I was crouched down, thinking through my next move, when my ears caught the barest glimmer of a birdcall. I sat up slightly, straining to hear.
There it was—a whip-poor-will! It called again, and my heart leaped. Standing carefully, I whistled back. It returned the whistle, and a moment later the truck door opened and the headlights flashed. It was Tim! Somehow he had found us!
Still I kept to the shadows, moving cautiously. I took slow steps, making sure he was alone. He called again like a whip-poor-will, and seemed startled when I returned the call from so close.
Then I stepped out of the woods, he saw me, and he dropped the flashlight and took long strides toward me. He caught me up in a tight embrace, and I threw my arms around him.
“I was so afraid you wouldn’t make it,” he murmured against my hair. “I’ve been waiting for hours.”
I smiled tremulously. “Thanks for not giving up. Now can we get the hell away from here?”
He nodded. “Definitely. Where’s Cassie?”
Tim came with me through the woods and was surprised to see we had the Kid and Nate with us. I was so thankful for Tim’s hulking strength as he put his arm under Nate’s shoulder and practically carried him to the truck.
Five minutes later Nate and Cassie were in the backseat of the United truck, and the Kid was next to me as Tim sped down the road away from the crazy house, toward freedom. Toward home.
94
“NO,” THE KID SAID, HIS small, pinched face set in an all-too-familiar stubborn look.
“You’ll like it in our cell,” I said.
“No,” the Kid said. “I’m goin’ home. You cain’t stop me.”
I didn’t point out that we could totally stop him, since there were four of us and we were all bigger and, oh yeah, we were in a speeding truck. Instead I said, “Is it safe for you to go home?”
He sneered. “Safer’n comin’ with you guys!” he said. “You got taken from yer cells, didn’t cha? Me, I jest wandered off! I’m goin’ back. Ain’t no way I’m comin’ with youse.” He crossed his thin arms over his chest and stuck his jaw out. His black eyes were narrowed.
Tim looked at me. I shrugged: the Kid had a point. “I can take him to his cell,” Tim said. “I know where it is. My dad drove a semi for the United, picking up wheat here, delivering stoves there. I used to go with him.”
“Now yer talkin’,” the Kid said.
His cell wasn’t far away. Only twenty minutes later we pulled up to the gates of a run-down cell. When we got close to the entrance gate, Tim stopped the truck and cut the headlights.
I got out to let the Kid jump down from the front seat. It was barely daybreak and only a few of the houses showed lights on.
“Take care, Kid,” I said.
“Yeah. Hope I never sees you again!” He turned to run off, but I grabbed his wiry little arm. He glanced back at me, startled, as I pulled him to me in a fierce hug. His too-thin body told the tale of how hard life was in a mining cell, and yet it was home, and he wanted to go back.
“Thanks for everything, Kid,” I whispered into his ear. “We would have been lost without your dad’s tunnel.”
For one second he softened into me, becoming just a scared little boy who had gone through a horrible experience. Then he stiffened and pulled back.
“Yeah. My dad did good.” Without another word he turned and ran off. He didn’t look back.
“Geez, I hope he’s okay,” Cassie murmured, and I nodded.
Feeling suddenly older than dirt, I climbed back into the truck. Now that the Kid wasn’t in between us, I moved over and leaned my head on Tim’s shoulder.
“What about the rest of us?” Tim asked.
“We gotta go back, too,” I murmured, trying not to fall asleep.
“You can’t come with me to my cell?” he asked, trying not to sound hopeful.
I sat up and looked at him. “I don’t want to leave you. But our Pa is still back home. And we have scores to settle. Can you come with us?”