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We drove for an hour. Elro said he was afraid the police might come after us, so he took an out-of-the-way route, zigzagging north on gravel roads and dodging even the smallest towns. We hardly saw another car. As the miles ground on, I started to think how easy it had been—escape had been little more than a matter of deciding to do it. Aside from the soul-searching, there was no trauma, not even much tension. Now here I was on the other side, and I didn’t feel different. It was a bit of a letdown. I guess I’d been expecting a burst of courage, or an outflowing of passion, or a new, frightening guilt—something to confirm that I’d taken a momentous step. Instead, there was nothing. If anything, I was a little bored by the trip so far.
A pale film of purple appeared along the horizon. “Sun,” grunted Elro, as if he’d just learned the word. He’d finished almost half the bottle, and, though his driving still seemed steady, the liquor had made him talkative. On and on he went, mostly about cars and trucks, about cams, piston rods, bearings, fuel pumps. And ducks. He kept returning to the ducks. Once he told me that the ducks had won the war for America, that they’d been the critical factor in a crucial battle. The Germans had retreated to a river somewhere. They’d crossed over on a bridge and then blown the bridge up, thinking they’d ensured their escape. But then an army of ducks came scudding up to the riverbank and swam right across to the other side. The Germans were surprised and defeated.
“You sure about that?” I asked.
“Of course I’m sure.” He frowned, unhappy that I’d doubted him.
After a few seconds, his face brightened again. “You know, this thing will do ninety, ninety-five when I really goose her up,” he said, patting the dashboard of the pickup. “My brother and me bored out the engine so the thing’s faster ’n most cars.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You want to see?”
“Not really.”
“Watch.” He stomped on the gas pedal. The pickup paused for a second and reared back, as if taking a breath, then shot forward with an animal roar. “Whoooo-eee!” yelled Elro. The back end skidded sideways on the gravelly road.
“Don’t!”
“See?” His face was flushed. “See what I mean?” He let up on the gas, and the truck straightened out. “If some cop wanted to chase us, I’d give him a hell of a ride.”
When we were back to normal speed again, I said, “What do you think they’d do if they caught us?”
“I tell ya, they wouldn’t catch us in this thing.” Again, he touched the dashboard, this time stroking it gently. His hand was broad and thick, with stubby, coarse fingers. I found myself staring at it. I couldn’t imagine being touched, or, worse, held by that hand. It was like something not designed to come into regular contact with other people, like a boot, a heavy leather boot. I thought of Reverend Vaughn’s slender, delicate hand, and my stomach burned. Running away wasn’t that easy after all.
“They’ll have to shoot us,” said Elro.
“Shoot us?” The smooth, dark fields were coming clear in the sunrise. The horizon was now splashed with orange.
“Yeah. The law says you can shoot fleeing felons. We’re fleeing felons.”
“Fleeing felons?”
“Yeah.”
“We’re just kids.”
“Don’t make no difference. They shoot fleeing felons all the time.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“I heard it.”
I turned to him, but avoided looking at his hands. “You’ve got a lot of stupid stories in your head, you know that? You’re like an old man who believes in superstitions and ghosts.”
“I just remember things.” He picked up the bottle and thrust it toward me. The whiskey sloshed inside. “Sure you don’t want some?”
I shook my head. “Let’s talk about something else, something besides cars,” I said.
He swigged from the bottle. “Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I thought for a moment. “Remember how in fourth grade, Mrs. Kirkpatrick used to talk about her pets all the time, how she’d spend half the morning telling what her cat did the night before? We were supposed to start the day with current events, but she just talked about her cat or her dog. And she had a parakeet, right? She brought it to school once. I used to time her. Once she talked all the way up to the first recess. Remember?”
“Nah, not really.” Elro’s face had sunk into a pout. “I didn’t like her much.”
&n
bsp; “Really?”
