Nothing But Blue (19 page)

“If we're supposed to see each other again, we will,” he says. “You never know what the future holds. Distances aren't as far as you think.” He takes two cards from his pocket and gives them to me. “Here's my address and the number at the motel. The other is a phone card. There's still money on it. Call me anytime you want.” He takes off his flannel, so he's just in his T-shirt, and wraps it around my shoulders. “Take this, too. It might get cold.”

I place my hand on his and clutch it tight. Suddenly I want to scream in his arms.
I am so lost! Something awful has happened!
But I sense that he already knows this. Maybe because he is lost, too. We stand there for a second in silence, and then he moves closer and we hug.

I bite my lip to keep it from trembling. It doesn't work. Snake places his finger over my mouth gently and whispers my name. Then we kiss.

I definitely feel something, something maybe worth living for, and I forget everything else.

“We'll see each other again,” he says when we break apart.

I touch my fingers to my lips, feeling the warmth that lingers there.

 

Snake has gone, the day is over, and it is time for me to say goodbye to Dumpling, Onion, Cracker Jack, and everyone else at Hobo Town. Dumpling loads me with a pack of food—dried fruit and sandwiches. Someone found a pair of boots that fit me perfectly, and my feet are snug and cradled. How ironic that I am no longer walking.

“Come back anytime,” Dumpling says, pulling me into a hug. “If you need to or just want to. You are always welcome at Hobo Town.”

“Thanks,” I say. I want to say more. I want to tell her that in the last two days I have felt safer, more comfortable, and maybe even happier than I have since . . . since I started. Maybe since even before. But I just hug her back and head down to the tracks for my next ride home.

Shadow and I wait. It's not late this time, but when the train comes the only boxcar with an open door is barely wide enough for us to squeeze through. I throw Shadow in first and then push myself up. My foot catches on a metal hinge that juts out, but I make it.

This car is smaller than the one I rode with Snake, and it's full of concrete slabs. Shadow and I squish in between them and sit on the cold, hard floor.

The night is overcast and an almost full moon weaves in and out of heavy clouds. The train splits my ears with its roaring and screeching. The wind whips in through every open crack. I pull up my hood and wrap Snake's flannel shirt around me. Shadow nudges under my upright knees, and I hug him close. We share a sandwich, but Shadow keeps his radar ears alert even while eating.

We haven't gone that far when the train slows and stops. We must be at the station already.

I hear shouting—deep men's voices—and feet crunching on gravel. Beams from a flashlight dart around the sky. The voices are rushed and taunting like playground bullies, but more menacing.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are. Hello, hello, hello?”

I remember the warnings:
Rail bulls have guns, and they're not afraid to use them.
Why didn't I take Snake's pistol after all?

I try to still my thumping heart. Shadow gets up and paces in the narrow car. His ears twist and turn. The footsteps are getting closer, until they stop right next to our car, and I can see a shadowy figure through the opening. I suck in my breath.

A light shines in and spirals over and around the concrete blocks. It hits Shadow, radiating him for an instant before passing. Then the light backtracks onto him and stays there.

“What have we here?” a voice asks.

Shadow curls his lip and snarls. His teeth glisten. He glows like a ghost dog. But the man doesn't look at Shadow. He swirls his flashlight around until it finds me and stops. I am blinded. I cannot see a thing. This is not good.

“Well, well, well . . .” The voice is gruff. “It's our lucky night. A stowaway.”

He yells to his cohorts that he's found one.

I move fast—up and out the door, screaming for Shadow to follow. I land on my feet and start running. The rail bull reaches to stop me and catches my sleeve. I slide myself out of it and keep running, leaving him holding Snake's flannel shirt.

I hear Shadow behind me, growling fiercely, and the man screams, “Goddamn dog!”

Shadow must have bitten him.
Good dog,
I think. I keep running. There are more voices and footsteps, lights shining, more men behind me.

I keep running.

Shadow is beside me now. We head to the woods. Wet pine needles crunch beneath my feet. It's easier to run on than the gravel, and I am swift in the sturdy boots.

The men trail behind—their voices are harder to make out now, so I ease my pace and begin to relax. Then my foot hits something—a root, a rock. I attempt to steady myself, but I am a second too late and I meet the ground with a sudden
thunk
. There is a cracking sound, like a branch snapping in two but louder. The impact is harder than I expected. I cannot believe I have allowed myself to fall. I expect to get up, wipe off the leaves and dirt, and keep moving. I use my arms to push, and instantly I know something is wrong.

Terribly wrong.

Pain sears through my right shoulder all the way down my arm. I want to scream bloody hell, but I know the rail bulls are still out there and could be gaining on me.

I prop myself up on my good arm and stare at the other. It is soft and limp and hangs off my body like some foreign appendage. But the pain tells me it is still attached. It is far too difficult to stand. I inch behind a mound of earth, screaming in my head with each move and hoping the sound isn't actually coming out of my mouth. I lie as still as possible trying to disappear into the dark.

Shadow nudges my neck gently.
Everything will be okay.

But how does he know?

We stay there motionless. All is silent, but I know it's not over. Sure enough, a second later there is some snapping of sticks, a shuffle of leaves. Shadow's hackles rise, and suddenly he runs off.

The next thing I hear is barking. Ferocious snarls and growls. It is Shadow, but he is fiercer than I could ever imagine. He is out for blood.

“Oh, crap,” says one of the bulls. His voice is close, too close.

“Shoot the thing,” another one says. “It's gone mad.”

Everything in my brain sends out a screaming
No!,
but words are not able to leave my body.

And then a hard
craaaack
splits the night. The shot reverberates all around the trees, turns to a loud ringing, and then slowly fades until there is nothing.

My heart stops. Everything is silent. There is no more barking.

A gruff voice breaks the quiet. “What happened?”

It is followed by a low growl. Shadow's growl!

Relief swoops through me.

Another rail bull says, “My hand . . . It slipped. It was a clear shot and I missed.”

“Try again.”

“No way. That dog's possessed. It's bad luck to kill something possessed. I got it to back off.”

“But you didn't even scare it—it's standing right there. Look at its eyes. It's not a dog, it's a monster.”

“Exactly. Come on, let's get out of here.”

“But the stowaway?”

“We got her off the train. She's probably just a runaway from that hippie place.” Slowly the rail bulls start to walk away, but I can still hear them. “It's been there for years, got a name and everything. Hobo Town. Isn't that a gas? That's where all the hoppers come from.”

“Why don't we get rid of it, then?”

“How?”

Their voices are barely audible now. But I think I hear one of them say, “A can of gasoline, a couple of matches. And poof. They're gone. No more Hobo Town.”

I keep my breath shut tight inside my lungs until I hear the train squeal away. Only then do I allow myself to breathe and to register what they said, but it can't be true. I am hearing things. I close my eyes. All I feel is pain. Nothing else seems real. I want to take my arm off, rise up out of my body, and leave it all there.

“Shadow,” I manage. He comes to me, licks my nose gingerly. I exhale into his fur. “Shadow.” I'm not sure if I'm saying this out loud or only in my head. “Help.”

Shadow barks but I can't understand what he's trying to say. He turns and walks off into the woods. I watch him until he is nothing more than a ghostly shape.

I am alone in the silent night.

 

I go in and out of awareness. Shadow has left. I must be dying. Seventeen years old—I should be in the prime of my life, surrounded by family and friends, smiling and laughing every day, playing sports, singing in the school choir, studying for SATs, and dreaming about getting into a good college. Was I ever like that? I let everything pass me by, just waiting for something else. Never living.

And now I am lost in the woods, my body in pain. Alone. Alone. Alone.

If a tree falls in the woods when no one is there, does it still make a noise? If a girl dies in the woods when no one is there, does anyone care? If no one knows I am here, do I even exist?

All dead. All dead. All dead.
Including me, once and for all.

Time passes but I don't know how much. Is it minutes, hours, days?

Then from somewhere I hear Shadow's single bark. And another. Maybe I am not dead yet. Feet crunch through the pine needles. Not just Shadow's but another set following. A human. Are the rail bulls still out there? Did they find Shadow again?

Shadow reaches me, touches me with his snout.
I brought help,
he says.

A woman crouches next to me, and silver silk hair wisps across my cheek. I stare into a face creased with wrinkles. Is she a witch? Good or bad? She must be good if Shadow brought her.

“Can you sit?” the woman asks. She helps prop me up on my good arm. “I'm here to help,” she says calmly. She takes my sore arm in both hands.

I wince with pain.

She rubs my palm and forearm. “You've dislocated your shoulder. I can fix it.” She lifts my hand, tucks it under her arm, and shifts closer. “This will hurt, but it will be over before you know it. Try to distract yourself,” she says. “Tell me about something good.”

I don't say anything. There is nothing good.

“Tell me about your dog. What's his name?” she asks.

“Shadow,” I whisper.

“Do you know what kind he is?”

I shake my head.

“He looks like he could be part wolf,” she answers for me.

“I guess,” I say.

“Or part ghost. How long have you had him?”

Before I can respond, she grabs my arm in one swift move and yanks it toward her. I hear a popping sound, then the eruption of my own voice howling through the trees.

“That's it,” she says. “Breathe. Scream.” She keeps pulling.

I howl louder.

She eases my arm down to my side, and all of a sudden it's over. My arm is no longer foreign. It is back to being my arm again.

I shake it out and use it to wipe my face. “What did you do?” I ask the woman.

“Your humerus separated from your scapula,” she says. “I rotated it back into place. Best to keep it still; it'll be sore for a few hours. But you should be back to normal in no time.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“I live nearby,” the woman explains. “I heard barking and your dog was outside. He led me here.”

I look at Shadow. Here I thought he'd gone and abandoned me, but it was just the opposite—he'd gone and saved me. I feel guilty for even thinking he'd leave me there to die. I scratch his chin.

I would never leave you.

“My name is Eudora,” the woman says, helping me to stand. “You should rest. I'll take you to my cabin and fix you a cup of tea.”

We follow a narrow path through the woods. The woods are not so menacing now as the sun begins to rise. Everything looks better in the daylight.

 

Eudora's cabin sits by itself nestled in the trees. There is a dirt road behind it with a truck parked. The building is small but sturdy—it looks like it's been there for years. There are stacks of books on every surface, books covering the couch, books scattered across the floor. There's a small alcove with a bed, and that, too, is oozing with books.

Shadow's tail perks straight with excitement as he sniffs the air.
Oh, she's got cats!
He chases two cats across the room and under the bed.

“Shadow,” I say sternly. “Stop that.”

He eyes me.
But they're cats.

“Don't worry about it,” Eudora says. “They're tough. He just wants to play.”

The cats peer from their hiding place. One of them steps out and pokes Shadow with its paw. Shadow sniffs it, decides it's not going to play, and lumbers off to drink some water from the bowl Eudora has filled for him.

Eudora points to the couch and tells me to sit. I don't know if I should move the books or sit on top of them, so I remain standing.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, and picks up an armload from the couch. She turns around looking for a place to put them and finally sets them on the floor next to some others. “Too many books,” she says, “but they are one thing I can't get rid of. Everything else was easy— useless knickknacks, fancy dishes, even photographs. But books . . . well, I couldn't do it. When I'm dead and gone someone can donate them to a library or use them for kindling.” She laughs.

I sit in the cleared spot on the couch while she puts on a kettle. I pick up a book from the pile and flip through. It's poetry—all about nature.

Eudora comes over with a thick candle and a little bottle of liquid and sets it on the table. “‘I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey work of the stars.'” She points to the book. “That's Walt Whitman,
Leaves of Grass.
One of my favorites.”