Page 13 of Liar Byrd
The man’s beard looks older than me.
As the wicked New Mexico heat bears down on me, I watch the man pull a card from his wallet, slip it into the card slot, and grab the gas pump.
Two minutes pass. He looks right. He looks left. Bored senseless by a necessary task, he glances my way as if he can feel the intensity of my stare. Then away again.
I hold my breath as he puts the pump back into the slot.
He pulls out his credit card and walks toward the gas station. I could cry.
The second the door slams shut behind him, I’m up from my hiding place and bolting across the gas station, eyes bouncing between the road, the gas station shop, and the truck.
I grip hot metal, clamber into the truck bed, and dive under the leather cloth.
And I wait, holding my breath as the bell above the gas station shop jingles, footsteps stomp my way, and a door creaks open.
The truck shakes when he slams the door shut. The bed vibrates under me as he starts the engine, and I start breathing again when the man drives away from the gas station. I slide, scraping my knee and bumping my head, but I’m smiling.
Jeremiah and his acolytes wouldn’t consider checking the back of a stranger’s truck for me. Although I don’t know where he’s headed, I wish he’d turn down his loud rock music.
The man drives for a long time, and I bake under the thick leather tarpaulin that smells like wet dog. My head aches from the bang of the drums when I’m used to the silence or the droning endlessness of Jeremiah’s sermons.
The truck jerks to a stop, and I jerk my head up, amazed that I could sleep.
My mouth is dry, and the sounds of a city are much louder than I’m used to.
Everything is too loud.
Crawling out of the truck bed, I fall, ignoring the eyes on me as I pick myself up. I don’t know where I am.
It’s cold here.
I’m not in the baking hot New Mexico desert anymore. I’m not sure if I’m still in New Mexico.
I walk until my bare feet hurt.
Rain lashes my hair to my scalp, freezing me to the bone, and even as I shiver, I keep going. I’m too afraid of what will happen to me if I stop.
Theywillcatch up with me. Or I will stop, sit down, and won’t get up again.
When the soggy, half-collapsed cardboard house comes into view, I’m hobbling.
I shiver, hugging a brick wall, eyes probing all around me, watching for pursuit.
“Hello?” I whisper-shout down the alley, teeth chattering with cold.
But there’s no answer. Not from within the sodden cardboard. Not from anywhere.
Creeping inside, I plug my nose to the ripe smells that I try desperately not to identify. I don’t want to know what they were, and it truly doesn’t matter. I’m out of the rain. Even if an odd drop makes its way inside, this is something. I wrap my arms around myself as I huddle deeper into a foul-smelling leather coat, wishing myself somewhere hot.
I’m finally away from them.
I’m safe.
My eyes drift closed.
“Get out!”
My eyes fly open.
