followed a narrow, winding road up a steep hill. Buildings were infrequent and there were no streetlights.
The truck lurched to a stop. Brody rolled down his window and stared out. T.J. looked, too, trying to figure out what Brody was looking at. The moon was almost full, shedding a thin white light across the fields. T.J. could see rows of plants but he couldn’t tell what the crop was. Some sort of winter vegetable. Cabbages maybe, or brussels sprouts.
On the far side of the field, T.J. saw a two-story farmhouse and, in the other direction, some outbuildings. T.J. breathedfaster. Maybe he could get away and run to the farmhouse for help. This time, he wouldn’t say anything about the bank robbery or the murder. He would just say he had been kidnapped. This time, maybe someone would believe him.
Brody shut off the truck’s lights but not the engine. He sat for a few moments with the engine idling and then he turned onto the road that led toward the house. It wound through the fields, past a rusting old hayrake, and then branched into a
Y
, with the left side going toward the house and the right side going toward the outbuildings.
Brody turned right. The truck crept past a building that might have been for equipment storage and then past a barn. It stopped in front of a small shed. Moonlight glinted off the shed’s corrugated-tin roof. The shed was painted white with bright blue trim. Pink poppies blossomed along the front.
Brody got out of the truck but left the engine running.
Too bad the truck doesn’t have an automatic transmission, T.J. thought. Even though he had never driven, he could probably manage if he didn’t have to shift.
Still, this was a chance to escape. T.J. slid slowly across the seat until he was behind the wheel. He looked over his shoulder; Brody was walking beside the shed, looking at the ground.
T.J. released the emergency brake, pushed in the clutch with his left foot, and tried to shift into Drive. The truck made a screeching sound, like fingernails being scraped across a blackboard, and promptly quit running. T.J. turned the key; the truck screeched again.
This isn’t going to work, T.J. realized. Even if I can get it started, it’s too dangerous to drive when I haven’t a clue whatI’m doing. He quickly slid back to the passenger’s side, surprised that Brody had not come out when the truck screeched.
Inside the shed, an animal whinnied. T.J. got out, opened the door of the shed, and looked inside.
Except for the patch of moonlight that shone through the open door onto the hay-covered dirt floor, it was dark in the shed. It took a moment for T. J.’s eyes to get used to the dark. He heard a movement to his right and saw a small pony, tethered in a stall. The pony’s ears stuck straight up and his tail swished nervously. He looked at T.J., opened his mouth and whinnied again, showing his teeth.
“Hello to you, too,” T.J. said.
A piece of the shed’s tin roof flapped once in the wind and then lay still.
The inside of the shed was painted white, and a saddle, reins, and horse blanket hung in a tidy row on one wall. Inside the stall, T.J. saw that the pony had a clean bed of hay and a feeding trough that said FRISKIE in blue letters. A small table held brushes. Probably some kid’s pet, he thought, as he closed the door.
Brody was walking next to the equipment shed. “Revenge,” he said.
T.J. waited.
“Get in the truck.”
They both climbed back in the truck. Brody made a
U
-turn. T.J. could hear Brody’s breath coming quickly, as if he had been running. Neither of them spoke.
Brody drove back past the barn and the equipment shed and then stopped again. That time, he turned off the engine and pocketed the keys.
“Put your head down,” Brody said. T.J. obeyed. “Don’t make a sound. If you stop me, you’ll regret it.”
He got out.
T.J. heard noise at the back of the truck. It sounded as if Brody was untying the tarp. He waited a minute and then
The truck lurched to a stop. Brody rolled down his window and stared out. T.J. looked, too, trying to figure out what Brody was looking at. The moon was almost full, shedding a thin white light across the fields. T.J. could see rows of plants but he couldn’t tell what the crop was. Some sort of winter vegetable. Cabbages maybe, or brussels sprouts.
On the far side of the field, T.J. saw a two-story farmhouse and, in the other direction, some outbuildings. T.J. breathedfaster. Maybe he could get away and run to the farmhouse for help. This time, he wouldn’t say anything about the bank robbery or the murder. He would just say he had been kidnapped. This time, maybe someone would believe him.
Brody shut off the truck’s lights but not the engine. He sat for a few moments with the engine idling and then he turned onto the road that led toward the house. It wound through the fields, past a rusting old hayrake, and then branched into a
Y
, with the left side going toward the house and the right side going toward the outbuildings.
Brody turned right. The truck crept past a building that might have been for equipment storage and then past a barn. It stopped in front of a small shed. Moonlight glinted off the shed’s corrugated-tin roof. The shed was painted white with bright blue trim. Pink poppies blossomed along the front.
Brody got out of the truck but left the engine running.
Too bad the truck doesn’t have an automatic transmission, T.J. thought. Even though he had never driven, he could probably manage if he didn’t have to shift.
Still, this was a chance to escape. T.J. slid slowly across the seat until he was behind the wheel. He looked over his shoulder; Brody was walking beside the shed, looking at the ground.
T.J. released the emergency brake, pushed in the clutch with his left foot, and tried to shift into Drive. The truck made a screeching sound, like fingernails being scraped across a blackboard, and promptly quit running. T.J. turned the key; the truck screeched again.
This isn’t going to work, T.J. realized. Even if I can get it started, it’s too dangerous to drive when I haven’t a clue whatI’m doing. He quickly slid back to the passenger’s side, surprised that Brody had not come out when the truck screeched.
Inside the shed, an animal whinnied. T.J. got out, opened the door of the shed, and looked inside.
Except for the patch of moonlight that shone through the open door onto the hay-covered dirt floor, it was dark in the shed. It took a moment for T. J.’s eyes to get used to the dark. He heard a movement to his right and saw a small pony, tethered in a stall. The pony’s ears stuck straight up and his tail swished nervously. He looked at T.J., opened his mouth and whinnied again, showing his teeth.
“Hello to you, too,” T.J. said.
A piece of the shed’s tin roof flapped once in the wind and then lay still.
The inside of the shed was painted white, and a saddle, reins, and horse blanket hung in a tidy row on one wall. Inside the stall, T.J. saw that the pony had a clean bed of hay and a feeding trough that said FRISKIE in blue letters. A small table held brushes. Probably some kid’s pet, he thought, as he closed the door.
Brody was walking next to the equipment shed. “Revenge,” he said.
T.J. waited.
“Get in the truck.”
They both climbed back in the truck. Brody made a
U
-turn. T.J. could hear Brody’s breath coming quickly, as if he had been running. Neither of them spoke.
Brody drove back past the barn and the equipment shed and then stopped again. That time, he turned off the engine and pocketed the keys.
“Put your head down,” Brody said. T.J. obeyed. “Don’t make a sound. If you stop me, you’ll regret it.”
He got out.
T.J. heard noise at the back of the truck. It sounded as if Brody was untying the tarp. He waited a minute and then
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