Water Walker: Episodes 1-4 Part 25

"I don't have the keys."

My mind raced. Where could he have put the keys? In the bedroom? If so, I would be hard pressed to get to them. Maybe he had an extra one somewhere.

"Does he keep a key in the truck?"

Bobby looked in the direction of the old truck, fifty yards from us, near the shack. "I don't know. I don't think so."

"How about in the shed? Or in the still house?"

He shrugged, doing that flicking thing he did with his thumb and forefinger. "We can ask Wyatt," he said.

"No. Wyatt can't know."

"Why not?"

"Because this is a surprise."

My mind was racing. Trying to drive the truck was going to be hard enough, but walking out would be nearly impossible. The dogs would give us away or attack us. If Kathryn discovered me now things would get even worse.

"We have to find the keys!" I snapped, now near a panic.

A plop at my feet startled and I spun, immediately thinking: frog or snake. But it wasn't a reptile. It was Wyatt's truck keys. Right there, on the ground a yard from me. How . . .

I spun back to the porch and saw how. Wyatt stood on the porch, watching us. A chill washed over me. We were caught! At any moment Kathryn would fill the open doorway behind him, wearing a scowl.

Only then did I realize that Wyatt didn't appear to be upset. He stared at me, wearing a sad face, arms loose at his sides. For several long seconds, neither of us moved.

He wasn't trying to stop me. And he'd just thrown us the keys.

With a single nod, he suddenly turned, stepped back into the house, and closed the door behind him.

I stared up at the porch, stunned by what I'd just seen. He was helping me. In his own way, he was telling me to leave. He didn't have the courage to actually drive me away and he had to get back to bed before Kathryn woke up, but he was doing his best to help me, even if it meant that everything might go badly for him. At least this way, he could say I must have found the keys and gone on my own. That would be harder if he got caught helping us.

Either way he was helping me and that froze me up. How could I do this to Wyatt? If I went to the police, they might send him to prison-that's what Mother had said.

Run, Eden. Run now!

I bent down, scooped up the keys, and ran. "Hurry!" I whispered.

Bobby tore after me, stumbling with an uneasy gait.

I reached the truck, threw the door open and jumped into the front seat, with Bobby panting by my left side, staring in through the open door. Now what?

"Get in, Bobby! The other side."

I glanced back at the house as he hurried around the front of the truck. The porch was empty. But if Kathryn had woken, she would be out any moment.

Bobby slid into the front seat next to me.

I searched eagerly for the key hole in the darkness. "Where does it go?"

"There!" Bobby pointed a stubby finger at the column under the steering wheel.

Now . . . I wasn't totally clueless as to how vehicles worked, naturally. I had six months of memory before being taken by Wyatt-but I was too young and too busy learning other things to have paid much attention to the precise mechanics of driving. And trucks weren't the same as cars.

But I had some general ideas. Like inserting a key and twisting it to start the engine.

So that's what I did.

The motor cranked and the truck lurched forward and I let out a little yelp.

"You have to push the clutch in," Bobby said excitedly, pointing to the floor.

I stared at the three pedals at my feet, all within fairly easy reach.

"The clutch? Which one?"

"That one," he fairly yelled.

"Not so loud, Bobby!" I whispered.

"Sorry. That one."

I put my left foot on "that one" and pressed it to the floor.

"Now start it?"

"Yes."

This time the engine cranked over a couple times and rumbled to life. Beside me, Bobby beamed, as if he himself had brought the truck to life. Ahead of me, the gravel driveway stretched into the night like a long gray snake.

"Now what?"

"Now you press the gas and go."

"Which one?"

He hopped off the seat and reached down by my feet as if to do it by hand for himself. "This one!"

"Okay, get up, Bobby. You can't help me down there!"

"That one!" he said, pointing and climbing up.

"Just press it? What about my left foot?"

"You have to let the clutch out. If you let it out too quick, it will stop."

"That's how you stop?"

"Yes. But you have to use the other brake to stop."

I stared at him, deciphering his speech. Then at my feet. The third pedal was clearly the brake. I thought I had the general gist of it.

"Okay. Hold on."

The truck did exactly what Bobby said it would on my first try. It jerked to a stop.

"You did it too quick," Bobby said, smiling wide. To him, our night ride was only another grand adventure.

I tried again, and this time we started rolling forward and gained speed. Too much speed, I thought, and we were pointed at an angle that would take us into the swamp fifty yards ahead.

"What now! What now!"

"Now steer!" he said, pointing ahead. "You have to stay on the road. You have to steer."

He grabbed the steering wheel to show me how.

"You have to-"

"Let go, Bobby!" He released his grip.

I turned the wheel back and forth and was rewarded with a redirecting of the truck. It came to me quickly and I managed to put it down the center of the road. But the engine was roaring loudly, far louder than I knew it should sound.

Only then did it occur to me that I had the gas pedal pushed all the way down, so I eased my foot off the pedal and we slowed.

"You have to turn on the lights," Bobby said.

"Where?"

"Here." He reached forward and pulled a switch. Light flooded the road in front of us.

For a few seconds, neither of spoke. We were driving. With the doors still wide open, and slowly, but down the road.

"We're doing it," I said.

"Eden's driving!" he hooted.

"Is anyone behind us?"

Bobby turned and peered through the back window.

"No."

We were getting away! There was still Zeke's house up on the left and his dogs, but they couldn't hurt us in the truck.

"Close your door, Bobby."

We both did. And then we were driving down the middle of the road, away from Kathryn, toward civilization. Just like that. It had all seemed too easy. And yet . . . here we were. So maybe G.o.d had answered my prayers after all.

My plan was simple. I would drive out onto the main road, stop the first person we saw, and tell them to take me to the police. That's all. And that was enough.

"You have to change gears to go faster," Bobby said.

"I don't want to go faster."

"You're in first gear."

"First gear is fast enough."

We drove like that, silent for a while, right up the road, right past Zeke's house, right past the barking dogs who chased the truck for a little while before being left in our dust.

"You're a good driver, Eden."

"You're a good teacher, Bobby." I smiled.

"I don't like the dogs," he said.

"I don't like them either. But they can't hurt us now."

We were going to make it. We were actually going to get away from the compound. A hundred thoughts crowded my mind. What about Wyatt? What would Kathryn do when she found out I'd escaped? How would I explain myself to the police? What if they didn't believe my story? How much should I tell them? Where would Bobby and I live? How would I get the money? What would I do with the money?

Was what I was doing wrong?

I bit my fingernail and chased that last thought away as we rolled on, seemingly forever. Even if going was wrong, I would find a way to live with it, because I could no longer live as Mother's precious lamb.

The road was long, as straight as an arrow, and, at this time of the night, empty except for us, which is exactly what I'd hoped.

And then suddenly it wasn't straight; it came to an intersection directly ahead of us. And it wasn't empty; there was another truck parked across the road, blocking that intersection. A dirty white truck with big, thick tires, covered in rust.

My heart jumped into my throat.

"That's Claude's truck," Bobby said. He looked over at me. "Is he coming with us?"

"Who's Claude?"

"He's Zeke's friend."

I s.h.i.+fted my foot and slammed down the brake pedal. Our truck slid to a jerking stop and the engine died, less than twenty yards from Claude's truck. Zeke's friend, which meant he was here to stop us. I couldn't breathe.

"You have to press the clutch," Bobby said, pointing at the floorboard again.

I searched the road on either side of the truck, thinking through a full-fledged panic. There was room to get by on the right, maybe. I might sc.r.a.pe the other truck, but I might get by. I might still be able to find a way.

But before I could piece together the mechanics of restarting the truck and forcing it past Claude's, a bright light filled the cab. It came through the back window and I knew before I twisted around that Zeke was behind us.

"Is Zeke going to help us?" Bobby asked, staring back.

No, I thought. No, Zeke's going to hurt us.