Wilder Boys (7 page)

“They're talking about
us
!” Taylor exclaimed.

Jake yanked his shirt back over his head. “Man, that was fast. We need to get out of here—”

Suddenly the boys heard the door open at the far end of the locker room.

“Quick!” Jake cried. “Taylor! Cody! In here!”

Jake and Taylor ducked into one of the shower stalls, and Cody scurried in after them. Jake pulled the curtain closed just as they heard footsteps approaching.

Taylor looked at Jake in alarm and curled his hand around Cody's muzzle.

“Man, glad this shift's over,” they heard a deep male voice mutter.

“You got that right. I swear, some of these older freight cars are falling apart.”

The footsteps stopped about ten feet away from the shower stalls, and Jake heard what sounded like the spinning dials of combination locks, followed by the sounds of lockers opening. He looked at Taylor and put his finger to his lips, scared to make a sound.

“Hey,” said the first voice. “What do ya think about those two runaways?”

“Man,” said the second voice. “I'm glad they ain't my kids. If they don't get their legs sliced off by the wheels of a freight car, they'll be lucky not to get beaten up and robbed by some drifter.”

“Yeah,” the first man agreed. “Hope the railroad police catch 'em before they get in over their heads.”

Two metal doors slammed shut, and then the boys heard the men leave the locker room. Jake let out his breath and closed his eyes, relief flooding over him.

“Jake!” Taylor said. “Did you hear what they said? We can't hop another freight now, can we?”

Jake shook his head. “No. And we can't hang around here. Come on.”

The boys sneaked out of the building and hurried
toward a busy four-lane road that ran past the rail yard.

“This way,” Jake said, crossing the road and heading west.

“Where are we going?” Taylor asked.

“I don't know,” Jake said. “I was thinking maybe we could find a Greyhound bus station and buy tickets to Wyoming.”

“But, Jake,” Taylor said. “If the train people know about us, don't you think the Greyhound people would too?”

Jake's eyes darted nervously around him. “Maybe . . . But I don't see what other choice we've got. We can't
walk
the whole way there!”

The boys continued walking as fast as they could, with Cody trotting swiftly behind them. Jake knew they couldn't wander along the side of the road forever, and was glad when, about half a mile from the rail yards, he heard the deep rumble of an engine behind them. He spun around to see a city bus heading in their direction.

“Quick! Run to that bus stop,” Jake said, and the three of them sprinted to a pole with a purple-and-red route marker on it. He checked the map and saw that the route would take them closer to a main station, where they could hopefully get a long-distance bus.

Jake waved at the bus, and it pulled to a stop with a loud hiss. The door opened. The boys paid the fare with loose change and plunked down into some seats halfway through the bus.

“Where are we going?” Taylor whispered.

“Away from the rail yards—that's all I know,” said Jake, still holding Cody.

“But what are we going to do?”

“I don't know. Let me think.”

However, as the bus rumbled through suburban Chicago, Jake was out of good ideas.
We've got plenty of cash,
he thought,
but if the police are looking for us, our money might as well be more toilet paper.
Jake carefully studied the blocks of warehouses, strip malls, and neighborhoods as they passed through various towns, hoping something would come to him. He felt very far from home, and even farther away from their dad—wherever
he
was.

He sighed.
Nothing.

After a few miles, the bus crossed over a busy interstate highway with four lanes of traffic roaring in each direction. On the other side of the overpass, Jake spotted a truck stop. He reached over and yanked hard on the cord next to the seat. The rumble in his stomach had made the decision for him.

Ping.
The bell rang, and the driver downshifted, the bus lurching to a halt.

“What are we doing?” Taylor asked.

“C'mon,” Jake said, standing up, still holding Cody.

He and Taylor hurried to the front of the bus. The driver said, “You boys want out
here
?”

“Yeah,” Jake said. “We're, uh, meeting someone.”

The driver raised one eyebrow. “Okay, then. You take care, now.”

“Thanks,” Jake said, hopping onto the sidewalk.

Jake set Cody down and nodded toward the truck stop. “I don't know where we're headed, but I do know it's time for lunch.”

“Now you're talkin'!” Taylor exclaimed, his stomach growling.

They hurried over to the truck stop—a sprawling acre of pavement with more than two dozen gas pumps and a large central building. As the boys walked, they passed at least thirty parked trucks, many of them belching out diesel fumes as their drivers attended to business inside the central building.

“You'd better wait outside here with Cody,” Jake told Taylor.

“Get me some chips—oh, and some peanut butter cups.”

Jake went into the store and quickly began cruising up and down the aisles, filling a plastic basket full of food that would have made a health worker cringe. He grabbed bags of chips and peanut butter cups for Taylor, two large Cokes, and a package of cookies. He returned to the refrigerator and picked out a chunk of cheddar cheese, some baloney, and a quart of milk, then threw in some beef jerky and a large bag of trail mix for good measure. Finally he grabbed two cans of dog food for Cody, along with some doggy treats, and carried the shopping basket to the counter.

That should keep us going for a few days,
Jake thought.

A middle-aged woman rang up the food impatiently.

“You want a bag?”

“Yes, please.”

With an annoyed grimace, the woman dumped the groceries into two plastic bags. “That'll be $39.72.”

Jake handed her a one-hundred-dollar bill from Bull's stash.

Seeing the large denomination, the woman looked at Jake, then back at the bill. She held it up to the light to look for the watermark and security strip, then picked up a special marker and made a dash across the bill. Jake started to get nervous. He tapped his hand on his thigh and looked out the store window with what he hoped was a casual expression.

What's taking her so long?

The cashier hesitated, her hand hovering over the till. “What's a kid like you doing walking around with one-hundred-dollar bills in his pocket?” she asked, fixing Jake with a glare.

“It was, uh, a birthday present,” Jake answered, shifting slightly.

The woman ran her eyes up and down Jake's dirty shirt and messed-up hair. “Birthday present, huh? Stolen, more like. Maybe I should call the police, so you can confirm your story with them?”

“What?” Jake blurted. If the police got involved, that was it for him and Taylor. They'd be on the first bus back to Pittsburgh . . . and to Bull. “Don't—that's all I have, I swear!”

“And maybe we'll soon know why,” the woman said, reaching for the phone.

9
Acid surged in back of Jake's throat. “Please . . .,” he said, but before he could continue, another voice spoke up behind him.

“Aw, Pam. Cut the kid some slack, will ya?”

Jake turned to see a middle-aged blond woman standing next him. She was dressed in jeans and a trucker's cap. Her arm muscles bulged out of the sleeves of a T-shirt that read
KEEP ON TRUCKIN'
and had a picture of a speeding truck with flames shooting out the back.

“Oh, it's you, Sharon. I'm just trying to make sure the kid isn't in trouble,” the cashier—Pam—responded.

“And if he isn't, you're going to try to make some trouble for him, right?” the truck driver—Sharon—answered. “I swear, since your divorce, you've been more ornery than a rabid possum.”

Pam shot her a dirty look. “You stay out of this, Sharon. I got a duty to look out for trouble.”

Sharon stepped past Jake. “And maybe I've got a duty to tell other truckers to pass up this choke-and-puke joint and gas up at Roady's Truck Stop two exits back?”

Pam scowled, the gears in her head clicking over. “Fine,” she finally said, stuffing the one-hundred-dollar bill into her cash register and slapping Jake's change down on the counter. “But listen, kid, don't let me see you around here again, you hear?”

Jake didn't answer, just scooped up his money and hurried out to where Taylor and Cody waited on a nearby bench.

Taylor grabbed a plastic bag from Jake. “What'd you get?”

“I bought the whole store, but we better not stay here.”

“I gotta eat something first,” Taylor said, ripping open the bag of chips.

Jake sighed. “All right, but hurry.”

Jake popped open two cans of dog food for Cody and set them on the ground. Then he joined Taylor in their junk food feast. Jake was even hungrier than he'd thought. After polishing off half the chunk of cheese, a half bag of chips, and half the carton of milk, he began gnawing on a slice of beef jerky.

“I should have bought more,” Jake said.

“So just go back and buy some,” Taylor said, his mouth full of cheese and chips.

“Well, I would but—” Jake was about to explain about
the nasty cashier when Sharon, the trucker, walked outside. Spotting the boys and Cody, she walked on over and grinned.

“Every meal's a banquet, huh?”

Jake didn't quite get the joke, but he and Taylor laughed guardedly. “Yeah. Thanks for helping me out in there.”

“What do you mean?” Taylor asked. “What happened?”

“Aw, just a little disagreement,” Sharon explained. “It was nothing. You boys look like you could use a friend.”

Jake didn't respond, so Sharon squatted down to pet Cody. “Cool dog. What's his name?”

“Cody,” Taylor answered. “He's the best dog in the universe.”

Sharon laughed. “I can see that. Hungry, too.”

“We haven't eaten in—” Taylor began, but Jake elbowed him in the ribs.

“Ow! Why'd you—” but then Taylor figured it out.

“Don't worry, fellas,” Sharon said, standing back up. “Whatever you've gotten yourselves into, I'm not going to turn you in. I've been on the wrong side of the authorities, and I know that sometimes a person just needs a little help. Speaking of that, is there anything I can do for you kids before I head out?”

Taylor and Jake exchanged glances. They both knew that their options were running low.

“You're a trucker?” Jake asked.

“That I am,” Sharon answered. “Drive the finest rig this side of Wall, South Dakota.”

“Well,” Jake said, “we could use a ride.”

Sharon shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “Where you boys headin'?”

Jake was going to make up a location, but Taylor blurted “Wyoming! To see our dad.”

Surprise flickered across Sharon's face. “Wyoming? That's a fair piece of highway. Does your mom know where you are—and where you're going?”

Again, before Jake could stop him, Taylor said, “Mom's in the hospital, and Bull—her lousy boyfriend—was gonna come back and mess us up, so we got outta there.”

Sharon took a deep breath, concern replacing surprise on her face. Instead of grilling them over more details, though, she asked, “How old are you boys?”

“Sixteen and fifteen,” Jake answered, pulling himself up to his full height. He was certainly tall enough, a bean pole like Mrs. Sanchez had said, but it was Taylor who was the giveaway.

Sharon raised an eyebrow. “Sixteen, huh? And short stuff over there?” she asked, switching her gaze to Taylor.

“Hey!” Taylor protested. “I'm not small—I know how to take care of myself. . . .”

Taylor stared back up at Sharon. If anything, the determination in his eyes was the thing that made him look older and wiser than his years. One benefit of living with Bull was that you learned life's hard lessons fast.

A wry smile played at the corners of Sharon's mouth. “And where are you heading in Wyoming?”

“Anywhere will do,” Jake said.

Sharon stuck her thumbs into the pockets of her jeans and stared out over the fleet of trucks in the parking area. She remained silent for a few seconds, but then turned her blue eyes back toward the boys.

“Well,” she said. “You're in luck. I'm headin' to Reno, Nevada, and I'll be driving across southern Wyoming.”

“That's great!” Taylor burst out.

“Yeah, but if my boss finds out I'm givin' rides to runaways, I'm up a creek without a paddle.”

“We won't tell anyone—honest!” Taylor said.

Sharon studied them. “No, I don't suppose you will. But understand, I'm only doing this so some creep won't pick you up. Grab your stuff, and let's hit it.”

Cody in tow, they walked across the sea of asphalt until they came to a large eighteen-wheeler.

“This is
yours
?” Taylor asked, awestruck.

“Yep. She's a beauty, isn't she?”

Jake was equally impressed. The sheet-metal trailer was nothing special, but the Peterbilt truck cab gleamed turquoise blue with giant chrome exhaust pipes reaching for the sky.

“Can you sleep in there?” Jake asked.

“You bet. Climb in. I'll give you a quick tour.”

Taylor lifted Cody into the cab and they climbed up after him. Sharon showed them the cab's bells and whistles, from a spacious bed to a mini-refrigerator, desk, and TV screen.

“Wow! A person could live in here,” Taylor said.