Shadows of Sherwood (9 page)

Escape through Sherwood

After running what felt like a mile, Laurel slowed to a walk. The wide, grid-like streets turned narrower and more twisty. The apartment buildings they passed stood short and square with concrete walls and plain windows. There were also some houses, small and built of wood, and mostly fallen into disrepair. Looking around, Robyn wondered if the worn-looking old brick homes she'd passed on the way to the jail represented the nicer section of Sherwood. She now realized there was a difference between old and worn, and truly dilapidated.

A parade of tiny schoolchildren passed them. Kindergartners, maybe, carrying backpacks and lunch boxes. Laurel waved at them. The children waved back. They laughed and leaped around, as if the whole world wasn't spiraling toward awful. Robyn would be coming home from school right now, like usual, if she hadn't been forced to run away.

The thought made her laugh out loud. Yesterday, Robyn would have said that school was the worst imaginable thing to have to endure. School didn't seem like such a bad deal anymore.

“What's funny?” Laurel asked.

“Cute kids,” Robyn answered, though she knew the laughter had come up from someplace deeper—a part of herself that hurt too much to think about. “What is this place?” she asked.

“It's called Getty,” Laurel said.

“Never heard of it,” Robyn said. Getty wasn't one of the six outlying counties. “Are we still in Sherwood?” She followed Laurel into the backyard of one of the wooden homes. This one seemed well kept compared to some of the others. It appeared freshly painted, and the lawn was decorated with pretty plants and trimmed shrubbery.

“Yes. Getty's just what we call this part of the neighborhood. There's also Sherwood Plaza, the Brownstones, Sherwood Park . . .” Laurel rattled off a long list of names as she went to the back of the house and began unwinding a long garden hose with a spray nozzle. She handed it to Robyn and turned the spigot on. Nothing happened.

“Squeeze the nozzle,” Laurel said. “It's like a shower.” She overturned a large rock and dug up a plastic bag containing a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a bar of soap.

Robyn stood, staring at her. “What?”

“Hold the hose over my head,” Laurel said. “Like a shower.” The small girl stepped out of sight between two big
bushes and stripped her stained T-shirt off. It landed in the grass beside Robyn's feet. Then came the ragged shorts.

“Won't someone see us?” Robyn glanced around.

“The people who live here work all day,” Laurel said. “Everyone's away. They won't even notice.”

Robyn raised the nozzle over the bush and aimed it down at Laurel's head. “Everyone? How many people live here?” The entire footprint of the house was about the size of Robyn's bedroom suite in Loxley Manor.

“Two families,” Laurel answered. “Seven people that I know of. I might not have seen everyone.”

Robyn stared at the small house. Seven people? Where did they all sleep?

“That's good,” Laurel said, much sooner than Robyn expected. One sticklike arm snaked out and retrieved her clothing. She popped out of hiding, looking clean and damp, her hair wet and finger combed. Without the caked-on blood and dirt, the cut along the side of her face looked thin and fresh but not as bad. Even the gross clothes didn't look quite as gross against soap-scrubbed skin. “Your turn.”

“Um . . . that's okay,” Robyn said.

“You have to wash up before we get new clothes,” Laurel said. “You can't go to the market looking like that. You have leaves in your hair.”

“I—I can't wash my hair under a garden hose,” Robyn said. Bound up in its intricate braid, her thick, curly black hair tapered neatly to the middle of her back. Unbound, it
became a beautiful but unruly cascade that took hours to tame. “There's just no way.”

Laurel came around and picked the leaves and twigs out of Robyn's hair. “Neat braid,” she said. “This looks way more complicated than a French braid.”

“It's similar,” Robyn said. Except her braid started with six strands instead of three. Weaving and lifting and smoothing all the pieces at once was quite challenging. Robyn had only recently mastered it without her father's help.
Your grandmother would be so proud
, he'd whispered, hugging her close.

“Just get the mud off, at least,” Laurel said, placing the slick bar of soap in Robyn's hand. “We'll get you a toothbrush later. And floss.” She frowned. “I'm completely out of floss.” She said this like it was her biggest problem.

Laurel held up the hose and Robyn stepped behind the bush. She took off her clothes and piled them beside her. The gloves, she left on. Dad had said wear them
always
. The fabric was so thin, it would wash and dry quickly. They would protect her, he had said. The spidering threads that felt like metal inside—maybe there was something about them that made her chip unreadable. That would explain what had happened with the warden's wand.

The water was cold, but it felt good to scrub away the dirt. If she could scrub away the whole past day, she would.

Her heart was heavy with the knowledge that Laurel had toiletries ready and waiting to shower in someone's backyard. This day was a crisis for Robyn—a temporary one, she
was sure—but for Laurel, apparently this was everyday life. She fought down the choking feeling that came, knowing that.
There are people who struggle
, her father had told her.
There are many who are forced to live without.
Robyn had never before understood what that really meant.

As she shivered under the garden hose, her heart cried out for Mom and Dad. For Mom to swoop in with a warm, plush towel and hug her dry. For Dad, to talk to him about what was happening. He would have answers, she was certain. She begged the sky,
Let me find them. Let me see them just one more time.

“It's market day,” Laurel said. “The market is the best place to shop. And there's always a good crowd around closing time, when the best sales go on.”

“We don't have any money,” Robyn reminded her.

Laurel sighed. “I know. ‘Shop' just sounds nicer,” she admitted. “We need to grab some new clothes. If we don't look different in a hurry, they're going to catch us.”

“You mean . . . steal?”

“I don't like that word,” Laurel said.

“But that's what you mean? You're just going to steal new clothes and some shoes—”

“I don't need shoes,” Laurel said, indignant. “I only take things I really need.”

“And that makes it okay?” Robyn asked, meanwhile thinking,
Who doesn't need shoes?

“You don't have to come,” Laurel snapped. “You can take your fancy Tag and go to the stores. I bet they have nice stores where you come from.”

They do
, Robyn thought. But using her Tag was still too dangerous.

“All right,” Robyn said. “You'll have to show me how.”

It was surprisingly easy. They found a row of clothing stalls and made their way down the line, picking up items they needed. When the vendors looked the other way, the girls blended into the crowd. Robyn ended up with a black T-shirt and a pair of gray stretchy exercise pants with a green elastic waistband. They even had one small pocket at the hip for her map. Laurel opted for calf-length jeans and a blue tank top.

They changed in the bathroom at the public library. Laurel explained that it was one of the best places to use because it was normal for kids to be in there alone, so no one bothered you, and you didn't have to buy anything.

Robyn felt bad about the thefts. It was just a few small items, and she really needed them, but Robyn knew it wasn't right. She vowed that when she and her parents were reunited, and she could use her Tag again, she'd come back and pay the vendors double for what she had taken.
What if her parents were gone forever?
whispered the nagging voice in her mind. But Robyn wouldn't allow herself to answer.

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

WANTED!

Robyn emerged from the bathroom stall to find Laurel bent over a sink, flossing her teeth. Laurel must have read the question in Robyn's eyes. “A lady had it in her purse,” she explained. “She had TWO packs. I only took one.”

“Uh-huh,” Robyn said.

Laurel rinsed and spat. “I'm ready now,” she said.

They took a last glance at themselves in the mirror. “The hats are a good touch,” Laurel declared. She wore a plain blue baseball cap, while Robyn had coiled her braid up under a knit beret in a deep green that complimented her skin and dark eyes.

“Your hair is so unusual,” Laurel added. “It would be easy to recognize.”

“Yeah.” Robyn chose not to say anything further.

As they headed out of the library, Laurel stopped to study the bulletin board near the entrance. The large digital screen was full of flyers and posters and pamphlets, scrolling in and out of different-size spaces. Anyone could upload a flyer to
the board using ports along the edge of it. The board automatically rotated them all through the display. There were ads for babysitters, renters looking for roommates, guitar lessons, community events, and anything else that might be happening. “Sometimes the library has parties with free food,” Laurel said. “I always look.” Robyn perused the items along with her.

“Uh-oh,” Laurel said.

“What?”

Laurel took Robyn by the arm and turned her around. She led her across the entryway to a second, much less friendly, display of flat-screen tablets positioned edge to edge and bolted to the wall. Each tablet contained a Wanted poster, courtesy of the Nott City Military Police Department. Every ten seconds or so, at random, each screen would dissolve into pixels and a new poster would pop up.

Robyn stared in awe at the display, but the shock had only begun. There was no picture, but the written description was eerily accurate.

STREET URCHINS, FEMALE

Escaped from Sherwood Jail. Presumed to be traveling together.