NATE DIDN’T KNOW IF THIS prison was where they took the disappeared kids. But with no other leads, he had to take a chance. The Kid had been right; last night, after a couple of hours, the trucks had driven away. Nate had slept on the hill, but there had been no other activity at the abandoned-looking buildings.
“Do the trucks come every night?” he asked the Kid.
The Kid positioned a blade of grass against his thumbs and tried to whistle with it, unsuccessfully. “Don’t know, do I? Ya think I’m out here every night? I gotta sleep sometimes.”
“How come you’re not in school?”
The Kid shot him a look of irritation. “’Cause it’s a holiday, duh! Geez, you’re a moron, ain’t cha?”
Nate thought back, adding days to his mental calendar. “There’s no holiday right now,” he said.
Now the Kid openly sneered at him. “Oh, yeah? When do you guys get off for Bauxite Day?”
“We don’t,” Nate told him. “We don’t celebrate Bauxite Day. Our cell is mostly farming. So we get, like, the Harvest Festival in the fall.”
For a second, the Kid’s armor of toughness fell away, and he was just a regular kid, amazed by something he hadn’t known before. “Huh,” he said, looking much younger than his eleven years. Then he came back to himself, and the small, pinched face hardened.
“It’ll be dark again soon,” Nate said. “I’m going to try to get inside the prison tonight.”
The Kid laughed. “Sure you are! You can just mosey on up—”
“I’m gonna get closer, and when the trucks stop at the gates, I’ll climb underneath one. I saw last night—they just got waved through. No one checked anything.”
The Kid’s black eyes narrowed. “You magnetic? How you gonna stick up under a truck?”
“There’s pipes and axles and big bolts and stuff to hold on to,” Nate explained patiently. “We used to do it for fun under big dump trucks at home.”
The Kid looked unconvinced, but said, “I’m goin’ with ya.”
“No.” Nate shook his head firmly. “This is my deal—I think they have my friends. You can’t get mixed up in this.”
“Well, screw you!” the Kid shouted, jumping to his feet. “I showed you everythin’! And th
is is how you treat me! You go jump down a mine shaft, asshole!” He raced down the hill, not looking back. Nate sighed, rubbed his eyes, and started scouting a place closer to the prison road where he could hide.
73
THE DEEP, SLOW RUMBLE OF the trucks made Nate blink, then quickly sit up. He’d almost fallen asleep! The trucks were hours later than they’d been last night. But they were coming, their headlights showing dust, insects, and the broken, potholed road that led to the chain-link fence.
With his stomach grazing the ground, Nate crawled closer as fast as he could. A large rock stuck up about twenty yards from the gates; by angling himself exactly, Nate couldn’t be seen if the guard glanced over.
At least, he hoped he couldn’t. This time two days ago, he’d been taking out the trash. Now he was about to break into a mysterious prison. When had his life gone sideways?
The trucks lumbered to a squeaking stop at the gates, and like before, it was a few minutes until a light clicked on and an armed guard came out.
Now! While the driver was showing his papers to the guard, Nate sprang forward, running hunched over and staying in the deepest shadows. He flung himself between the big wheels and immediately grabbed the truck’s chassis. Wedging his feet against an indentation, Nate clung tightly, sweat breaking out on his forehead.
A slight scuffle to his right electrified his muscles and he stared wildly into the darkness—just in time to see the Kid scramble beneath the truck.
The truck’s engine revved as the Kid peered upward, searching for something to hold on to. Nate wanted to yell at him, or at least hiss instructions, but he couldn’t make a sound. Instead he jerked his head quickly toward another bar of the frame.
The Kid frowned, reaching up one hesitant hand as the truck rolled forward.
Nate’s eyes almost popped out of his head—this weird little guy was about to be crushed beneath the wheels! The Kid hesitated another second, and Nate let go of one hand to point with frantic silence toward the bar.
The Kid’s face cleared, he grabbed the bar, and at the last second he swung himself up. One leg dangled and the big wheel glanced off his shoe before he snatched his foot out of the way. But at last he was clinging like Nate was, bracing his feet up and holding on to the bar with all his might.
Nate sent him a furious, tight-lipped glare.