Even Steven Read Online Free Page B
Author: John Gilstrap
hell shouldn't she ride in the back? The boy needed to be with somebody, after all.
Thirty seconds later, the truck was heading down the treacherous, unpaved switchbacks that would lead to the road home. Ruts and rocks bounced them all over the interior of the truck, and Bobby found himself riding the brakes even after shifting the transmission into low.
"How are you guys doing back there?"
I'm hanging on, and he's doing great." Susan's voice bounced right along with the suspension.
Shouldn't be more than a couple minutes till we're out of here."
If anyone had asked him yesterday, Bobby would not have been able to imagine a circumstance in which he would make this drive after dark. Not unless someone was gravely ill.
Or dead, with a bullet in his brain.
Finally, they made it to the bottom, and Bobby let out an audible sigh. They were back on solid pavement, and they'd put plenty of distance between themselves and whoever the cop might have been travelling with. For the time being, the worst was over.
Or so he thought, before he saw flashing blue lights closing in on his rear bumper.
Samuel had taken a trip. That's what he called those times when he left the real world and travelled off to think thoughts that no one else could understand, and when he got back, darkness had returned. The camp-fire and the flashlights were gone, and the darkness pressed in all around him. Even the moon had dimmed.
The stiffness in his shoulders and his knees told him that he'd been gone a long time, but not as long as he used to go when he was a kid. His pants were still dry.
He didn't like the dark; never had. Bad things happened in the dark, and for as long as he could remember, he'd always kept lights on around him. At least a flashlight, but Jacob wouldn't let him carry one of those tonight.
In the darkness, with all the other people gone, Samuel decided that it was okay for him to cry. No one could see, so no one would call him a pussy now. Certainly not Jacob.
Because he was dead.
Sadness flooded up all the way from his tippy-tippy toes and burst over him, making him wonder if maybe he would drown in it. Samuel put his hands over his ears and pushed as hard as he could, hoping that the horrible feelings could be kept inside, but they all rushed out anyway. He sagged to his knees and sobbed there in the darkness, not even caring about the snot and the drool that leaked out onto his shirt.
Jacob was never coming back. He was dead. And there was nothing Samuel could do about it.
It took another half hour for him to summon the courage to move out of his spot and do what he had to do next. The moon didn't provide whole lot of light, but it was enough for Samuel to pick his way through the trees without getting hurt. He moved a step at a time, still trying his best not to step on any sticks.
Through the bushes, an iridescent white rectangle drew his attention. He bent down for a closer look and found a piece of paper with writing on it. Samuel liked paper, and he liked writing, so he folded it up and stuffed it in the pocket of his jeans.
You're not out here to pick up trash.
He knew that, and it angered him that he could so easily be distracted. Returning to his original course, he took only six more steps and then he was there. His brother still hadn't moved; he was just a black stain against the night.
Samuel knelt as close as he could and rested his hand on Jacobs shirt, hoping that maybe he would feel it and wake up. "I'm really, really sorry, Jacob," he said. And then, choking back a sob and wiping the snot from his nose, he leaned down and kissed his big brother good-night.
WE'VE GOT TROUBLE, Sue," Bobby groaned, trying his best to squeeze the terror out of his voice.
Susan saw the strobing blue shadows and strained to look out the back window. "What do they want?"
"What do you think?"
"How could they know? How could they possibly know?"
Bobby pulled over to the side of the road, nursing a distant hope that the cop
Thirty seconds later, the truck was heading down the treacherous, unpaved switchbacks that would lead to the road home. Ruts and rocks bounced them all over the interior of the truck, and Bobby found himself riding the brakes even after shifting the transmission into low.
"How are you guys doing back there?"
I'm hanging on, and he's doing great." Susan's voice bounced right along with the suspension.
Shouldn't be more than a couple minutes till we're out of here."
If anyone had asked him yesterday, Bobby would not have been able to imagine a circumstance in which he would make this drive after dark. Not unless someone was gravely ill.
Or dead, with a bullet in his brain.
Finally, they made it to the bottom, and Bobby let out an audible sigh. They were back on solid pavement, and they'd put plenty of distance between themselves and whoever the cop might have been travelling with. For the time being, the worst was over.
Or so he thought, before he saw flashing blue lights closing in on his rear bumper.
Samuel had taken a trip. That's what he called those times when he left the real world and travelled off to think thoughts that no one else could understand, and when he got back, darkness had returned. The camp-fire and the flashlights were gone, and the darkness pressed in all around him. Even the moon had dimmed.
The stiffness in his shoulders and his knees told him that he'd been gone a long time, but not as long as he used to go when he was a kid. His pants were still dry.
He didn't like the dark; never had. Bad things happened in the dark, and for as long as he could remember, he'd always kept lights on around him. At least a flashlight, but Jacob wouldn't let him carry one of those tonight.
In the darkness, with all the other people gone, Samuel decided that it was okay for him to cry. No one could see, so no one would call him a pussy now. Certainly not Jacob.
Because he was dead.
Sadness flooded up all the way from his tippy-tippy toes and burst over him, making him wonder if maybe he would drown in it. Samuel put his hands over his ears and pushed as hard as he could, hoping that the horrible feelings could be kept inside, but they all rushed out anyway. He sagged to his knees and sobbed there in the darkness, not even caring about the snot and the drool that leaked out onto his shirt.
Jacob was never coming back. He was dead. And there was nothing Samuel could do about it.
It took another half hour for him to summon the courage to move out of his spot and do what he had to do next. The moon didn't provide whole lot of light, but it was enough for Samuel to pick his way through the trees without getting hurt. He moved a step at a time, still trying his best not to step on any sticks.
Through the bushes, an iridescent white rectangle drew his attention. He bent down for a closer look and found a piece of paper with writing on it. Samuel liked paper, and he liked writing, so he folded it up and stuffed it in the pocket of his jeans.
You're not out here to pick up trash.
He knew that, and it angered him that he could so easily be distracted. Returning to his original course, he took only six more steps and then he was there. His brother still hadn't moved; he was just a black stain against the night.
Samuel knelt as close as he could and rested his hand on Jacobs shirt, hoping that maybe he would feel it and wake up. "I'm really, really sorry, Jacob," he said. And then, choking back a sob and wiping the snot from his nose, he leaned down and kissed his big brother good-night.
WE'VE GOT TROUBLE, Sue," Bobby groaned, trying his best to squeeze the terror out of his voice.
Susan saw the strobing blue shadows and strained to look out the back window. "What do they want?"
"What do you think?"
"How could they know? How could they possibly know?"
Bobby pulled over to the side of the road, nursing a distant hope that the cop
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