Page 1 of The Map Home
ONE
Dakota
Summer, eleven years ago.
A flashof lightning illuminated the tiny space for less than a single heartbeat, a blinding juxtaposition to the dark it briefly displaced. The light almost hurt, and he squinted against it even after it was gone. For the briefest of moments, the cobwebs and ancient wooden storage boxes stacked against one wall had been visible, but now he was in the black again, shivering as he blinked away the fading tracers.
With no discernible pause, the trailing thunder cracked so loud and close that Dakota figured the massive storm must be right overhead and aiming its roiling clouds of anger directly at him. The sharp yet oddly clean scent of ozone wafted into his hideout. He wrapped his arms around himself and wished he had a better jacket, or at least a coat that fit.
He wasn’t scared, he told himself. It was just a storm. It would pass. Tad said no one ever came out here, that his parentswouldn’t find Dakota. That they’d have time to figure something out.
The almost ever-present Wyoming wind was blowing the storm and clouds east, out over the plains of the Midwest. Even though he was cold and maybe a bit scared—a lot scared—Dakota hitched up onto his knees to better watch what he could see of the storm out the window of the hut. There was no windowpane—the only protection Dakota had from the wind and rain was the flimsy rotting roof over his head and a few boards that passed for walls.
Lightning flashed again, throwing the landscape into weird contrast, creating monsters where logically he knew there were none. The distant stand of evergreens seemed to be crawling down the mountainside to take back the land that had been theirs eons before. It reminded him of a painting he’d seen in a book once, and Dakota shuddered again.
“Dakota, are you in there?”
Dakota jumped but managed to stifle his gasp—it was only Tad.
He squeezed his eyes shut once more, as if the act might make him invisible to the human eye. To Tad’s eye. Trying not to make a sound that would be heard over the wind and rain, he moved away from the window and considered not answering. Maybe Tad would think he’d finally got up the courage to leave. Tad thought he could stay on the ranch, but Dakota knew the Gillespies would never let him hang around. No one wanted a kid like him.
He was tall for his age. Maybe someone would think Dakota was eighteen and he could get a no-questions-asked job mucking out stalls somewhere. At a different ranch, where they didn’t know a mother had left her son behind.
Over the past week, it had become abundantly clear that his mother wasn’t planning to return to her job as a cook for the G-Bar Ranch. Once they’d figured that out, Tad had taken Dakota to an unused shed far from the house, and he’d been hiding here until he got up the guts to leave.
Eighteen was the magic number. Just four years and he’d be an adult. He had no family—or at least none his mother had told him about—and foster care was not an option. He knew how it worked—no family would want a kid his age. He’d be shuffled around until he was considered an adult and then released into the wild left to fend for himself, so why not just start now?
So yeah. No foster care for him.
At least Ana had left some food behind when she’d gone to meet up with a “friend,” but his stash of bread and peanut butter was getting dangerously low. He should have known when she threw a small duffle bag in the back of her car and gave him a hug before climbing into the driver’s seat that she wasn’t coming back.
Growing up, Dakota sometimes had wondered if she was glad she had a son. He figured he knew the answer now.
“Dakota, I know you’re in there,” Tad whispered, louder this time, poking his head inside the open window frame.
“If you know I’m still in here, why are you asking me if I’m here?” Dakota rose to his feet, automatically wiping the dirt and old straw off his ass.
“It’s the polite thing to do. Like warning someone in case you scare them.”
“You scared me anyway,” Dakota informed him.
“I didn’t mean to. Um, hang on, this pack is heavy.” Tad shrugged a large weather-beaten backpack off his shoulders. “Mom made lasagna. Don’t worry, she’ll think Boone ate it all. She’s always going on about his appetite.”
Dakota’s stomach clenched with hunger as his mouth automatically started to water. He was hungry, and peanutbutter and white bread were no match for Mrs. Gillespie’s lasagna.
Only a few weeks ago, Tad had invited Dakota to dinner at the big house with the rest of his family. At first, he’d felt weird sitting at the dining room table with Tad’s parents and older brother, but Tad’s parents had seemed okay and Boone and Dakota had pretty much ignored each other.
“I should just go,” Dakota said before Tad once again started to try and convince him to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Gillespie. Telling his stomach it wouldn’t be getting lasagna, he bent down to grab his backpack. Aside from the peanut butter and bread, he’d stuffed some of his clothes inside, along with a spiral notebook. He was one of the only kids he knew with no cell phone or tablet. He always had to use what the school offered and had gotten used to writing stuff down. And printing things out, like the bus schedule he’d tucked into his backpack.
“Dakota,” Tad said a third time.
“What?” Dakota replied, exasperated now. “I’m leaving.” He hitched the pack onto his shoulder.
“No! You can’t go! We have a pact.” Tad moved around the nearly nonexistent wall and almost inside the hut, partially blocking the door.
Lightning sparked again, farther away, but it was easy to imagine he saw odd shadows in the distance. Dakota shook off the thought; no one but Tad would be out in this weather.
“You can’t go,” Tad said again.
