Part 25 (1/2)
”I don't have the keys.”
My mind raced. Where could he have put the keys? In the bedroom? If so, I would be hard pressed to get to them. Maybe he had an extra one somewhere.
”Does he keep a key in the truck?”
Bobby looked in the direction of the old truck, fifty yards from us, near the shack. ”I don't know. I don't think so.”
”How about in the shed? Or in the still house?”
He shrugged, doing that flicking thing he did with his thumb and forefinger. ”We can ask Wyatt,” he said.
”No. Wyatt can't know.”
”Why not?”
”Because this is a surprise.”
My mind was racing. Trying to drive the truck was going to be hard enough, but walking out would be nearly impossible. The dogs would give us away or attack us. If Kathryn discovered me now things would get even worse.
”We have to find the keys!” I snapped, now near a panic.
A plop at my feet startled and I spun, immediately thinking: frog or snake. But it wasn't a reptile. It was Wyatt's truck keys. Right there, on the ground a yard from me. How . . .
I spun back to the porch and saw how. Wyatt stood on the porch, watching us. A chill washed over me. We were caught! At any moment Kathryn would fill the open doorway behind him, wearing a scowl.
Only then did I realize that Wyatt didn't appear to be upset. He stared at me, wearing a sad face, arms loose at his sides. For several long seconds, neither of us moved.
He wasn't trying to stop me. And he'd just thrown us the keys.
With a single nod, he suddenly turned, stepped back into the house, and closed the door behind him.
I stared up at the porch, stunned by what I'd just seen. He was helping me. In his own way, he was telling me to leave. He didn't have the courage to actually drive me away and he had to get back to bed before Kathryn woke up, but he was doing his best to help me, even if it meant that everything might go badly for him. At least this way, he could say I must have found the keys and gone on my own. That would be harder if he got caught helping us.
Either way he was helping me and that froze me up. How could I do this to Wyatt? If I went to the police, they might send him to prison-that's what Mother had said.
Run, Eden. Run now!
I bent down, scooped up the keys, and ran. ”Hurry!” I whispered.
Bobby tore after me, stumbling with an uneasy gait.
I reached the truck, threw the door open and jumped into the front seat, with Bobby panting by my left side, staring in through the open door. Now what?
”Get in, Bobby! The other side.”
I glanced back at the house as he hurried around the front of the truck. The porch was empty. But if Kathryn had woken, she would be out any moment.
Bobby slid into the front seat next to me.
I searched eagerly for the key hole in the darkness. ”Where does it go?”
”There!” Bobby pointed a stubby finger at the column under the steering wheel.
Now . . . I wasn't totally clueless as to how vehicles worked, naturally. I had six months of memory before being taken by Wyatt-but I was too young and too busy learning other things to have paid much attention to the precise mechanics of driving. And trucks weren't the same as cars.
But I had some general ideas. Like inserting a key and twisting it to start the engine.
So that's what I did.
The motor cranked and the truck lurched forward and I let out a little yelp.
”You have to push the clutch in,” Bobby said excitedly, pointing to the floor.
I stared at the three pedals at my feet, all within fairly easy reach.
”The clutch? Which one?”
”That one,” he fairly yelled.
”Not so loud, Bobby!” I whispered.
”Sorry. That one.”
I put my left foot on ”that one” and pressed it to the floor.
”Now start it?”
”Yes.”
This time the engine cranked over a couple times and rumbled to life. Beside me, Bobby beamed, as if he himself had brought the truck to life. Ahead of me, the gravel driveway stretched into the night like a long gray snake.
”Now what?”
”Now you press the gas and go.”
”Which one?”
He hopped off the seat and reached down by my feet as if to do it by hand for himself. ”This one!”
”Okay, get up, Bobby. You can't help me down there!”
”That one!” he said, pointing and climbing up.
”Just press it? What about my left foot?”
”You have to let the clutch out. If you let it out too quick, it will stop.”
”That's how you stop?”
”Yes. But you have to use the other brake to stop.”