Fool's Gold (4 page)

“I got'em, so we're okay.”

“Yeah, because I reminded you. Is there anything else I need to remind you to bring?” Jack asked.

“If I knew that, I wouldn't need you to remind me, would I?”

Jack walked away. I slung the knapsack onto my back. It was heavy, and some of the boxes and cans stuck into my back and … Can opener. I was supposed to put a can opener in my bag. Casually I walked over
and took the can opener out of the utensil drawer and slipped it into my pocket.

“Come on, let's get going!” Jack yelled from the other room.

As I turned I saw the slip of paper still on the table—the paper with the phone number we had to call. I grabbed it and stuffed it in my pocket.

“Before I lock the door, is there anything
else
you've forgotten?” Jack taunted.

“It's not like
you've
never forgotten anything before.”

“Maybe before, but not tonight.”

Dramatically, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the phone number. Jack's jaw dropped.

“I … I …”

“What would we have done without the telephone number? It isn't like we could ride back here and get it.”

Jack didn't answer right away and I suddenly started to feel bad for what I'd said.

“You're right.” Jack reached out and took the paper. “That was stupid, and we can't afford for anybody to be stupid … especially me. I'm in charge, and I have to make sure everything goes right!”

He looked really angry and I didn't want that anger aimed at me. The stupid part wasn't him forgetting the phone number but me taunting Jack with the paper and— Suddenly he didn't look as angry as he did
upset. I could swear that I almost saw tears forming in his eyes. He turned away. Now I was scared, more scared than if he had threatened to smack me. That happened on a regular basis, but seeing him in tears was really, really unusual.

“It's okay, Jack,” I said softly.

“It's not okay,” he said through gritted teeth, without turning around. “I can't make any mistakes. None.”

“It's going to be all right. It's taken care of,” I said reassuringly.

“But it almost wasn't. It's up to me to make sure that everything works.”

I thought about Jack and what he did around the house. With Dad off fighting in Africa and Mom working at Camp 30, it often felt like Jack was in charge, like he wasn't my older brother but almost a parent. Jack had been the one who had shouldered so much responsibility for me and for everything else, and now he must have felt like it was all up to him to take care of what was happening with Mom.

“Look, Jack, it isn't just you. It's you and me … together, like a team.”

“Yeah, like having you help is supposed to be reassuring to me,” he huffed.

“It should be. You think you could have gotten us through all that we've gone through without my help, without my ideas? Who got free when we were tied up
in that deserted farmhouse? Who drove the jeep when your arm was broken? Who figured out how to trick those soldiers? I may be your little brother, but I'm not your
stupid
little brother. We can do this. Together, we can do it.”

Jack spun around to face me. I half expected him to tell me to shut up and maybe even give me a poke in the shoulder. Instead he looked me square in the eyes.

“You weren't
completely
useless.”

That was as close as Jack ever came to giving me a compliment.

“Okay,” he said, “let's get going.”

“Something's coming!” Jack yelled.

I saw the headlights as well, way up ahead. I swerved off the road and as far off onto the gravel shoulder as I could get. I jumped off the bike and dropped to the ground, hiding partially behind it and partially in the ditch. The car—I could now tell from the size and shape it was a car—got closer and closer. By the sound of the engine it was obvious that it was really flying. The headlights swept forward and then for a split second washed over me. I felt open and exposed and visible, and then they were gone, and I was safely hidden in the dark.

I got up and picked up my bike. Jack, just ahead, did the same thing. We mounted up and started pedalling again. We had done this two dozen times in
the past two hours. Highway 2 was the only road we knew of to get from Bowmanville to Whitby, and since it was a major route we kept hitting traffic, in spite of the fact that it was the middle of the night. Even though we'd been riding for close to two hours and were well away from anybody who might know us in Bowmanville, we still had to scramble into the ditch with each passing vehicle. We couldn't risk being seen. What if it was a police car? How would we explain being out on our bikes in the middle of the night, and what if the copper wanted to talk to our mother? We just couldn't risk it.

The sweat I was working up riding kept getting sucked away by the cold air. The September days were still warm but the nights were cold, and that chill seeped right through my windbreaker. I'd welcome the warmth of the first light of morning, but that was still over three hours away.

I was feeling more and more tired. The first twenty minutes of the trip hadn't been so bad. We'd been full of energy and adrenalin, and I'd tried to convince myself it was a game. Like hide-and-go-seek or soldiers-and-spies. Actually, we
were
playing spies. We'd skirted around Bowmanville without running into anybody or anything. The whole town had been tucked into bed. We'd passed a few houses that had lights on but those were the only signs of wakefulness we'd seen in the whole town.

“How much farther do you think we have to go?” I called out to Jack.

“Quit complaining!” Jack yelled back over his shoulder.

I pedalled harder until I was right beside him. “I'm not complaining, I just want to know.”

“We've been riding for about two hours and we've gone about twenty-five miles.”

“I know how long we've been riding. I want to know how much
longer
we have to ride.”

“Didn't you see the sign back there? The one that said ‘Oshawa 3 miles'?”

“I didn't see anything.”

“That was a mile ago. Oshawa is just up ahead. Whitby is the next town after that and the camp is between the two.”

“So not that much longer.”

“No. I'm just worried about going through Oshawa. It's big and we're going to be passing a lot of houses, and maybe a lot of cars, too. I'm still worried about us getting stopped by the police.”

I dropped back behind Jack. I should have figured we were getting closer to something. There were more and more houses plopped down along the road, but thank goodness there were still no signs of life within them. Lights were out, shades were drawn, and everybody was surely asleep inside, tucked into bed.

I couldn't help thinking about my bed, snuggling in under the covers, pulling the pillow up so it partially covered my face and kept me warm, and Mom would be just down the hall and … Where was she now, how was she doing, was she okay or …? I couldn't let my mind go there. I couldn't afford to lose focus, because the only way we had to help her was to stay alert.

Suddenly a car pulled out from one of the driveways and its headlights swept over us before we had a chance to react. The car raced by, a little gust of wind hitting me. I looked over my shoulder. It didn't slow down, just kept on going, the tail lights getting smaller and smaller, until it followed the road around a bend and was gone.

There could be no question that we'd been seen by whoever was in the car, but maybe they wouldn't know what to do—or if they should do anything at all—about two kids out on their bikes in the middle of the night. We had to be more careful.

The road remained empty but the scenery started to change. The ditches at the side of the road gave way to wide, gravel shoulders, and the houses were now much closer to the road and closer together. There'd be almost no place to hide if another car came along. Even more troubling, up ahead, the darkness was replaced by the glow of street lights—lights marking the centre of Oshawa.

“Should we try to find a way around it?” I called out to Jack.

“I don't know another way. Do you?” he yelled back.

“No, but what if somebody sees us?”

“I hope they'll just do what that car did and ignore us. We have to bike harder … faster,” Jack yelled over his shoulder.

Jack doubled his pace and I struggled to keep up with him, my legs burning and my knees aching. Soon the gravel shoulders became sidewalks and the houses became storefronts. Our images were reflected off the darkened windows. This was eerie. Pedalling through the middle of the town, all the stores closed and locked up, the lights out, sidewalks and roads deserted, the only sound my bike chain clicking. It was like we were the only people in the world and— Suddenly the headlights of a car parked beside the road came on, and the illusion was gone.

“Just keep pedalling,” Jack said. “Just ignore it and—”

Flashing red lights came pulsing from the top—it was a police car!

CHAPTER FIVE

THE DOOR OF THE CAR OPENED
, and a large, uniformed police officer climbed out. One of his hands was held high in the air, ordering us to pull over. There was no place to hide and no way to run. My gut wanted to try to get away anyway, take off, race off, but my head knew better. We skidded to a stop in front of him and climbed off our bikes.

“Awful late to be out for a bike ride, isn't it, boys?” he asked.

“Not late. Early,” Jack said. “We're just heading home. Our mother doesn't expect us until tomorrow afternoon, but we thought we'd get there and have breakfast waiting for her—it's her birthday.”

“That would be a mighty nice surprise. So she doesn't know you're coming, that you're out in the middle of the night, is that what you're saying?”

“No, sir,” Jack said, “but our grandma knows— that's where we were staying, at her place.”

“Interesting, because judging from the gear you have on your bikes it looks more like you were camping out somewhere.”

“We were,” I said. “At our grandma's place. Her house isn't that big and the weather was so great and we like camping.”

“You sure you two boys aren't running away from home?”

“Us?” I asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “We'd
never
run away from home.”

“All this is just our camping gear,” Jack said. “Do you want to ask our grandma?”

I tried to hide my surprise at his question—was he trying to get us caught?

“That might be a fine idea. Just give me her phone number and I'll radio it in and have somebody give her a call.”

“That wouldn't work,” Jack said. “She's pretty deaf and she takes her hearing aid out at night. You could just drive us there.”

The officer shrugged. “Nothing better to do. Where does she live?”

“In Bowmanville,” Jack said.

Now I knew what he was doing. “Yeah, the
far
side of Bowmanville.”

“You rode all the way from Bowmanville in the middle of the night?”

“It's not that far, and it's better to travel at night because it's cooler and the road is almost empty,” Jack said.

“No argument about that.”

“So, should we get in?” Jack asked, pointing at the car.

“'Fraid not. I can't be driving that far. I'm the only officer on duty tonight and I can't leave the whole town unpatrolled. So where is your home? Where are you riding
to
?”

“We're not far now. We live in Whitby,” Jack said.

“What's your address?” the officer asked.

I waited for Jack to answer and he waited for me. Finally Jack spoke up.

“This is going to sound stupid,” he said, “but we just moved there a month ago so I don't know our actual address.”

“But we know
where
it is,” I added. “It's just that they haven't even put up numbers on some of the houses because they built so many—it's a new house.”

“A tiny house,” Jack said.

“A lot smaller than our farm,” I said. “We had to move because our mother is working in Ajax at the munitions plant … she couldn't work the farm alone because our dad enlisted. He's fighting with the St. Patrick's Regiment in Africa.”

I'd learned that it usually helped to mention that our father was a solider.

“Lots of people are moving to this area to get work.” He pulled a notepad out of his shirt pocket and flipped it open. “I'd better take down your names.”

I looked at Jack. What were we going to tell him?

“I'm Jack and this is my brother George.”

“Last name?”

“Smith,” I said, before Jack could answer.

“Smith … seems like everybody I run into is named Smith or Jones. Do either of you boys have identification on you?”

I shook my head.

“I'd have a driver's licence if I was old enough,”Jack said.

The cop shook his head slowly. “That's what I thought. How about if we put your bikes in the trunk of my patrol car and I'll drive you home.”

“I thought you couldn't leave the town,” I said.

“Bowmanville is pretty far. Whitby is just a stone's throw away,” he explained.

“We don't want to put you to any trouble. We'll just ride … it won't take long.”

“No trouble.”

He reached down and put a hand on my bike. Before I could even react he started to roll it toward the car. I looked over at Jack, pleading with my eyes for an answer. He shrugged. The officer opened the trunk of the car and lifted my bike in. Jack walked his bike over and the officer did the same with his. He tried to close the lid but he couldn't. He shifted the bikes around, tried again and the lid closed.

“How about you two ride up front,” he said.