Say That Again (29 page)

While she lay there, her hand wandered to her pocket. She drew out the shell necklace and put it on, her fingertips running over the polished shells as she counted them, one by one — fifteen in all. Five, five, and five more.

Thirty seconds later, she remembered she hadn’t eaten breakfast. So she opened one of her cracker boxes and counted out six crackers. She had to make her three boxes last. Just as she popped the fourth one into her mouth, she bumped her elbow on a plastic jug of iodine. The last two crackers in her hand fell, lost in the tangle of an electrical cord. Reluctantly, she got out two more, reminding herself to be more careful. She couldn’t waste any.

Waiting was always difficult for Hannah. She had a hard time keeping her mind quiet. Harder still was trying not to move. If she moved, she’d make noise and if Daddy came in and heard her, her plan would be ruined. She’d gotten this far. She couldn’t risk discovery now.

So she counted in her head, all the way up to a hundred. First by twos, then by fours and fives. She could do threes or sixes, or even sevens, but they wouldn’t fit neatly into a hundred. She’d either have to stop before that or go over, and that just wasn’t right. No one had ever taught her this. She had figured it out by herself. Tens and twenties worked, but they went rather quickly.

She was on thirty-seven, counting backward by ones, when the garage door clicked and began to hum in its tracks. Daylight wedged inward from outside.

A moment of panic gripped Hannah. What if her daddy opened the back and saw her? She hadn’t thought to cover herself. So she grabbed the closest thing she could find — the rope — and laid it on top of herself. It smelled like hay. And she was pretty sure there were bits of cow poop embedded in its fibers.

The truck door opened and Hunter tossed something onto the seat. Hannah exhaled in relief. He hadn’t looked. Then again, he hadn’t started the engine yet.

Her father’s work boots pounded on the concrete, then paused next to the rear wheel. Through the tinted side window, Hannah saw him squinting into the sunlight, a cup of coffee cupped between his hands to warm them.

“Echo,” he called. Dog toenails clicked on the garage floor, then stopped. A paw scratched once on the outside of the tailgate. “What
are
you doing? Get off there. You’re not riding in the back. No way, no how. And since when did you start stealing Hannah’s school papers? Give that to me.” Turning around, Hunter went back and thumped on the inside of the front door. “Up here.”

Once Echo was inside, Hunter started the truck. It lurched into reverse.

As the tires hit the chipped gravel of the road, the sound of music from the radio rose above the noise. The truck bumped over potholes, jarring Hannah’s bones. She pulled herself into a ball, cushioning her head with her arm and wishing that she had brought a blanket.

She had no idea where she was going or how long it would be before she could get out. All she knew was that home was getting farther and farther away.

Soon though, very soon, her family would be free of her. She would no longer be a burden to them. And
that
would free her.

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—o00o—

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H
annah awoke with a start. The truck wasn’t running. They were parked somewhere. But where?

She listened for the sound of voices, or cars driving down a busy road. Anything that would tell her where they were. But it was quiet.
Very
quiet.

Cautiously, Hannah pushed the rope away and sat up to peer out the side window. With the darkness of the tinted windows, it would be hard for someone outside to see her unless they were really close. She almost felt invisible.

It was full daylight now. A bright day for December. The truck was parked on a muddy gravel driveway, to the back of a cluster of barns. Animal pens made of stock panels and heavy metal tubing gates connected the two closest buildings. A dozen nanny goats milled about in one of the pens, dipping their heads in a wire feeder to pull out flakes of hay. To the other side of the truck, a patchwork of pastures sprawled where there were more goats, some of them half-grown kids.

This must be the Appletons’ farm. She’d been here with her father once before, but only long enough to drop off some medicine. If that was right, it was clear on the other side of the county.

How long had they been here? And what was the closest town? And where was the highway from here?

More importantly, where was her father and when was he coming back?

She wasn’t going to wait to find out.

Hannah crawled over the feed sacks and opened the rear window. Slowly, so she wouldn’t make any noise. The goats heard her, though, and turned to watch. She hiked a leg over and lowered herself to the bumper. So far, so good.

Knees bent to absorb the shock, Hannah leaped to the ground. She landed softly, but in a puddle. Cold water seeped through the seams of her boots, soaking her socks and feet before she could step free.

She surveyed her surroundings. No sign of anyone. Only the goats.

On the other side of the driveway, the ground sloped away to open pastures dissected by miles of fence and hills yellow with winter-dead grass. Curving around the barn was the lane leading to the house, she remembered that much. She turned around, her eyes following a path with two barely worn tire ruts that twisted right and then disappeared behind a stand of trees.

Forest. Miles and miles of forest. She could hide there until her father left, then take the lane past the house, back out to the road, and follow it until she came to a town or found another truck she could stow away in. The farther away she went, the harder it would be for anyone to find her.

Maybe the path into the forest went somewhere and she wouldn’t have to go by the house? She could find out.

Hoisting her bag over one shoulder, she started toward the woods. The goats rushed at the corner of their pen. The voices started, soft and polite at first:

Who are you? Who are you?

Apples? Carrots? Hay?

What do you have for us?

Who are you?

Hannah froze. If she ignored them, they’d stop, surely. She went on, her steps quickening as she tried not to look at them.

Hey! Come back!

Feed us!

Scattered bleats quickly rose to a clamor.

‘Shut up!’ she wanted to yell. They were going to ruin everything for her. But they wouldn’t stop. Their cries rang in her ears, demanding attention. Any other day, she would have spoken to them and fed them treats. But not today. Not now.

Pushed onward by their incessant demands, she ran. On and on. Until her lungs burned and her heart threatened to explode and her legs grew heavy.

Her feet began to drag. She stumbled, uprighted herself, and kept going. She could still hear them, even as she dove deeper and deeper into the woods. If Mr. Appleton and her father had been alerted by the noise, they would have noticed the goats watching the spot where the lane plunged into the forest. The thought of it sent a jolt of energy through her. So she picked her feet up and ran faster.

The lane grew rougher, the ruts deep with muddy clay, rocks scattered everywhere. Junipers and brambles crowded the path, lashing out at her arms with spiky thorns and prickly needles. Slowing to a walk, she took to the swath between the tire tracks, even though the grass was taller and thicker there.

Her heart thumped in her ears. Casting a glance behind her, she realized she could no longer see the house or barns. Just as she turned to look forward again, her foot caught on a root. Momentum propelled her forward, her knees buckling as she flailed a hand out. She caught herself before she could go face down, but a sharp impact, like a hammer striking her kneecap, sent waves of pain up through her leg. She tumbled sideways, rolling onto a patch of wet leaves.

When the pain ebbed, she dragged herself forward onto a mound of gravelly dirt. She’d fallen on a rock and torn her jeans. The rip was several inches long. She’d even managed to tear her leggings underneath. Blood seeped from the scrape there.

A moment of weakness pulled at her. She could go back now, make up some story that she’d wanted to go on rounds with her father. But it was possible she might still get in trouble.
Big
trouble. Then, all her plans would be for nothing. The problems she was causing would still be there. And now she was only adding to them.

No, she couldn’t give up now. She wouldn’t.

Determined, Hannah pushed herself up from the damp ground to gimp on. Around her, the trees grew denser and the hills taller. The path became more rugged as it wound between tree trunks and climbed craggy hills. Hooking her thumbs under the straps of her pack, Hannah kept going, looking for the road at the other end.

But then, just when she thought she might be safe and well on her way to freedom, she heard feet clipping rapidly through the grass behind her.

It wasn’t the steady plodding of two human feet, but the galloping of an animal in pursuit.

Moments ago, Hannah had wanted nothing more than to fold to the ground and rest, but she forced herself into a run again, propelled by fear.

She didn’t feel cold or tired anymore. Only afraid of what was behind her. What it would do to her. She couldn’t stop, couldn’t rest, couldn’t give up.

She pumped her arms hard, gulping in air.

The animal was closing on her.

She didn’t dare look. Wouldn’t. It would cost too much time.

Ahead, the trees parted in either direction. The road dropped suddenly. She plummeted, barely staying upright, and landed in a little stream, water halfway up her shins. The rocks in the streambed were slippery. She slid sideways and threw a leg to the side. But she kept going.

No sooner had Hannah cleared the stream than she heard a splash behind her. She scrambled up the short incline and headed for the nearest tree. She was good at climbing. It was her only chance.

With one strong leap, Hannah grabbed a branch and swung a leg up and around. Seconds later, she was straddling the branch, face down. She pulled her feet up to squat on the branch, glancing above her for some way up higher. There was another thick branch above her, just out of reach. She placed her right foot on a smaller branch and tested her weight on it while gripping a furrow in the bark. It held, although the fullness of her backpack made it hard to judge her balance, and she stepped up. Twisting back around, she curled both arms over the bough and pulled herself up. Now safely perched up high, she braved a look down at the ground, fighting a wave of dizziness.

Out of the corner of her eye, a black blur appeared, bounding over the bank of the stream.

“Echo?” she said.

Her dog bounced on his feet far below, his bobtail wagging his whole hind end. He yipped joyfully.

“Go away,” she commanded in her sternest voice.

Why?
He bounced higher.

“Because I don’t want you to come with me, that’s why.”

Ears flattened, he lowered his head, still looking up. He fixed her with sad eyes, the color of autumn leaves. His eyebrows twitched back and forth, like he was thinking, but didn’t know what to say.

The branch was broad enough for Hannah to sit comfortably on. She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them tight. The warmth that had risen in her body from running was now dissipating. She felt cooler. Through the tangle of branches, she could see the clouds thickening in the sky to the west.

“I said ‘go’.”

Echo rocked back on his haunches to sit, a signal that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Darn him
, Hannah thought. If he didn’t skedaddle off, her daddy would come looking for the dog and find her sitting there in that tree. She had to keep going, hitch a ride to another town, and then another maybe, until she was far enough away that nobody would know who she was. But how was she supposed to do that with a dog?

“I mean it. Go away,” she said between gritted teeth.

No.

A lump formed in her throat. She forced the words past her tongue. “I don’t need you.”

He looked away abruptly, as if she’d just struck him with her fist. His head sank and soon his body followed, collapsing to the ground. Slowly, he lifted his eyes.

But I need you. Don’t go, Hannah. Please, don’t go. What will I do without you?

Her heart crumpled in on itself, like a paper bird crushed in someone’s fist. She tried to be strong, to think of something mean to say that would make him slink back to the truck and let her go on her way. Yet no words came to her.

The longer she sat on the branch above him, the stronger the feeling grew. He was her friend. Her
best
friend. Nobody understood her like he did.

She needed him, too. Probably more than he needed her.

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H
unter tucked the vials of blood into his case and brushed the bits of straw from the front of his denim coveralls. “You should know soon which ones are bred, Tommy.”

“They had
all
better be.” Tommy Appleton slid the pipe stem from one side of his mouth to the other. “That new buck cost me an arm and a leg. Not to mention the drive down to Georgia to fetch him.”

“Hope it was worth it. You’ve invested a lot in these goats.” Hunter gathered the last of his implements and stepped through the gate before another mischievous young doe could butt him in the back of the knees. These were Tommy’s Boar goats and over the years he had traveled far and wide competing at goat shows and fairs across the country. The money, he’d confided to Hunter, wasn’t in selling them for meat, but in breeding stock.

“What do I owe you, Doc?” Tommy followed him through the barn door and out into the crisp winter air.

“Come on, Tommy. You know the drill. I’ll send you a bill. Eventually.” Hunter walked briskly. If he stopped at home long enough to change clothes and shower, he could make it to Maura’s basketball game before the first quarter was halfway over. She’d gone straight from volleyball to making the basketball team. He was proud of her and had promised himself that he’d make a point of letting her know it from now on.