Alabama Moon (18 page)

“We'll get some today.”

I knew of a place on the hillside where black willow grew, and we spent the morning pulling bark and grinding it into aspirin. We stored the medicine with the meat in the ground, where it would stay dry.

“Nothin' to worry about now, Kit.”

Kit smiled and it seemed like he wasn't worried anymore.

That afternoon we used the knife to scratch out patterns on the deer hide for two hats. Using twine I'd made from the inner bark of a cedar tree, I bound the pieces together and gave Kit the hat with the tail still attached. He wore it proudly, and we decided they were our symbols that we'd wear all the way to Alaska.

One afternoon, we lay in the treetop platform watching buzzards circle us. I told Kit that if we lay there long enough we might be able to get one to come down.

“Have you ever done it?”

“No . . . But I've thought about it a lot.”

“How long do we have to lie like this?”

“We can do somethin' else. Let's go shoot the pistol.”

“You think it's safe now?”

“It's been more than two weeks since we saw Sanders. I don't think he's comin' back.”

I chose a rotten log as a target, and Kit followed me to a place about twenty yards back from the log and stood behind me while I inspected the gun.

“I thought you'd shot a gun before?” he said.

“I have.”

“Why do you always look at it like that?”

“Because I haven't ever shot one like this. It's an automatic. And it's big.”

After a minute, I discovered how to slide back the top of the pistol so that it loaded a bullet from the magazine. I held it out in front of me and aimed at the log. I sucked in my breath and squeezed the trigger. The explosion threw my arms over my head and left me deaf to all but a ringing in my ears. As I brought the pistol down, I saw that I'd hit the log where I was aiming. I turned to look at Kit. He had his hands over his ears and pulled them away slowly. “I've never shot anything like that,” I said, barely hearing my own voice. I laughed. “I can't hear anything.”

“Did you hit it?” Kit asked.

“Sure, I hit it.”

I turned back around and Kit slammed his hands to his ears again. I aimed the gun with more confidence this time and squeezed the trigger. The pistol bucked into the air, and the explosion punched so deep my teeth hurt. Wood chips flew from the center of the log where I was aiming. When I turned to look at Kit, he smiled and nodded.

“We're gonna get somethin' big with this thing in Alaska, Kit!” I yelled.

 

Another ten days passed before the last cold front moved in. Although the temperatures dropped way down a couple of nights, our shelter stayed warm and dry because
of the improvements we made and the hot rocks we slept on.

In spite of our warmer home, Kit developed a sniffle that wouldn't go away. After three days, he began coughing during the night and having headaches. I gave him the black willow aspirin and kept a supply of hot pine-needle tea ready whenever he wanted it.

“If this black willow and pine-needle tea doesn't work, I'll get some yellowroot. That's even better. And I'll get some pine sap for you to chew. That'll help for sore throat.”

Kit nodded. “Okay.”

On the fourth night we lay in the shelter as the rain drizzled from an icy sky. The wind tossed the treetops above our heads and hickory nuts fell against the shelter wall. Kit coughed more than usual and an uneasy feeling came over me. The rain had not let up for two days and we had spent most of the time holed up in our shelter. Not even yellowroot tea helped, and the forest was too soaked to get dry wood for a fire without whittling each piece of firewood to the core.

“It'll be dry tomorrow,” I said. “I'll get a fire goin' and make more tea.”

He didn't answer me.

“This ought to be the last of the cold weather. I can tell by the way the trees are changin'.”

I looked towards Kit's face in the darkness, but I couldn't see anything. I reminded him of all the things we would do when spring arrived. I talked to the ceiling throughout the night, keeping Kit company while his coughing kept him awake. At daybreak, he crawled out into the rain and began puking. I went after him and watched helplessly as he
clutched his stomach and drew his knees up. The rain was soaking us and my mind spun trying to remember all the medicines Pap had taught me about. But in the end I couldn't think of anything we hadn't tried.

“I don't know what do, Kit!” I cried. “My medicine won't work on what you have.”

He didn't answer me.

“This yellowroot is the best thing I know about. Sometimes you can eat red clay and that helps. I can go find some of that. I don't know . . . What do I do, Kit?”

He rolled over on his back and lay there with his eyes closed and the rain falling on his face. I watched his stomach rise and fall to his breathing. “I'm cold,” he said. It was the first time I'd ever heard him complain.

I ran to the fire pit and grabbed the knife. I picked up a piece of firewood and began to whittle it as fast as I could. It wasn't long before Kit called me. I walked over to him with the wood in one hand and the knife in the other.

“Don't worry about me, Moon. I'll be okay.”

“I don't know how to make any more medicine!” I cried.

“It's okay,” he muttered. He tried to get up, but he fell back and coughed at the sky.

“I'm goin' to get some help! My pap said to leave
him
alone, and I never should have done it.”

I dropped the firewood and began to run downhill to the creek. I hadn't gone far when I turned and ran back. “I don't know where to go, Kit! I don't know how to find a doctor. It might take me too long.”

Kit tried to say something but started coughing again.

“I'm not leavin' you, Kit!”

I dove into the shelter and grabbed the blankets. I rolled Kit onto one and placed the other two over him. I tied the two corners to the ends of a log about as big as my leg. By standing behind the log, I was able to walk with it against my waist and sled Kit behind me.

The wind came cold up the creek bed and thrashed the treetops. I plodded my way through the blowing rain, my head spinning with fear that my first real friend in the world was about to die.

“I don't want you to die, Kit,” I said back to him.

“I'll be okay,” he mumbled.

“Don't talk,” I said. “You go to sleep. I'm gonna find a road and some help.”

The air was icy and so damp it seemed to lick my bones. My mind was blank as I placed one foot in front of the other. I hadn't gone far before my legs were weary and my waist felt bruised and raw where the log pressed into it. I collapsed to my knees and began to cry. Kit was silent beside me, and I didn't turn to look at him.

“I don't care about Alaska, Kit. I'm not goin' without you. I'm not goin' at all. Pap said there were more people like him up there. But I don't wanna be like those people! I don't wanna be by myself, Kit!” I staggered to my feet again and heaved against the sled. “I don't wanna be anywhere by myself anymore!”

I had been dragging Kit for almost two hours when we came to a swamp where a beaver dam had backed up the creek. I leaned into the log and started uphill to the ridge above. With all of the tree roots and fallen timber, I felt like crying out with frustration every few feet.

At the top of the ridge, I dropped the log, fell to my knees, and rested.

“Kit,” I said.

He mumbled something I didn't understand, but it was enough to get me to my feet again. I pulled the log up to my waist and looked across the top of the ridge. At first, I didn't notice the gap in the trees. But after I started pulling, I realized that we were on an overgrown trail of some sort. Then I saw that the trail was raised on a bed of gravel and it reminded me of the old logging railroads that Pap had told me about. We had found a tram road.

I figured the tram road would take us out of the forest eventually and would certainly be easier going than the creek bottom. I began pulling again. “We're gonna make it, Kit,” I said.

When we came to the blacktop that afternoon, I stood at the edge of it for a while before I knew it was there. I was so tired that everything was blurry. I let the log drop from my waist and stared across the highway. After a moment, I looked up and down the empty two-lane road. The sounds of the forest returned to my ears, and I felt a strong thirst in my mouth.

I turned around slowly and knelt beside Kit. I put my hand gently on the top of the blankets that covered him. “Kit,” I said.

He moved slightly and mumbled. I pulled the blankets back to see his face. It was sickly pale. He kept his eyes closed and clutched his stomach.

“I found a road,” I said. “We've just gotta wait.”

He nodded without opening his eyes.

“A car's gonna be along soon. I'll get them to take you to get medicine . . . I'm not gonna go to Alaska. I don't know what I'll do, but I won't live up there without any friends. I'll wait for you to get better and let you decide where we're gonna go.”

I heard a noise and looked up. A white car was coming our way. I stood and ran to the middle of the road. I waved my arms until I was sure the driver saw me, and then I ran back and stood over Kit. “I'll stay out here until you're better and you can come find me. You just follow this tram road and I'll be watchin' for you. If you get somewhere they won't let you out of, I'll come break you out. I'll whip up on everybody in there. Kit?”

The car began to slow as it approached us. I took a few steps towards the forest. “I'll get you out of anywhere, Kit. You hear?”

The car crossed the bridge and pulled onto the roadside and the passenger window rolled down. An old woman peered out at me. “You okay, child?”

I pointed at Kit. She looked down at him and gasped. She turned and said something to the driver. A man stepped from the other side of the car. “What's happened here, son?”

I turned and ran for the trees.

 

I walked far enough into the forest hide myself and collapsed at the base of a pine tree. The cold slipped through my thin wet Pinson uniform and I hugged my arms to my chest tightly and concentrated on keeping my teeth from chattering.

The clouds eventually slid away, and the sun began to warm me. I fell asleep against the tree and didn't wake until I heard a car stop on the road. My heart began pounding in my chest. Fortunately, my Pinson uniform was so dirty that it no longer showed such a bright orange. I lay close to the ground and crawled through the damp leaves to get a look.

Sanders stared at the blankets that lay near the road. I saw his jaw clenched tight with anger. He put his hands on his hips and scanned the forest. Finally, he kicked the blankets and spit on them. “It ain't over, boy!” he yelled. “It ain't even close to over! You're gonna come out of there, and I'll get you when you do!”

Sanders had been gone for over an hour and it was getting on towards evening. Kit Creek went under the blacktop not far from where the tram road came out. I walked to the bridge and drank until I was out of breath. Then I dipped in the soles of my shoes to strip away the mud that was caked to them.

I didn't want to return to the campsite. The thought of
being there without Kit made me sick with loneliness. But my mind didn't give me any direction to go. I walked to the road, collected the blankets, and slipped back into the forest. Not far from where I'd watched Sanders earlier, I found a large cedar tree and climbed up it. The trunk split into three parts to make a bowl about ten feet from the ground. I curled up in the bowl and laid my head so that I saw the road through the treetops. I wanted to be there if Kit returned.

When the sun set I still wasn't hungry. Only a few cars had passed on the road since I'd been there. I couldn't remember feeling so empty inside since Pap died. All of the night sounds and the gurgling of the creek and the stars above my head—all of the things that used to make me feel safe and happy—just reminded me of how alone I was. I thought about Hal and rolled over and pulled my knees up. I thought about Kit and felt my throat tighten and swell. Then I thought about Pap, and I began to cough and cry in the bowl of the cedar tree. I'd counted on his memory to make me feel safe. But he was completely gone, not only in body but in spirit as well. And what bothered me most of all was that I was doubting all the things he told me were right.

The next morning, I watched a van stop where Kit and I had waited near the road. A man and a woman with a television camera got out and set up on the roadside. The man pointed the camera at the woman while she stood near the trees and talked into a microphone.

“Yesterday, the boy they call Alabama Moon, brought one of two other escapees from the Pinson Boys' Home to this place for medical attention. Mr. and Mrs. Clayton Jones were
out for an afternoon drive when they saw Alabama Moon waving them down. When they stopped to help, he fled into the forest and has not been seen since.

“The sick boy has been identified as ten-year-old Kit Slip. He is currently being treated in a Tuscaloosa hospital. It is believed that the third Pinson escapee, Hal Mitchell, is still at large with Alabama Moon in this forest behind us.

“The three boys escaped six weeks ago. They stole a school bus and drove all of the residents to a point near Payne Lake, about eight miles from here. From there, Alabama Moon and the two other boys fled into the forest.

His father, Oliver Blake, presumed to have died in January, had raised the boy to live off the land. “It is therefore believed that Alabama Moon can remain in the wild indefinitely. After burying his own father, the last of his known kin, he is presently considered a ward of the state. He is wanted for evasion of the law and the attempted murder of a law enforcement official. Efforts have been made to locate the fugitives by search plane and on foot with dogs. However, the boys are believed to be hiding in the most remote and inaccessible parts of the Talladega National Forest, and efforts to find them thus far have been unsuccessful.