Stumptown Kid (15 page)

“That’s just what I had in mind,” Ruckus said. “Get out of here, kid.”

I didn’t move.

Luther jerked his head toward the ball field. “Go back, Charlie. They’re about to call the game ’cause of the rain. You played real good, son.”

A buzzing sound came loud in my ear, and I shooed a hornet away.

A hornet? I looked up. That hornet’s nest was right above us in the tree.

“Charlie!”
It was Mom. She was over at the ball field, staring at me and hopping from one foot to the other. I’m sure she recognized Ruckus, because she was screaming her head off. “Charlie! Oh, somebody help Charlie!”

I guess nobody moved fast enough, so she started running toward us.

I spotted a couple of rocks on the ground, about the size of an egg, and an idea filled my mind. I reached down and scooped up the rocks.

I’m gonna hit that nest, I’m gonna hit it.
I focused real hard and fired the rocks, one after another, into the tree.

Both rocks hit the nest. Maybe a dozen hornets sprayed out of it and flew wild around us. Ruckus batted at them and swore, dropping the knife.

I grabbed Luther’s shirt. “Come on!” I yelled. He was getting stung all over his neck and arms, even more than me.

Mom was still running toward us.

I turned and screamed, “Mom, go back!
Go back!”

“Come on!” I yelled again at Luther. Me and Luther took off running across the wet grass in the rain.

“This way to the sheriff’s office?” he shouted at me.

“Yeah,” I hollered back. “Follow me!”

We headed off through the park. I could hear another set of footsteps pounding the ground.

Ruckus was chasing us, and he wasn’t far behind.

Me and Luther flew over the ground across the park. The rain was hammering us hard now. With every pounding step on the soggy grass, water splashed out in every direction.

I didn’t have to look back. I could hear Ruckus running behind us, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

The sheriff’s office was six or seven blocks away.

Maybe we’d see somebody on the street who could help us. Maybe they’d give us a ride. Or let us come inside and phone the sheriff.

But who else helped bail Ruckus out of jail?
I knew we could trust some people, but there were others I wasn’t so sure about.

I glanced over at Luther. He was holding his bad arm close to his side instead of pumping it to help him run. Rain was streaming down his face.

We came to the street at the edge of the park and hardly slowed down. We tore across it with no cars in sight. I guess everybody wanted to stay dry inside.

There was nobody to yell to for help.

We kept running.

I was getting tired, and I could tell Luther was, too, but we couldn’t slow down now. Not with Ruckus chasing us. Not until we got to the sheriff’s office.

I saw the library off to our right, and that gave me an idea.

“Come on,” I yelled to Luther. “Maybe we can lose him.”

We ran up the steps to the front door, pulled it open, and rushed into the building.

Mrs. Crawford sat at the circulation desk, stamping books. She frowned over her reading glasses as we ran toward her.

“Charlie, what on earth—?”

“Call the sheriff, Mrs. Crawford,” I said breathlessly. I pushed Luther past the card catalogs. “And if a man comes in after us, tell him we went out that way.” I pointed to the door leading to the alley at the side.

She stood up, leaned across the desk, and peered at me. “Tell
who
you went that way, Charlie? What man?”

I didn’t have time to answer. I ran ahead of Luther and led him up the stairs to the second floor loft.

A little boy about three stood next to his mother, who was searching through the shelves. He had a lollipop or something in his mouth that gave him a chipmunk cheek. He watched us as we ducked behind the stack of books closest to the railing. I slid a few books to the side so we could see the main floor.

Ruckus ran in the front door, breathing heavy. He was soaked from the rain. Water ran off him and made a giant puddle around his feet. He stood in the middle of the floor, looking around.

I could see his knife. He’d tucked it into his belt.

Mrs. Crawford came around the circulation desk, watching him.

Please, Mrs. Crawford, don’t let on we’re up here,
I told her silently.

“Excuse me, sir,” Mrs. Crawford said to Ruckus.

He circled around the card catalogs.

“Sir?” Mrs. Crawford moved a step closer. “May I help you?”

“Just looking,” Ruckus said.

His face tilted up then, and he saw the loft. “How do I get up there?” he asked, pointing.

“Maybe I can …” Mrs. Crawford said, but Ruckus saw the exit sign over the door into the stairwell. He laid a hand over the knife in his belt and headed for the steps.

He was coming for us.
Even in the public library.

Luther yanked on my shirt and jerked his head sideways like he wanted me to follow him. We hurried to the far end of the stacks. We turned, went down two more stacks, and ducked between the shelves.

I looked down and caught my breath. We were as wet as Ruckus and leaving a wet trail on the floor. If Ruckus looked down, he’d see the water and follow the footprints right to us.

There was nothing around to dry our shoes. I nudged Luther and pointed to the wet spots under our feet.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs and shuffled into the loft.

“What are you looking for, sir?” I could hear Mrs. Crawford’s voice. “Maybe I can help.”

She’d come upstairs behind Ruckus. She was talking unusually loud for a librarian.

Luther pushed his hand into a pocket and came up with his old bandanna. He dried the bottoms of my feet, then his.

Then he pulled me through two more rows. The floor was dry now under our feet.

The little kid suddenly appeared at the end of the stack, about ten feet away, and stared at us. I put my finger to my lips, hoping he’d keep quiet. He didn’t say anything but held the lollipop up for me to take a lick. I shook my head no.

“Come on, Nate,” his mother called from the other side of the loft. “Time to go.”

The little boy glanced toward his mom, then us. He must’ve decided that we weren’t all that interesting, because he turned away and took off running.

There was another sudden rush of footsteps. They came from where we’d just been standing, drying our feet.

“Surely I can help you,” Mrs. Crawford’s voice called. “If you’ll just tell me what you’re looking for.”

I remembered the back room that Mr. Billet had walked out of the last time I was here. I nudged Luther.

Let the door be unlocked. Please.

I twisted the doorknob and it turned. We quietly went inside and closed the door. I pushed in the lock button and put my ear to the door.

“Where’d they go?” Ruckus asked.

“Where did
who
go?” Mrs. Crawford asked.

Mrs. Crawford was a pretty good actress. She sounded like she had no idea who he was looking for. Ruckus was probably suspicious, though, that a librarian would follow him all the way upstairs when he didn’t want her help.

Footsteps shuffled a little closer. “What’s in there?” he asked.

He was asking about this room.

“It’s a workroom,” she answered. “I’m sorry, but that’s just for library employees, and …”

The doorknob rattled, and I jumped back a couple of feet.

“We keep that room locked,” Mrs. Crawford said casually.

“There was a boy and a colored fella,” Ruckus said. “They were here. See the footprints back there?”

“There have been a lot of people up here since it started raining. I—” She stopped short. “Oh, I think I know who you mean. Are those two friends of yours? They
were
here. They rushed in but rushed out right away.”

“Where’d they go?” Ruckus asked.

“Outside. They probably didn’t get far. If you go down the stairs and out the side door, you may be able to catch them.”

His heavy footsteps rushed off, tromped down the stairs, and finally faded away.

Luther and I waited a few more seconds.

“It’s okay now, Charlie.” Mrs. Crawford’s voice was muffled and low.

Luther nodded at me, and I pulled open the door.

“Thanks, Mrs. Crawford,” I said.

“What’s going on, Charlie?” she asked. “Who was that character?”

Her eyebrows bunched up. She looked back and forth at me and Luther over her glasses.

“That was Ruckus Brody,” I said. “He’s after Luther.”

Her eyes widened. “I think we should call the sheriff,” she said.

I didn’t remind her that I’d suggested that when we first ran into the library.

I said to Luther, “Yeah, let’s wait here for the sheriff to come.”

“We’re not far from the sheriff’s office, are we?” Luther asked. “Just a couple of blocks?”

“Right,” I said. “About three blocks.”

“Okay,” Luther said. “You point the way, so I remember where it is. Then you wait here. I’ll go myself. I want me and you separated till Ruckus is rounded up.”

“No,” I said. “We’re staying together.”

“I’m not listening to an argument, Charlie,” Luther said, his voice louder.

I opened my mouth to argue, but he put up his hand.

“I said I’m not listenin’.”

“Charlie, you stay here,” Mrs. Crawford said. “Besides, you’re soaking wet.”

“So is Luther,” I pointed out.

“Charlie,” Luther said, his eyes blazing now. “You’re
not
leaving with me.”

I could see his mind was set.

“Okay, okay,” I said. “Let’s walk outside, and I’ll show you which way to go.”

We said good-bye to Mrs. Crawford, who hadn’t stopped frowning over her glasses, and went outside. It was still raining hard.

Luther looked down the street. “It’s this way, isn’t it?”

“Down to the corner, turn left, and it’s two more blocks on the right. The big brick building.”

“Okay, I remember now,” Luther said. “Thanks, Charlie.” He reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”

I heard running footsteps and looked over to see someone running this way.

“Luther, it’s Ruckus,” I said.

He was down the block and running toward us, but he was between us and the sheriff’s office. He must have figured out that Luther and I hadn’t left the library.

“This way! Hurry!” I grabbed Luther’s arm and pulled. He pulled back for half a second. But then he nodded, and we started running again.

Now we were headed in the wrong direction, away from the sheriff’s office.

With Ruckus Brody close behind.

We’ll have to double back!” I yelled at Luther.

We ran past Jennings Bookstore, Martin’s Florist and Garden Supply, Hanson’s Quilt Shop, and then away from downtown.

By now the rain had turned into a full-fledged storm. The sky looked like a painting done by some angry artist, swirled in a mess of gray and black. A jag of lightning cut through the darkness. Then came the thunder like a big bass drum that rolled louder and louder, finally crashing in our ears.

We were running toward the Red Cedar River. I knew its path and figured we could find a place, maybe in the woods, that would let us cut back without Ruckus seeing us.

I hoped.

I heard a squeal of tires and looked back just in time to see Ruckus bounce off the hood of a car in the street. He landed in the middle of the road, stumbled, and fell to his knees.

“Stop, Luther!” I yelled. “Ruckus was hit by a car.” We stopped and turned to watch.

The driver jerked to a stop and leaped out of the car. “Are you all right?” the man yelled.

Ruckus didn’t answer. He staggered to his feet, pulled the knife out of his belt, and started running toward us again.

So we took off.

“Hey!” the driver yelled to Ruckus. “Are you crazy? What’s the matter with you?”

We ran through the woods and down the embankment next to the river. We didn’t let up as the heavy rain kept pouring down. My lungs felt like they might explode.

I’d been to this place more than a hundred times. The storm sewer was down there. Its huge round opening looked like a giant hippo’s yawn, frozen in cement.

Me and Luther got to the bottom of the slope. The ground was mushy under our feet and sucked us down so we couldn’t run good.

I’d made a mistake. I should’ve kept us on higher ground.

I looked up to see Ruckus in the woods at the top of the slope. He spotted us and came—slipping and sliding in the mud—down the hill. He had the knife in his hand, and I saw the blade pop out.

Luther saw it too. “We gotta split up here,” he said, giving me a little push. “You go that way. Do it, Charlie.”

“No.”
I wouldn’t leave him for anything.

Luther’s eyes were pleading. “Charlie, you have to go.”

The opening of the storm sewer—the tunnel under the streets of Holden—stood there like it was inviting us in.

Water swirled out, but it wasn’t deep. We could disappear into it, come out a half block away, and run back to the sheriff’s office.

“Come on,” I said. “I’ll show you the way.”

Luther hesitated for half a second, then followed me into the storm sewer. The water was cold and rushed around us at our ankles. It pushed against our feet, making it hard to walk.

“We got to hurry to the first manhole,” I said to Luther, over my shoulder. “The water’ll be rising with all this rain.”

We went about ten yards into the tunnel to the place where it first gets smaller. The top of the sewer was now only a couple of feet above Luther’s head.

The easiest way to move was by pulling my knees up high so my feet came out of the water. It was the fastest way, too.

Luther grabbed my wrist with his good hand.

“I’ll go first,” he said. “Hold my wrist, and don’t let go.”

I wrapped my fingers around his wrist and held on. We splashed farther into the blackness, linked together, with Luther staying just ahead of me.

Then I heard splashing and huffing behind us. Sure enough, it was Ruckus. All I could make out was his silhouette and the gray light behind him. He was moving fast, hopping through the water as it surged toward the river.

The tunnel suddenly got smaller again, and the rounded part above us just brushed the top of Luther’s head. That squeezed the water higher on us. It was up to my waist now, pushing us back toward Ruckus. Luther pulled me closer and grabbed me around my waist.

We were about halfway to the manhole, I figured, and the water was rising fast. It hit me then that there was no turning back. We didn’t have a weapon against Ruckus. We had to make it to the manhole. The water was so cold, I started shivering. The tunnel smelled of rain and the dust and dirt that gets washed along the street before it dumps into the storm sewer.

“How far?” Luther yelled over the noise of the pounding water. We passed a side tunnel where the water gushed into the main tunnel. If Luther didn’t have a tight hold on me, it would’ve knocked me over.

“Quarter of a block,” I yelled. My voice didn’t sound like me. It was gaspy and scared. “There’ll be a light above us. The manhole’s at that light.”

Why did I take us here?
I thought.
We’ll never make it.
The water was rising too fast. Going this way, we’d drown. Going back the other way, we’d be killed by Ruckus.

Luther pushed on. He still held his right arm close, his good arm wrapped around me. That bad arm—and me—slowed us down.

Suddenly the water rose again. It swirled around my chest. I tried to help by dog-paddling, but it didn’t do much.

I was scareder than I’d ever been in my life, and I was shaking all over. I was sure we were going to die.

I squinted into the blackness ahead of us. A tiny light flashed up ahead. Then I knew. It was lightning, blinking a pinpoint of brightness into the dark world underground.

And it came through the manhole cover!

“There it is!” I yelled. “Up ahead.” We must’ve gone farther than I’d thought.

“Sweet Jesus, thank you,” Luther whispered.

The water swirled around his neck, and he held me up to keep my head above water. He could hardly move now, and Ruckus was only a few yards behind us. We were all like snails, moving in slow motion.

The manhole was just a foot away now.

“Grab the iron bar,” I hollered. “Overhead.”

He boosted me high.
“You
grab it,” he yelled.

I got hold of it and turned to Luther. The water was over his mouth. His head was tilted back to keep his nose out of the water.

“Come on!” I yelled. “There’s room for us both.” I pulled myself up onto the second iron bar and pushed against the manhole cover. It didn’t budge.

I didn’t know if it was stuck or if I was just too tired to push it up.

“I can’t!” I screamed. “It’s stuck!”

Luther pulled himself up with his good arm and hooked that elbow over the iron bar. Then he pushed his shoulder against the manhole cover and shoved it out.

Beautiful gray light and rain and fresh air poured over us.

A hand suddenly grabbed my leg. Ruckus was just under me, holding on, his head tipped back trying to keep his face above water. He yanked on me hard, and I slipped off the top iron bar.

“Luther!”

Luther was still holding tight to the bar with his good hand. So he reached down with the other hand—the
weak
one—grabbed me, and yanked me up.

I kicked at Ruckus as hard as I could, and he let go. With Luther still holding me, we climbed out of the manhole together. Hayes School stood in the fog across the field. I was so tired, I collapsed on the grass.

Luther turned and leaned back into the storm sewer. He reached down for Ruckus, who was struggling in the water.

“Take my hand!” Luther hollered.

My kick had thrown Ruckus back a step. He was a foot away now from the iron bar and Luther’s hand. Ruckus reached up for the iron bar, but a sudden rush of water surged over his head.

He disappeared.

“Ruckus!” Luther shouted. “Ruckus!”

All we could hear was the swoosh of water storming through the tunnel. It filled all the space, leaving no air for him to breathe. It swept everything in its path back toward the river.

Ruckus was gone.