Page 23 of Adam's Rising

“Yeah?” Adam turned to his brother, even though he couldn’t see him. The basement was even darker than their cabin in the sticks. Without the light of the clock radio, Adam had to feel his way to the bathroom. Since he certainly didn’t want to drink a half-gallon of tea nightly, he’d have to get a clock so he wouldn’t oversleep.

Peter emitted an audible yawn. “Is it morning already?”

“Not yet. Go back to sleep. I’ll come get you in an hour or so.”

His brother groaned. “We gotta work on SaturdaysandSundays?”

Adam felt his way back to the bathroom and pulled the string for the overhead light.

Peter held up a hand, blocking the unwelcoming light.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Adam said, walking over to his brother’s cot and kneeling in front of him. “If you enroll in high school here in Wasilla —” He lifted a finger when Peter’s mouth opened to argue. “Before you object, there are only a few weeks left in this school year. I’ll work out a deal with Clara Mae. You can work a few hours after school — if you want walking-around money, and then you can work through the summer.”

Peter sighed. “What about you? Why don’t you have to go to school?”

“I’m eighteen, remember? When we save enough money — and confirm no one’s looking for us — we’ll go home. I’ll get my GED.”

“So I won’t have to work today?”

Adam resisted a laugh. The way Peter latched ontotodayreminded him of that biblical character who gave up his inheritance for a bowl of stew. “I’ll talk to Clara Mae. She seems like the kind of woman who’ll want you to finish high school.”

Peter rolled over.

He didn’t say he would go, but he didn’t say he wouldn’t, either. Adam could only hope Peter wouldn’t throw away a chance to finish high school.

Not that Adam didn’t want to finish his education — he did. Though, if he were honest with himself, he didn’t know what else high school could teach him. He’d already taken all of his core classes so his senior year would be a breeze. Plus, he’d always envisioned running a search-and-rescue team, and right now, it looked like he was following in his father’s footsteps as a horse trainer. High school wasn’t going to help with either of those careers.

Since Peter was done questioning him, Adam jogged up the steps.

In the mudroom —as Clara Mae called it— he tugged on the worn rubbers he’d used yesterday. He’d switch to his tennis shoes to ride Bolt.

His thoughts drifted to the wad of money stuffed in the backpack. Maybe he could use it to buy clothes and work boots for himself and Peter. But the idea soured fast. He wasn’t keeping a penny of that drug-tainted cash — he’d have to pay back anything he spent.

Then a worse idea crept in — what if the bills were marked? What if someone came looking for the money? He didn’t know much about drug dealers, but if movies likeThe French Connectionwere anything to go by, there was always someone higher up — someone who didn’t just lettheirmoney walk off.

Adam shook off the barrage of scenarios — his mom used to call him a worrywart. Maybe it was just movie stuff. Bad guys didn’t hang around places like Falcon Run. That was big-city business — Miami, New York… Not some no-name patch of Alaska, where most of the homesteads didn’t even have running water, let alone a phone.

Pfft!A phone.

Lala asking why Thomas hadn’t called her.

He could only hope she didn’t show up today.

Before leaving the house, Adam listened for signs of life upstairs or outside.

Nothing.

In fact, it was eerily quiet.

At home — his family’s cabin, he corrected himself, since Wasilla would be his and Peter’s home for a while — wind was a near-constant factor. Falcon Run ran parallel with the Alaska Range, and the open valley and elevation shifts funneled cold air through the forest, creating gusty wind patterns — especially during winter and spring.

As silently as he could muster, he attempted to unlatch the dead bolt.

Nothing.

He pulled the knob toward him so the door lined up flush with the latch and tried again. The lock clicked into place with an audibleclack.

Adam froze, peering over his shoulder for Clara Mae and her sparkling twin barrels. He had no idea what time it was, but Clara Mae was walking the property line before sunrise the previous morning. Maybe she not only took off Sunday from cooking, but also from patrolling the perimeter.

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