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What if it’s not too late?
He watched Mr. Sir fill X-Ray’s canteen. The image of Zero crawling across the hot dry dirt remained in his head.
But what could he do about it? Even if Zero was somehow alive after more than four days, how would Stanley ever find him? It would take days. He’d need a car.
Or a pickup truck. A pickup truck with a tank of water in the back.
Stanley wondered if Mr. Sir had left the keys in the ignition.
He slowly backed away from the line, then circled over to the side of the truck. He looked through the window. The keys were there, dangling in the ignition.
Stanley felt his fingers start to twitch.
He took a deep breath to steady himself and tried to think clearly. He had never driven before.
But how hard could it be?
This is really crazy, he told himself. Whatever he did, he knew he’d have to do it quickly, before Mr. Sir noticed.
It’s too late, he told himself. Zero couldn’t have survived.
But what if it wasn’t too late?
He took another deep breath. Think about this, he told himself, but there wasn’t time to think. He flung open the door to the truck and climbed quickly inside.
“Hey!” shouted Mr. Sir.
He turned the key and stepped on the gas pedal. The engine revved. The truck didn’t move.
He pressed the pedal to the floor. The engine roared, but the truck was motionless.
Mr. Sir came running around the side of the truck. The door was still open.
“Put it in gear!” shouted Twitch.
The gear shift was on the floor next to the seat. Stanley pulled the lever back until the arrow pointed to the letter D, for Drive.
The truck lurched forward. Stanley jerked back against the seat and tightly gripped the wheel as the truck accelerated. His foot was pressed to the floor.
The truck went faster and faster across the dry lake bed. It bounced over a pile of dirt. Suddenly Stanley was slammed forward, then instantly backward as an airbag exploded in his face. He fell out of the open door and onto the ground.
He had driven straight into a hole.
He lay on the dirt staring at the truck, which stuck lopsided into the ground. He sighed. He couldn’t blame his no-good-dirty-rotten-pig-stealing-great-great-grandfather this time. This time it was his own fault, one hundred percent. He had probably just done the stupidest thing he had ever done in his short and miserable life.
He managed to get to his feet. He was sore but didn’t think he had broken any bones. He glanced back at Mr. Sir, who remained where he was, staring at Stanley.
He ran. His canteen was strapped around his neck. It banged against his chest as he ran, and every time it hit against him, it reminded him that it was empty, empty, empty.
33
He slowed to a walk. As far as he could tell, nobody was chasing him. He could hear voices coming from back by the truck but couldn’t make out the words. Occasionally he’d hear the revving of the engine, but the truck wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
He headed in what he thought was the direction of Big Thumb. He couldn’t see it through the haze.
Walking helped calm him down and allowed him to think clearly. He doubted he could make it to Big Thumb, and with no water in his canteen, he didn’t want to risk his life on the hope that he’d find refuge there. He’d have to return to camp. He knew that. But he was in no hurry. It would be better to return later, after everyone had a chance to calm down. And as long as he’d come this far, he might as well look for Zero.
He decided he would walk as long as he could, until he was too weak to go any farther, then he’d turn around and go back.
