Escape with the Dream Maker (11 page)

Wash put his finger on the switch and muttered, “Well, here I come, Josh, wherever you are . . .”

T
he red-and-white cork floated serenely, bobbing slightly on the waves of the small creek. The blue sky and brilliant yellow sun reflected on the surface, breaking it up into long, wavy lines of light.

Suddenly the cork disappeared with a loud
plop.

Josh Adams had been leaning back, dreamily holding the fishing pole lightly in his hands. The warm sun and the soft breeze and the murmuring of the creek had almost put him to sleep. Now, as the pole bent in his hand, he straightened up with a yell.

“Look out!” The line jerked madly, drawn by the frantic struggles of a fish trying to escape. Josh's straw hat fell off, and as the pole bent farther he yelled, “Got you! You won't get away this time.”

Josh moved down the bank, giving the fish line to keep him from breaking it. It was such a powerful fish that he was afraid it would snap the pole, but finally he drew it in. His heart almost stopped as he saw the size of the bass.

Without breathing, he reached over and stuck his thumb inside the massive mouth. The fish bit down hard, but Josh didn't care. He fell over backwards and gave the fish a heave. Instantly he was up, running to where the fish was flopping, its silver scales flashing in the sunlight. Josh picked up the fish and removed the hook. The bass fought madly, but Josh held it tight.

“Must weigh five pounds at least! The biggest I ever caught!” Josh breathed.

Any fishing after that would have been anticlimactic, so he got his box of crickets and another of worms, wound up his line, and started back toward the road. He walked through the woods easily, his long legs pumping, his straw hat tilted back on his head. He was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a blue-and-white checked shirt open at the throat. His worn sneakers flapped as he moved.

He came out of the woods onto the road. Turning right, he found his bicycle and carefully tied the fish across the handlebars. Balancing his pole and stringing the bait buckets, he shoved off and pumped his way along. He whistled a song everyone else had stopped whistling a year ago, but he didn't care.

Josh Adams was happy. He pulled up in front of a white frame house and pushed the bicycle to the backyard, where he leaned it against a sycamore tree. He untied the fish and admired it. “Wait until Mom sees you! This'll feed everybody tonight.”

Going to the door, he called out, “Mom, look what I got.”

Mrs. Adams opened the screen door and looked out. She smiled. “Why, Josh, that's the biggest fish you ever brought home.”

“Start making hush puppies, Mom. Make enough for Dad and me both. He never leaves me enough.”

“All right.” Mrs. Adams laughed. “You dress that fish. Your dad will be home early today.”

Josh quickly took the fish to where he usually cleaned his catches. Pulling a knife out of a tackle box, he quickly filleted the fish and admired the pinkish meat. “Boy, I'm sorry to spoil your day, but you're gonna go down pretty good.”

By the time Josh had showered and come downstairs, he heard the front door slam.

“Hi, Josh.” His father grinned and threw his arm around the boy's shoulders. “I've got a surprise for you.”

“I got one for you. What's yours?”

“You first.”

“Well, I caught the biggest bass I ever got. We're gonna have fish and hush puppies and fries. Mom's cooking them right now. Now, what's your surprise?”

“We're going to the ball game tonight over at Bluff City.”

“That's great, Dad!”

“Let me go get cleaned up. We'll eat, and we'll go—just you and me. Your mother doesn't like baseball anyway.”

Josh and his parents enjoyed the fish, and his mother refused to accept help with the dishes. “You two go on now, but be back early. You've got school tomorrow, Josh.”

The home team won. Then Josh and his dad stopped on the way back at a Baskin Robbins. Josh filled up on Rocky Road ice cream. His father took vanilla, and Josh said, “Only wimps eat vanilla, Dad.”

“You eat your old messed-up ice cream. The only good ice cream is vanilla,” Josh's dad said solemnly.

When Josh had gone to bed, he thought, just before dropping off to sleep,
What a good day. I wish every day could be this much fun!

 

The next morning Josh left for school, stuffing a biscuit into his mouth. He started walking rapidly, for he was a bit late. He was still thinking of the fish he had caught.

“We shouldn't have eaten that fish. I should have had him stuffed,” he said out loud.

“Josh—”

Josh was surprised, for he had not seen anybody. He turned and saw a boy smaller and younger than himself—a black boy wearing rather strange-looking clothing. “Hi,” Josh said. “Are you lost?”

“No, I'm not lost.”

“Well, you don't live around here, do you?” Josh said. “I haven't seen you before.”

“No, I don't live around here.”

All of a sudden, something struck Josh as peculiar. “How did you know my name was Josh?”

“I know a lot about you. I know your dog's name is Jock. I know you like Western movies, especially those with John Wayne—the old ones . . .”

“How did you know all this stuff about me?”

“Josh, we've got to talk.”

“I can't talk to you. I've got to go to school. Don't you?”

“This is more important than school.”

“I don't even know you.”

“Yes, you do. You know me, and I know you. My name is Wash Jones.”

“I never knew anybody named Wash.” He walked rapidly away, but he heard the sound of footsteps following. Josh looked around and saw that there was an anxious, almost agonized, expression on the boy's face.

“Look,” the boy said, “this means a lot to you. More than anything in the world.”

“I don't believe any of this,” Josh said, but he was curious. Something about the boy troubled him, and he suddenly realized what it was. He scratched his head and asked, “Have we ever met before? You look familiar.”

Wash grinned faintly. “Yes, we've met before, but not like you think. Look,” he said again, “we've got to
talk, Josh. Please just give me a chance to tell you about something real important.”

“Well, go ahead.”

The boy looked around almost frantically. They were standing in the middle of the sidewalk; this was no place to talk. “Not now,” he said. “After school. Will you meet me down at the creek where you caught the bass?”

“How do you know I caught a bass?” Josh asked suspiciously. “I didn't see you there.”

“Just be there,” Wash said. “I'll wait for you.”

Josh watched as the boy walked off. Something about their meeting disturbed him. “There's something
strange
about that guy,” he said. “I won't be there today. He's some kind of a kook.”

 

Wash paced back and forth by the creek. He was more nervous than he had thought possible. “How am I going to convince Josh that what I'm telling him is true? He thinks all this here is real. But I've got to do it.” He looked up, saw Josh, and drew a sigh of relief.
Well, at least he came.
He waited until the tall boy came to stand within five feet from him and said, “Thank you for coming, Josh.”

Josh Adams shook his head. “I must be losing my mind! I'm going nutty. I almost didn't come. But if I didn't, I had an idea you'd show up on my doorstep. Now, what do you want?”

Wash swallowed hard. “I know this is going to be a little bit complicated. Can we sit down here beside the creek while I tell you what I've come for?”

“I don't have all day,” Josh said. Then he must have seen the pleading look in Wash's eyes. He said, “All right, I'll give you ten minutes.”

“Thanks, Josh.” Wash sat down and folded his
legs, facing the other boy. He had been practicing his speech all day long. It sounded feeble and not possible even to his own ears, but desperately he plunged ahead.

“One time, Josh, there was a war. A big war—so big it destroyed almost the whole earth, but there were a few who were saved out of it. There were seven young people . . .”

Josh looked skeptical as he began to listen, but the intensity of Wash's expression and the strangeness of his story apparently caught his interest until finally he seemed enthralled. He leaned forward, listening to the stories of the Seven Sleepers.

Forty-five minutes later, Wash said, “And so you see, I've come to get you to come back to Nuworld with me, Josh. You've got to come.” He waved his hand around. “All this that you see isn't true. It's just a dream, Josh. Your real life is back in Nuworld.”

“You're a spellbinder—I'll have to say that much for you.” Josh took a deep breath, grinned, and shook his head. “I never heard such a story in all my life! Do you read a lot of sci-fi?”

“I don't read
any
sci-fi,” Wash said desperately. “It's true, Josh. It really is.”

Josh blinked with surprise. “You really believe all this, don't you? You're not just making it up.”

“Why would I want to make it up?”

“I don't know, but I don't buy it.” Josh got to his feet and laughed. “I wish I could make up stories like that. You ought to write a book. You could call it
The Seven Sleepers.
Nobody'd ever believe it, of course, but the world needs good fantasy like that. Well, thanks for the story, Wash. I'll see you. Don't come back, though. I've had about all I can take of this.”

Wash got to his feet too, and as he watched Josh
stroll away he said, “Well, that tears it. That was my best shot.”

Be faithful.

The words came almost audibly, and Wash knew that they had not originated with him. “Be faithful?” he said aloud. “Josh won't ever believe me, not in a million years.”

Be faithful. Never mind whether you win or lose. Be faithful.

Wash turned back to the creek. He looked down into the clear water and thought for a long time. Finally he said, “All right, I'll be faithful, but I don't think it's going to work.”

 

Josh came awake with a start. Some sound had jarred on his nerves, and when he sat up in bed he was suddenly wide awake, for he saw by the moonlight that his window was opening slowly.

A burglar!
he thought. For a moment he could not move, then he slipped out of bed and looked for a weapon. The window was now wide open, and a shadowy form suddenly blotted out the moonlight and stepped into the room. In desperation Josh threw himself at the form. There was a rattling crash as he drove the intruder into a lamp. It shattered, and Josh began to yell, “Help—Dad, help!”

The intruder was struggling violently, but Josh held on. Fortunately, Josh was much stronger. He was surprised at the size of the burglar, for he had no trouble at all holding him.

Suddenly the lights came on, almost blinding Josh.

“What's going on here?”

“A burglar, Dad,” he cried. “Look, I caught him—he came in through the window.”

Mr. Adams stepped inside the room. “A burglar,”
he said, looking down at the two. He stared at the intruder, who looked back at him, and he said, “He looks mighty young to be a burglar.”

Josh's stare focused on the burglar that he had captured. “It's you,” he said. “What're you doing here?”

“Josh, do you know this boy?” Mr. Adams demanded.

“Well, not exactly,” Josh said. He held onto Wash's arm tightly. “Don't you try to get away now.”

“I won't try to get away,” Wash said quietly. “I just came to talk to you again.”

“How do you know this boy? Does he go to your school?”

“No, he doesn't go to my school,” Josh said. He looked over his father's shoulder and saw his mother come in. “Mom, go call the police. We've got a burglar.”

Mrs. Adams looked down at the black boy. “What's your name?” she asked quietly.

“Wash Jones.”

“Did you really come into this house to steal?” Mrs. Adams asked.

“No, ma'am, I didn't.”

“Of course, he did,” Josh said. “Look, he met me when I was going to school this morning. Said he had to talk to me. Well, I wouldn't talk to him then, but he begged me to meet him after school. So I did, and he told me some awful tale. Didn't make any sense at all, but I know what he wanted. He'd been casing the house so he could get in and burgle the place.”

Mr. Adams studied the face of the intruder and sighed. “Well, I'm afraid we'll have to call the police. You did break and enter.”

“But, dear—” Mrs. Adams began.

“We won't press charges, but the police need to know about things like this. He doesn't look like a burglar,”
Mr. Adams said, “but it's what we'll have to do.”

Josh expected the boy to protest, to beg, or to threaten, but he didn't. He just turned and looked at Josh quietly. Something about his big brown eyes troubled Josh, and he could not meet his gaze. “You shouldn't have tried to come in the house. What'd you do it for?” When he got no answer, this troubled him even more. He looked at his dad and said, “Maybe we ought to just let him go. Tell him to stay away.”

But Mr. Adams said, “No, he may have committed other burglaries. We don't know. Where are your parents?”

“I don't have any.”

“Oh, dear!” Mrs. Adams said.

But there was no changing her husband's mind. Mr. Adams called the police, and very shortly two uniformed patrolmen appeared at the front door.

Josh stood watching, biting his lip, as Mr. Adams explained the situation.

One of the policemen said, “We'll take care of it, Mr. Adams. Come along, you.”

The policeman looked very big, and Wash Jones looked very small as they disappeared. Josh stood at the door, and when they were in the car, Wash suddenly turned and looked back at him. He still had not said a word or asked for anything, but something in that look caught at Josh.