Boot Camp (19 page)

Stopping at the fence, I curl my fingers through the cold metal links. On the other side, not more than two hundred yards away, is the broadest river I have ever seen. The water is dark gray-green, and in the near distance is a vast channel. Beyond that are small, tree-covered islands. Some have houses on them. Past those islands is a distant shore with more houses. And that, I assume, is Canada.

If we can just find a way across …

Turning from the fence, I start to walk along the shady side of the huge building. I'm not sure what I'm looking for. A miracle? A friendly face who'll tell me exactly how my friends and I can cross the border?

I pass endless truck bays, not a soul in sight. No, wait. Down at the far end of the building, where the sunlight cuts a wide swath, two people are standing, talking. One of them looks familiar.

Just at that moment Rebecca turns her head in my direction.

“You will report any infraction of the rules immediately.”

“Hey!” She starts to run toward me.

I take off for the back of the next building. It's a race, only there's no finish line in sight. I'm running purely on the hope that somewhere I'll find a way through the fence. The good news is that thanks to all the running I did at Lake Harmony, I'm in pretty good shape. The bad news is that lack of food and sleep has sapped my strength, and I quickly start to feel it.

Over my shoulder, I see that Rebecca is about fifty yards behind, fists clenched, arms pumping.

I run behind the second building, searching the
chain-link fence for a gate or an opening. Anything to get out of this place. In the flip-flops, my feet slap the asphalt painfully. I can feel every rock and pebble through the soles.

Finding only an endless high fence behind the second building, I race toward the third. Rebecca is still behind me. But unless she's a marathon runner, she must be feeling the strain too. There are no openings in the fence behind the third building either. So I head for the next. This trucking center is huge, but I can't keep up this pace. My heart is pounding, my lungs are burning, and my feet are killing me. Rebecca is still behind me, but I can see by the way her arms flail that she's starting to weaken.

A painful stitch develops in my side, and my legs are starting to cramp, but I have to keep going. I didn't come all this way to give up now. And I'm not going back to Lake Harmony.

Rebecca and I both slow to a limping trot. Maybe she's cramping too. We pass behind the fourth building and head for the fifth. The pain is gruesome, almost unbearable. But in a strange way my experience at Lake Harmony helps me here, too—I've learned to cope with a level of pain I never knew I could tolerate.

We slow to a jog. It's almost laughable. Pretty soon we'll both be on our knees, crawling. I keep an eye on her. If she speeds up, I speed up. If she slows down, I do the same. Meanwhile, I'm still searching for that way out.

We get around the fifth building. The asphalt is littered with shreds of cardboard boxes, cigarette butts,
broken liquor bottles, empty beer cans, and busted wooden pallets. Looks like there isn't much trucking activity here. It's more like a place where teenagers gather at night to drink and hang out.

But if that's what they do, they're probably not coming in the front gate. So how do they get in?

The answer is a patch of smooth, bare dirt where the bottom of the fence curls up just enough for someone to slither under. Piled on the other side are big black metal drums, the kind you see on the news when they've discovered some illegal chemical dumping ground. Suddenly, as if she's read my mind, Rebecca starts to run harder.

I go as fast as I can, knowing I need to get under the fence before she gets there. When I reach it I practically dive onto my stomach and start to crawl, but halfway under, the back of my shirt catches. I don't care about tearing it, but I'm caught and can't go any further.
Damn it!
I have to back out and start again. Rebecca is only twenty yards away now. This time I start to slide under the fence on my back, so if my clothes get caught, I'll be able to unsnag them.

I'm halfway under when Rebecca grabs one of my ankles. I kick my foot loose, and when she grabs for it again, I plant my other foot against her chest and push as hard as I can.

Rebecca flies backward and hits the ground hard. In the meantime I manage to get under the fence. But once I'm on the other side, relief and fatigue settle over me like a heavy shawl. Suddenly I'm too tired to even get to my feet.

Meanwhile Rebecca sits up on the asphalt and rubs her elbow where she must have banged it against the ground. We're both breathing hard.

“You okay?” I ask through the fence.

“What do you care?” she snaps.

“I didn't mean to hurt you.”

She gives me a hard look. “Shouldn't you be running away?”

“Probably.”

“So why aren't you?”

The answer is that I'm tired and for the moment, with the fence separating us, I don't have to. But I'm not about to tell her that. Besides, there's something I'd like to know: “Why are you doing this?”

“What?” She looks at me like I'm crazy.

“Why are you chasing me? Why do you work as a transporter?”

Rebecca frowns. “It's my job.”

“But you were once at Lake Harmony.”

She blinks with surprise. “How do you know that?”

“You told me. Well, not you. Harry did. About eight months ago. We were all in a car together.”

Rebecca slides her eyes off to the side as if trying to remember.

“He called me blue blood,” I remind her.

She shrugs. “So?”

“I don't get it,” I tell her. “You've been there. You know what it's like.”

“And your point is?”

“How can you help send other kids there?”

“Maybe they deserve it,” she says.

“Did you?”

“Matter of fact, I probably did.”

“Why?”

She gives me an exasperated look. “What do you care?”

“I just want to understand.”

“You want to understand? Stay there and I'll be glad to tell you.” She slowly rises to her feet and limps toward the fence. Looks like she must have gotten a cramp or pulled a muscle chasing me. At the same time I also get up and roll one of the big metal drums until it blocks the smooth spot where the fence curls inward. Then I roll a few more drums in tight against it so she can't crawl under and push the first one out of the way.

Rebecca glares at me through the chain links. “Sooner or later you're going back. And when you do, you're going to be sorry.”

“Why are you so angry?” I ask.

“Because I'm in pain, okay? I'm pissed off that you made me chase you. Besides, haven't you heard? Everyone who goes through boot camp has anger issues.”

“I don't.”

She starts to shake her head dismissively, then stops and looks at me again. “Blue blood. I remember. You were a strange one.”

“Why?”

“You just were.”

“Maybe because I didn't deserve to go.”

“That's what everyone thinks.”

“Doesn't mean a few of them aren't right.”

Rebecca takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. She rubs her thigh where the cramp or pull must be. “You shouldn't be talking to me. You should be running as fast as you can.”

“Harry wouldn't be happy to hear you say that.”

“Don't you know what's going to happen if you get caught?”

“You'll take me back. They'll put me in TI and beat me every few days. Sooner or later they'll manage to rewire my brain so I believe I really did deserve to be sent there and that they saved my life and I probably would have died otherwise.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes, then reaches into her pocket and takes out a pack of cigarettes. She lights one and takes a deep drag. She glances at me. “Want one?”

“No, thanks.”

“Never smoked?”

I shake my head. Rebecca takes another deep drag. “Well, thanks for not reminding me that I could probably run faster if I didn't.”

“My pleasure.”

She gives me a funny look. “You're the one whose parents sent you away because you wouldn't stop seeing some older woman. Your teacher, right?”

“Some crime, huh? And Harry told you not to believe a word I said. He said I was a brilliant manipulator.”

“That's what he always says.”

“What do
you
think?”

“I think it's mostly true.”

“Mostly, but not always. Only he said it's not your job to decide.”

“That about sums it up.”

“Just following orders.”

“Everyone follows orders. You can't keep a job if you don't. You either wind up in the street or in jail.”

“The Nazis were just following Hitler's orders.”

Rebecca squints suspiciously. “Maybe Harry was right about you, Mr. Brilliant Manipulator.”

Am I wasting time talking to her? Shouldn't I get out of here before Harry shows up? But before I go, I have to try something. “Look, my life is in your hands. Just because Harry has decided it's not his job to question orders, does that mean you have to be the same way? Or does the very fact that I'm asking mean I'm trying to manipulate you?”

“Maybe.”

“What if ‘manipulate' is the wrong word? What if I'm trying to persuade you on an issue you're uncertain about? Is that wrong? What if it's something I really believe in, but you haven't yet made up your mind? How is that manipulation?”

Rebecca doesn't answer. She blows some smoke and looks off in the distance as if thinking. Finally she drops the cigarette and crushes it beneath her shoe. Then she gives me an intense, focused look. “You know, it's not just you we're after. It's the other two as well. Maybe everything you've said is true for you. That doesn't mean it's true for them.”

“It's true for them, too. Otherwise I wouldn't be with them.”

She gives me a dubious look. “You better get going. Harry catches me talking to you, it's not going to do either of us any good.”

I take a few steps back. “But it's your job.”

“Harry says one thing about this business: There's a never-ending supply. If we lose you, we'll just be sent to grab someone else. Now get.”

I back away. Rebecca just stands there. I keep backing away. She still hasn't moved. I turn and run.

Walking quickly through the woods. I need to get to Pauly and Sarah, but I can't go straight back. Rebecca knows the direction I left in. Maybe she let me go on purpose, hoping that I'd lead Harry and her to Pauly and Sarah. Damn it! When she mentioned Pauly and Sarah, I should have pretended that we'd separated right after leaving Lake Harmony and that I had no idea where they'd gone. Now she knows they're around here somewhere.

The woods end at a narrow road that follows the shoreline. The road is lined with small resorts, motels, stores, and restaurants, many of them featuring rustic log-cabin designs. They have names like Riverside Rest, Riverview, Waterline Café, and Don's Daily Boat Rentals.

Wait a minute… boat rentals? That could be our shot.

A couple of hours pass before I get back to the cornfield. I've taken the most circuitous route possible to avoid being seen or followed. Pauly and Sarah are huddled on the ground in their plastic-bag vests. The sight of them
is shocking. Somehow in the past few hours I forgot how haggard and dirty we are. In addition Pauly and Sarah look pale and sickly.

Still, Sarah smiles happily when I appear. Pauly looks glassy-eyed and feverish but asks, “Where have you been?”

“Almost got caught.” I tell them about Rebecca. “So they know we're here, and they're looking for us.”

“Crap,” Pauly mutters.

The sun is higher now, almost overhead, and here among the dead brown cornstalks, without a breeze, it almost feels warm. Pauly's forehead glistens with perspiration, but it can't be from the sun's heat. He must have a fever.

“I think we have a chance,” I tell them. “There's a place down the road that rents boats.”

Both Sarah and Pauly give me puzzled looks. “We're … gonna rent a boat?”

“No. We're gonna steal one.”

We head into the woods. It's slow going. Sarah's foot is swollen and tender, and I have to support her. Pauly stops often and coughs, his thin body shuddering with each hack. Each time he coughs, Sarah and I exchange nervous looks. If Harry and Rebecca are anywhere near, they'll be certain to hear him.

I lead them to the spot where the trees end at the narrow road. From here we can see the rustic motels and the run-down brown shack behind the sign for Don's Daily Boat Rentals.

“That place?” Pauly whispers hoarsely.

“Yeah.”

“So what are we waiting for?” Sarah asks, eager to get going.

“That pickup wasn't there before,” I explain. A dented light-blue pickup truck is parked next to the shack.

“What do we do?” Sarah asks.

“Let's see what happens.”

We wait, hidden in the trees. Now and then a car rattles past, usually an older model, sometimes with rusted-out lower panels. It's well past summer-vacation season, and cars pass at a leisurely pace, as if no one is in a rush to go anywhere.

When a shiny new maroon sedan comes down the road, I do a double-take. The driver is wearing a cowboy hat and craning his head this way and that. Reflexively I duck down even further than before.

“Was it them?” Sarah whispers.

“One of them. Maybe both. I didn't get a good look.”

“What do we do now?” Pauly asks.

If Harry and Rebecca just passed, hopefully it will be a while before they come back this way. Now the sound of a sputtering engine catches my attention. Across the road, exhaust spits out of the light-blue pickup. It starts to back up, and heads away down the road.