Read Online On the Run by Tristan Bancks - Free Book Online Page B

years, he still got that feeling in his belly, waiting for Dad to get into the car and drive off, wheels spinning on the road. Ben wasn’t a churchgoer, but on those nights he prayed that his dad would be okay. He would lie awake until he heard the car shake and rattle back into the driveway after midnight.
    He listened for a while, but tiredness crept up on him little by little, covering him like a cloak. He tried to shrug it off but he was losing the battle. The sound of the river cut through the voices and other night noises. “Shhhhh,” it said, dragging him down.
    I need to know .
    These words came to him, and his eyes flickered open. No matter how many pocketknives he was given he still needed to know where the money had come from. He sighed and turned over. The mattress squeaked on the floorboards. He found a comfortable position and closed his eyes again.
    What are they arguing about? Why do we have to “sit tight”?
    Why couldn’t he just be happy? Everything was good. Everything had been great all afternoon. Let it go. They’ll be fine in the morning.
    He rolled onto his back, arms folded across his chest.
    â€œShhhhh,” said the river, but Ben fought it. He would find out. He would listen to their conversation. He would learn where they were heading, what they were doing.
    Ben reached over the side of his mattress and felt inside his backpack. His hand touched a days-old pear from school. He laid the pear aside on the floorboards, then felt in the bag for his camera. He ran his thumbs over the buttons, switched it on, and placed it on the green metal trunk. He sat up and framed a wide shot of the cabin. It was very dark, but the camera was good in low light. He hit the “record” button, and the red light shone. He threw some clothes on top, covering the red light, and he sent out a prayer that he had enough battery to catch their conversation.
    His head hit the inflatable pillow, and he tumbled into a dark well of sleep.

 
    EVIDENCE
    â€œSometimes I wish we hadn’t done it,” Dad said.
    Ben waited, his mouth dry. He pressed the video camera speaker to his ear, listening over the burble and swish of river. He sat on the bank, his back against a tree. He had escaped the cabin with his backpack and camera before anyone else woke. The sky grew orange, but the sun had not yet risen over the wall of sandstone on the other side of the river.
    The picture on the camera’s flip-screen was too dark to see, and the sound was low, so he kept the speaker pressed to his ear, swatting at mosquitoes on his ankles and neck.
    â€œIt’s too late now. You got us in. You get us out,” said Mum’s voice.
    â€œI hate this place.”
    â€œWelcome to the club,” Mum said. “Why didn’t you think about that before you drove us all the way up here?” Then, in a quieter voice, “What about the kids? What are they thinking?”
    Sometimes the words weren’t clear, but Ben filled in the gaps for himself.
    â€œI didn’t have a lot of time. And the kids’re fine. They’re kids .”
    â€œJust because—”
    â€œAs soon as we get the passports we go,” Dad hissed.
    More shuffling sounds. No speaking for a while. Ben listened with every cell, muscles tight, breath short. He wondered if he should scan forward. Someone lay down on an air mattress, and it squeaked softly on the floorboards in the background.
    â€œWorst case, we can’t get the passports, we go into the desert, somewhere that doesn’t even exist.”
    â€œGreat,” Mum said. “Sounds fantastic. I’ve always wanted to live in the desert, Ray. If you’re falling apart here imagine what you’ll be like out there.”
    â€œDon’t talk to me like that!” he snapped.
    â€œI just wish you’d listened to me in the beginning.”
    Ben waited for a long time but there was nothing more. Just Dad snoring loudly.