Stevens School Runaways -- Part 5

“The Great Escape”

For about a fortnight, they became a threesome. Tom welcomed the presence of Carter. “Look what’s happening. We’re more accepted now – all the guys at least talk to us. Don’t you think Carter has something to do with the other kids treating us like humans?” It was a night in late March; the buds were starting to come out on the maples and oaks – noticeably so on the nice days. Indoors at least the heat wasn't turned on quite so high. It was lights out. Tom was lying on his back talking.

“I don’t know. I guess.” A little older, a little wiser, Rich couldn’t help being suspicious of the interloper. “But don’t you think it strange that he always has to go in the middle of conversations, that even you’ve caught him snickering and shutting up when he’s with his other friends – like when we come near him it stops and he suddenly gets serious? I know one thing. I don’t think we should let him in on it.”

“I already have, stupid. He wants to go with us. It’s all set!”

“You’re not serious! You freaking told him? Are you crazy?”

“Three’s better than two anyway. He says he knows his way around Perkins. He’s wanted to break out of this hellhole for the longest time, too. I think we actually need him.”

“I don’t believe I’m hearing this shit.”

“Carter has this idea. He’d give the signal, and we take off. Then we meet him in the woods. He’s told me what to look for when we run.”

“I don’t believe I’m hearing this.”

“Oh, you worry too much. My feet are sore. Can you give me a rub?”

“I’m – I’m – not in the mood tonight. Too tired.”

“Suit yourself.” But neither boy fell asleep too quickly. After a while, Tom spoke again. “You still mad at me?”

“Naah. Go to sleep.”

“We still escape together?”

“I guess. I just hope you know what you’re doing. I don’t really want to get caught. I changed my mind about that part.”

“I know. Me too. But we’ll make it. I know we will.”

*

At around 4 p.m. on the afternoon of March 26, Tom, closely followed by Rich, took off into the surrounding woods. Both had been cued by a signal from the enigmatic Carter. They met up in a grove of evergreens after running a full-out sprint for about a third of a mile. Both boys were winded, gasping for breath, but in a way, grateful for the conditioning that Anton Reilly had put them through. “I used to run like that and get a pain in my side,” Rich said, between breaths. “You think anybody’s following us?”

“Not yet.” Tom was listening, ear to the ground. “It’s quiet. I’ll bet Carter was right. They probably don’t even know we’re gone yet. They probably won’t find out until supper – that gives us almost two hours head start.”

“Where is old Carter boy?”

“Don’t you remember? He’s taking the other way – on the other side of the road. He’s meeting us at the thirteen-mile mark – near a giant boulder – like a cliff. He said we couldn’t miss it even if we tried.”

“What time is this supposed to happen?”

“Around 6:30.” Tom was wearing a watch that glowed in the dark, but it wasn’t dark yet.

“Days seem to be getting longer,” Rich said as the boys started moving again, half-walking, half-jogging, at a pretty good pace. There seemed to be a path through the melting snow.

“They should. It’s spring,” Tom said, smart-alecky. Tom sounded like a smart aleck quite a bit lately, if you asked Rich. But he couldn’t just desert his friend.

“How will we know when we’re getting close? When we’ve reached the thirteen-mile mark?”

“Stupid. Carter gave me a pedometer too. I’m wearing it on a chain under my shirt.”

“We aren’t supposed to have chains at Stevens. They think we might decide to strangle ourselves – or each other. Carter filch that out of Reilly’s office too?”

“Yeah. That Carter’s okay. Really kewl. Told you -- you’ve been worrying for nothing. Hey --We’ve already gone 3.8 miles,” Tom chortled while checking his handy gauge for a quick read. “Kewl huh?” Both boys were appropriately dressed for the weather, if not for hiking. Thin jackets were draped over their school uniforms, but footwear? Unfortunately -- sneakers. It was a partly cloudy, seasonable early spring day, trace of wind, maybe 50 degrees Fahrenheit. The footing wasn’t too bad either. Only a few hills so far, just little ones. What snow on the path existed as slushy ice, slippery but solid enough to maintain decent footing, although Rich fell flat on his face once; Tom twice. The forest remained eerily quiet – a few calls emanating like from an echo chamber, sounding like crows or hawks, rustlings of squirrels and small animals, nothing too threatening.

All this changed when it got dark. Precipitation started, tiny perfectly round miniature snowballs that made a swooshing sound on the forest floor – mostly decomposed leaves – when they hit. Soft hail. “Hey it’s raining,” Tom said.

“I don’t think it is rain,” answered Rich. But there wasn’t enough light by Tom’s wristwatch to really tell what the heck it was. All he knew was that it was dark, he couldn’t see the sky through the trees, and no stars either, and it was cold. He was beginning to regret this whole idea. Friend or no friend. “How far have we gone?”

“Ten and a half-miles,” Tom said, “but we better make some real good time again – it’s past six.”

”How much past?”

“Ten past.”

“Jeez. Do we really need to meet Carter?”

“I told you fifty times. He knows his way around Perkins. Without him, we’d get caught for sure.”

Both boys began running, slipping and sliding in the near total darkness, getting scratched on their wrists or hands when branches or brambles got in their way. Their pace became a mad rush, helter-skelter. It might have been fun, a bit of an adventure, under different circumstances. Yet Tom knew where he was going, uncannily perhaps, and Rich kept pace.

“There, I think that’s it – just ahead.” It was more of a shadow. Tom spotted different lines against a forest silhouette full of amorphous shapes, the slight hint of an incline. They reached the designated boulder from the rear at precisely 6:32.

“No sign of Carter,” Rich murmured.

“He’ll be here!” Tom said, slightly annoyed.

A few moments later, they did hear something. Footsteps. The beam of a powerful flashlight cut through the forest all around them. “Carter!” Rich and Tom cried.

“Yeah, it’s little old me – numb nuts!” He was laughing, full of good cheer. They embraced like long lost brothers – or maybe musketeers. Tom followed by Rich went off in lockstep behind Carter, the party’s newfound scout. The short hike with the flashlight’s beam shining led through the woods for a moment, then straight to the Perkins road.

“Oh crap!” Rich said, “Why the fuck we going on the road. That’s right where they’d be looking.” Suddenly the forest lit up bright as day – high beams.

“Busted!” It was Mueller, and his vice-like fingers hooking around their shirt collars. About six strong men suddenly surrounded them. Two burly security guards armed to the hilt resembled storm troopers or swat team guys out of America’s Most Wanted. Overwhelming force used to catch two kids, but guess who was still laughing?

“You bastard!” Rich hissed to Carter.

“I trusted you!” Tom screamed in helpless rage. Carter shrugged, smirked. “So? It’s not my fault you guys are so stupid.”

That’s when they both tried lunging at their treacherous companion. No use. Several strong hands from behind stopped their shoulders from making any headlong rush.

“C’mon you two! You’re going BACK!” Mason was yelling at them. It sounded like a jubilant yell, like he’d been anticipating their punishment. He had. “Can’t wait until Friday night,” he said softly, just loud enough for the runaways to hear.

End of Part 5 -- Next – “Punishment Weekend”