Transcontinental (45 page)

“Go on,” said Clayvon.

“What? No! You’re coming, too!”

“Nah, man. Can’t.”
 

“You
crazy
? They’re almost here!”

“Much as I hate it, this my home. Lived here half my life.”

“It doesn’t have to be! Trust me, you can make a new one.”

“Doin’ what? Workin’ fields somewhere else? It’s all I got!”

“Work the fields, or don’t. Do whatever you want, just not at SpiritWood! You said it yourself: there’s nothing here for you.”

Clayvon’s chin trembled. “What about Misha?”

“You won’t find her here. Now come on!”

The shouts of the men were near enough to make out. Leroy recognized the Pastor’s baritone voice amidst the others. “Marcus! Clayvon!”

The voice seemed to instill courage, or fear, into Clayvon. He took a few steps back, then rushed forward, jumped, and kicked off an iron bar, barely getting his fingers around the top of the fence. On the other side, Leroy reached through and propped up Clayvon’s feet, giving him leverage to pull himself up and over. After he dropped, they took off. The flashlights trailed behind.

“How the hell did you do that?”

“Been outside a bunch’a times. Just never had a reason to leave.”

* * *

“Train station? What in the hell?”

Leroy slowed his pace so Clayvon could keep up as he jogged along the country road. “Free to ride, easy to catch, and go non-stop.” And they reminded him of Ant. “Look, I dunno what you’re gonna do now, but I’ma go to Florida. You can come with, if you want.”

“What you got there?”

“A normal life.” The hope of finding Rehema was all he had.

“Car!” Clayvon tugged at Leroy’s arm, then they broke off to the side and dove behind a row of bushes. They flattened themselves and waited as the car passed without slowing. Clayvon stuck his long neck above the bushes and checked both directions. “A’ight, come on.” He stepped over the tall hedge and out into the road.

“So you’re coming?”

“Dunno if I’ma go all the way to Florida, but I need’a bail for a while, take the heat off.” Clayvon’s gaze hardened. “Then I’ma find Misha.”

Leroy smiled, grateful to have someone to travel with again. The rest of the journey would be easier for it. He hadn’t considered it in so long, he didn’t realize how close to Florida he was. He was in Missouri, which meant he’d crossed more than half the United States, which, even having experienced it, was hard to comprehend. But he could bask in his accomplishments in Tampa.

“You know the way to the station?”

“Ain’t but one way to go in this town.”

For a while they jogged, then speed-walked, until another car far behind them caught their attention. Leroy surveyed the area for somewhere to hide, and considered making a break for the tractor on the farm to the side, but Clayvon was a step ahead, already sprinting toward a thick Oak tree a dozen feet from the road. Leroy joined him, and looked back at the oncoming car, which seemed to be driving at a crawl. Then, a bright spotlight split the darkness as it swept across the corn field behind them.

“Oh shit, the cops! Go!”

Cursing SpiritWood’s white attire, Leroy took off for the tractor, with Clayvon trailing behind. He was sure the cop would notice them running, but peering out from behind the wide machine, he could see the spotlight moving alongside the vehicle in stiff circles. Leroy turned away and leaned against the giant rear wheel.

“What if he searches the farm?”

“He don’t see nothin’, he won’t.”

After what felt like an hour, the car rolled past the farm, the spotlight forcing its way through every nook and cranny of the tractor before moving on. Leroy’s heart pounded his chest like it was trying to escape. They waited, watching as the car veered to the left with the road before disappearing from sight, then resumed hiking.

Pebbles crunched beneath Leroy’s feet, just like railroad track ballast. It brought to mind the last time he’d seen Ant, a memory he was not fond of, unfortunately. Still, he yearned to get back on a train, and if he wanted to get to Tampa, he didn’t have a choice. He was broke. As well as being free, trains were the most efficient mode of transportation.

Leroy walked faster. The bleak moonlight tried to break the grip of night, but the darkness was pervasive. As they veered with the road, though, the lights of a building came into view. A train horn sounded in the distance, drowning out the sounds of the evening for a few moments. Leroy thought he’d imagined it, until Clayvon said “Gotta be the station over there.”

The train horn could only mean one of two things — either a train was arriving, or a train was leaving. Either way, Leroy couldn’t wait to find out. He sprinted toward the station, and heard Clayvon pick up the pace behind him.

By the time they arrived, Leroy was long out of breath, his lungs burning. Judging by how far behind Clayvon was, he felt the same. Leaning over, Leroy clutched his ribs, drawing in heaving breaths.

“No more runnin’,” Clayvon pleaded, plodding to a stop.

“Hopefully.”

The sharp
swoosh
of air brakes pressurizing gave Leroy the energy to get moving. He led Clayvon around the one-room station and over the fence in time to see the only train on the tracks rolling away.
 

“That ain’t good.”

Bathed in an artificial orange light, a young woman on the back platform wearing a Union Pacific shirt watched it go with her hands on her hips. Leroy clambered up to her and with urgency, said “Where’s that train going?”

“Eastbound. Why?”

“That where we need’a go?” Clayvon asked.

“Close enough.”

“Next one’s due in the morning. You’ll have to wait,” the woman said.

Before she was finished, Leroy took off. With a groan, Clayvon did, too.

The woman yelled after them; for all he knew, she could’ve been chasing him, too. Leroy could only focus on the train. It was about a hundred feet out and accelerating, but he was closing the gap quickly. A surge of energy hit as he neared the boxcar last in line. Leroy leaned forward and squeezed every drop of strength he had from his body, finally coming within ten feet of the blinking FRED. He flicked his head back to check for Clayvon, who was a few yards back, and losing ground.

“Faster!” Leroy cried, then turned back to the train. His lungs and legs flared, already exhausted from escaping SpiritWood and the police, warning him of their imminent shut-down. Then, he remembered what was in his pocket, the incredible gift that simple piece of paper marked by tiny ink blotches had given him: validation. It was all he needed; before he knew what’d happened, he was on his belly on the floor of the boxcar. A dumb grin overtook his face, and a guffaw slipped out. He was back on his way.

Wheezing breaths and a grunt for help brought Leroy back to reality. He locked his legs against the wall and angled his torso out of the door. Clayvon was almost within reach, his wild eyes trained on Leroy in a profound fear.

“You got this! Don’t give up!”

Clayvon squeezed his face into a grimace as he burst forward, his long legs taking even longer strides, until he was within reach. Leroy grabbed the boy’s hand and squeezed as hard as he could.

“Now
jump
!”

Clayvon leapt into the air, and Leroy dragged him belly-first onto the bed of the boxcar. He wore a disbelieving smile that likely resembled Leroy’s own. Relief flooded Leroy.

He pulled again as Clayvon shifted his legs to get a footing, and in an instant the smile wrenched into an expression so full of pain and horror Leroy knew it’d be seared into his memory for life. Clayvon’s ear-splitting scream echoed in the empty boxcar. Leroy was so confused. Then, Clayvon let go of Leroy’s arm and slid backwards out of the train. Leroy dashed to the edge of the car, and in the fading glow of the train station, saw Clayvon clutching the stump that was left of his foot, steadily leaking blood all over his hands, as the boy shrieked for help. In the distance, a white van tore across the grass toward him.

The train rolled on.

Chapter 11

Memphis, TN

As the sun brightened a foreign state’s sky in an orange-blue gradient, Leroy laid motionless on the floor of the empty boxcar, his mood as black as the night that’d just passed. He thought he knew depression after Ant’s incident, but this was beyond anything he’d ever felt. He hadn’t been as close to Clayvon as he was Ant, but he’d now ruined
three
lives singlehandedly. It was a hot iron through his heart. What happened to Clayvon couldn’t have been any more his fault. The kid was set to take off on his own, anywhere but that train station, then Leroy had butted in. Now Clayvon was down a foot, and probably back at SpiritWood. How they’d managed to find the two of them at the train station was a mystery, but Leroy would’ve recognized that white van anywhere.

He pounded the floor so hard the pain shot to his shoulder. All his life he’d felt like a screw up, and there wasn’t a single memory he could recall to dispel the notion. This brilliant little journey of his had all but confirmed it. What’d he been thinking? He should’ve just kept his sorry ass in that crappy foster home. At least then he could’ve limited the damage he could inflict on others.

He should just kill himself.

The thought boiled up in his anger-addled brain. At once, he knew he wasn’t going to do it, he couldn’t do it; but it scared him that he’d thought it at all. It began to make sense how his mother had gotten to that point. Once the pain reached a threshold, it seemed to numb any concern for anything or anybody else. He’d already gotten a whiff of it. He hoped he never would again.

Still, the fact remained that he was bad luck. He was a burden. He felt the folded paper in his pocket. Again, he reconsidered going to Rehema’s. But he’d already come so far, and had nowhere to go besides there.

Maybe he could just turn himself in. The police could take him back to California, back to Ms. Stacey’s. It was far from ideal, but it was shelter. But what about Ant, and Clayvon? He didn’t know if he could be held accountable for their incidents, or even if he’d be in legal trouble for running away. He could live on the streets as a homeless person. It was hardly an attractive lifestyle, but it was one he felt deserving of.

Leroy’s stomach grumbled. The only thing he’d miss about SpiritWood was the regular meals, besides his friends. He’d gotten into a serious breakfast habit, and felt empty without it. He’d have to change that pretty quickly if he were to live on the street. Still, the freedom would be incomparable. He wouldn’t have to deal with anyone, so he’d have only his own life to ruin. It was fitting.

Across a meadow that sloped downward for miles, Leroy could see the skyscrapers of a city on the edge of a wide, bending river. He didn’t know where he was, but his journey had taught him that all cities were pretty alike. If he was going to hit the streets, these would work.

As the train crossed the meadow, the city came into view. Over the water, blue as the dawn, two shallow arches, lit up like a ferris wheel, formed a bridge into town. The awe it inspired in Leroy was the first positive emotion he’d felt in hours, but, unable to overtake his misery, it soon dissipated.

Eventually, the train pulled into a station behind a shabby, eight-story brick building with a stone column foundation—one of the bigger stations Leroy’d been in, but by no means the biggest. He found no trouble leaving the station; he was seen by multiple workers, but they seemed to not care. One worker even waved to him. At least the area was friendly enough.

Outside, a sign informed Leroy he’d just arrived in Memphis. He’d always wanted to visit. The Travel Channel had often featured barbecue restaurants in the city that made Leroy’s mouth water. Here he was, with nary a dollar to spend. He supposed he could just get started and check the dumpsters. But he wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and sulked down the road. Even during the day, Memphis was a very neon town. Nearly every business he passed had windows and signs lit up in vibrant color. It was an interesting way to liven up a relatively drab downtown.

One of those neon signs on a corner of a brick building said ‘Elvis Presley’s Memphis,’ with a black and white picture of The King, himself. Leroy vowed right then that it’d be the first place he went when he got money.

He started back down the road, when an old Cadillac pulled up alongside him, smoke billowing from each open window. “Hey boy,” the bulky, unkempt man in the driver seat said in a crinkly voice. He looked almost like Ted from the first jungle Leroy’d been to, wife-beater and all. Beside him, a sinewy woman rode shotgun, with two children in the backseat. “Goin’ somewheres?”

“Yeah,” he said, before he could stop himself. He guessed he
was
going to Florida. He didn’t want to be homeless. He didn’t want to eat from the dumpster. And he didn’t want to ride any more trains. But he’d never had too bad an experience hitchhiking. Maybe it was time to take a chance.

“Go on ‘head and hop in,” he grinned, puffing a cigarette.

“Mitch, what the hell?”

Mitch made an awkward cut-it-out motion.