip the pages out of one to start a fire. Am I right?

Well, get over it already. Better to be warm than well-read.

It took about twenty pages to get the little twigs going, and once they were burning, the bigger sticks dried out and caught fire, too.

I didn't just use the fire to warm up. I used it to dry the sweat from my clothes, especially my socks. (Sweaty socks make your feet
freeze
at night. Ooh, it's miserable.) I also used it to burn a Vienna sausages can clean. I guess I could have dumped the can a ways away (so the smell wouldn't lead animals to me), but my mother and I always burned cans out. You can use them afterward for cups or scoops if you have to.

I really wanted to open the can of Spam I'd lifted because I was still hungry, but I ate the second half of a protein bar instead and washed it down with two sips of Gatorade. (Two sips is so hard when you're dying of thirst and there's no one to stop you, but my Gatorade was more than half gone, so I forced myself to stop drinking.)

Then I put on every stitch of clothing I had, and when the fire died out, I climbed up to my ledge and went to bed, with rocks at the ready and the flashlight in my hand. Animals don't like light in their eyes, and that plus zinging rocks is the quickest way to get them to back off.

I didn't sleep very well at all. I kept waking up from animal noises—rustling, flapping wings, howling—but I didn't actually come face to face with any gypsy killers.

It was still dark when I gave up trying to get back to sleep. I was dying of thirst, my hips were sore, and the bottom half of me was freezing! But when the sky started getting light, I saw that my Hefty sack was dripping with dew. I licked it like crazy, and when I couldn't reach any more, I eased out of the sack, held the edges to make a trough, then ran the dew into my mouth.

I probably got only three or four tablespoons total, but it made me feel great! So I packed up and started hiking west along the tracks again. They had to go somewhere, right? And they
were
going uphill. But from sunrise to sunset I hiked along the tracks, sweating liquids I couldn't afford to lose, burning energy I didn't have enough food to replace. And how many trains came by?

None.

I finally made camp again, went through the same routine again, woke up hungrier and thirstier than ever, got up and started hiking again. My whole body was sore. I felt hungry and tired and weak, but I kept walking.

Kept…on…walking.

Finally,
finally,
I heard a rumble. At first I was ecstatic, but then I panicked. I was in a terrible place to try to hop on! I'd trip again! I'd probably fall under the wheel and
splat,
it'd be all over. Maybe I should just keep walking! Maybe there was a town up ahead with a switching yard where I could just climb on.

But I was in the middle of nowhere, with very little food and even less water, and I had seen no glow of city lights in the distance the night before. The next town might be days away. I didn't really have a choice. I had to try.

The rumbling was getting louder, but I didn't see the train. I was running along the tracks, trying to find a good spot where the ties weren't so uneven, strapping my backpack down tight, looking over my shoulder, telling myself I could do this, I could do this, I could, I could….

But where was the train?

Then it came blasting around the curve in
front
of me, barreling east.

Woo-woooo,
the whistle blasted.
Woo-woooo.

I about shot out of my pants. And as I scrambled away, the whistle blasted long and hard, which makes me think the engineer saw me.

It took me a little while to recover from
that
heart attack, and then I got really depressed. If a train only came by every other day, and half those days it was going in the wrong direction, how was I ever going to catch it?

There was nothing to do but keep walking. And since the train was cutting through the hills now, and since the track was real tight between cliffs in places, I had to climb up the side of the hill (which felt more like a
mountain).
It took me most of the day, but when I reached the top, I had an amazing view to the north and to the west.

Could I see cities? Towns? Villages? Tepees?

Nope. Just trees and rocks and train tracks, going on forever and ever.

I stuck a piece of gum in my mouth and headed down the other side, and that's where I am now.

So, you ask, are you writing this on your deathbed? Is it your last desperate act before going to the Great Beyond?

My last desperate act
journaling
?

Get real, Ms. Leone.

No, I'm writing this from the comfort of a blackberry patch. A blackberry patch by a creek. The blackberries are sour (they're more like redberries), but the water is so sweet. It is the best water I have ever, ever,
ever
tasted.

And you want to know what the best thing of all is?

Right around the corner there's a ledge that has a tree growing on it, and that tree has a branch that hangs over the tracks!

I'd say it's twenty feet above the tracks, which looks like a long way down, but think about it this way: A train car is about ten feet tall. (I think it's actually more than that. Wheels and all? Definitely more than that. But we'll just say ten.) And dangling by my arms from a branch, I'm about six feet long. (From hand to toe? Yeah, it's probably about six.) That means that the drop to the top of a train car will only be about four feet.

Anyone can do that, right?

Four little feet.

I'm not even going to think about missing. I'm not even going to think about how fast the train'll be going and how hard I'm going to land. I'm going to stay here eating sour berries until the train comes by, and then I'm just going to do it.

Do it or die.

         

May 29
^th
, 9:00 a.m.

Bad thought: I think it's Saturday. And a holiday weekend. What if trains don't run on holiday weekends?

I don't know how long I can live on sour berries….

         

May 29
^th
, 3:00 p.m.

It was about 11:00 this morning, and I had just filled my Gatorade bottle with water again when I heard the rumble, way off in the distance. “Yay!” I shouted. “They're running!” And I packed everything up quick.