Running Out of Time (10 page)

J
essie braced herself between a bread rack and the door. Every few seconds, she would think the vehicle couldn't possibly go any faster. Then it would make a gravelly noise—like some dying animal gasping for air—and speed up. With each burst of speed, Jessie's stomach churned and the bread racks shook harder. Jessie remembered what Mr. Wittingham said every time Clifton heard of some new invention: “Ain't natural.” Well, going this fast wasn't natural, and Jessie wasn't sure she liked it.

In the front, the bread man was singing as carelessly as someone might sing strolling through Clifton. It even sounded to Jessie as if he had others singing with him, and a musical instrument or two. She had to be imagining that, though.

Jessie shifted her grip on the unlatched side of the door.
Caught suddenly in a powerful wind, it swung open.

“What the—” the bread man in the front swore. He hit the brakes, and they worked better than the brakes of any carriage Jessie had ever been in. Jessie's body slammed against the latched half of the truck's back end. A metal rack toppled against her. Some of the brightly packaged loaves of bread flew out the open door.

Strangely, the music continued.

Jessie crouched, waiting for the bread man to turn around and see her. How could she explain? Would he force her to go back to Clifton? Would he call Miles Clifton and his men? She'd have to try to outrun him. But could she run at all after being hit by the bread racks?

Jessie flexed her arms and legs, just a little, and decided nothing was broken. She'd probably end up with lots of bruises. But that was the least of her worries.

The bread truck shuddered to a stop. A last loaf toppled on Jessie's head. Peering through the crooked racks, Jessie saw the bread man step out his door.

Jessie had a moment of panic—he was going to find her!—then she grabbed her pack and jumped out the back door. Immediately, she spun around the side of the truck opposite the bread man. Maybe he wouldn't see her…. An open ditch sloped before Jessie and she rolled into its tall grasses.

Jessie peeked from the grasses in time to see the bread man come around the other side of the truck. He picked up a squished package of bread and then threw it down in disgust.

“How'm I going to explain this?” he complained. “I'm going to be even later and I won't have enough bread….
They'll say I didn't latch the door, and I know I did.”

He looked at the open door. Jessie ducked lower in the grass, afraid he'd start looking for someone else to blame.

“It's got to be broken,” the bread man said.

He fiddled with the latch. Jessie heard it clicking.

“Normal,” the bread man said, and swore.

Jessie began to tremble. She felt sorry for the bread man, but she couldn't pop up and explain the mysterious open door. He was already mad; he probably wouldn't even listen to her. He'd just take her back to Clifton. He might do that anyway if he found her. For all she knew, he might be one of “Clifton's men.”

Jessie pressed closer to the ground, as if that would make her invisible. She heard the bread man slam the door of the truck. He swore some more. Was he coming to look for her?

Then she heard another vehicle pull up behind the bread truck. Peeking through the grasses, Jessie saw a red car.

“Can I help? What happened?” a man's voice said.

“Door broke,” the bread man said.

Jessie heard a car door slam. The second man seemed to be looking around. What if he was looking for her?

She risked another glance—she should know if she'd have to run—but both men were staring at the back of the truck.

“Want help picking up the bread?” the second man said.

“Nah. Forget it,” the bread man said in disgust. “It's no good now.”

Then both men got into their vehicles and drove away.

Jessie waited in the ditch for a while, in case one of them figured out what happened and came back to look for her. But if they did—shouldn't she be as far away as possible?
Staying as low in the ditch as she could, she crept forward.

Jessie wasn't sure how long she half crawled, half slithered through the ditch. The knees of her pants got wet and muddy. Her muscles began to ache from the unusual position, and she decided she was being silly. Anyone looking for her would have reached this spot already. Those cars went so fast she wasn't going to beat them by crawling. Besides, she needed to know if she was crawling in the right direction.

Jessie stood up.

In front of her, two wide roads spread from horizon to horizon. It was the widest clearing Jessie had ever seen in her life. The widest one she remembered, at least. Even beyond the roads there were no woods, only a few trees scattered in pastures or beside houses. Jessie felt her throat catch at the unfamiliar sight. What had happened to all the trees? Sure, settlers were clearing space for farms and villages, but Mr. Smythe had said a squirrel could cross Indiana jumping from tree to tree without once touching the ground, if he wanted to. Were the woods around Clifton the only ones left now?

A car whizzed by, and Jessie remembered she didn't have time to mourn the woods. She needed to find out if she was on the right road, going the right way. An enormous truck thundered by with a force that flattened the grasses by the road and whipped Jessie's hair into her face. Even if walking was slower, Jessie was glad to be out of the bread truck.

After a few moments of watching, Jessie noticed the cars traveled in different directions on the different roads. On the road by Jessie, the cars went—Jessie glanced at the sun. It was too high overhead to be sure of direction. How could she find out?

Then she saw a sign several feet ahead. She ran toward it. The sign came into focus: 37. That was one of the numbers Ma had said might be the right road. Above the number, the sign said
NORTH
. Jessie grinned. She was going toward Indianapolis.

Jessie touched the sign for good luck, amazed once again by the smoothness of the outside world's metal. She'd lost time escaping from Clifton and then the bread truck, but she was going in the right direction and she was bound to find one of those phone things soon. No one seemed to be looking for her. Surely the most frightening part of her journey was over.

Jessie slung her pack over her shoulder and began walking north. She started out in the ditch, but the ground was uneven and the grasses tore at her legs. Carelessly, forgetting the caution she'd pretended to borrow from Hannah, Jessie moved up the slope to a place where the walking was easier—and she was in plain sight of every car that passed.

M
a had said it would probably be a couple miles before Jessie found a phone. As she walked, Jessie looked around anxiously. What if she passed all the phones because she didn't know what they looked like? But there was little on either side of the big road but grass and fields and an occasional tree. Jessie thought about asking someone, but the only people she saw were those zooming by in the fast cars. She wouldn't want to try to stop them.

Well, Jessie told herself with forced cheer, if they didn't stop, at least that meant they didn't want to capture her and take her back to Clifton.

Jessie's stomach gurgled just then, and she remembered that she hadn't eaten anything since—she wasn't sure. Was it lunch yesterday? When she ate just like usual in the school yard with Mary? As if impatient for Jessie to remember, her stomach rumbled again, louder.

Would it be wrong to stop and eat before finding one of the phone things? Now that she was safely outside Clifton, Jessie decided a short break wouldn't matter. She walked a ways, looking for a place to sit down. Then she saw a sign that said
CROOKED CREEK
and knew she'd found it.

Crooked Creek ran through Clifton, joining the White River right by the mill. Jessie felt sure this was the same winding creek she and Andrew had skipped stones in downriver. It made her feel good to crawl down along a bank where the water flowed toward Clifton. She dropped a twig in.

“Tell Ma I'm all right. No—say ‘okay' That way she'll know I'm outside,” Jessie told the twig as it drifted by. She made a face at her own foolishness. Well, she couldn't help it. It was a little lonely out here. She'd never been alone for so long in all her life. And she'd never eaten a meal all by herself. She wasn't sure she could chew without Nathan screaming for the jam or Mary offering to trade lunches.

Jessie sat down on a flat rock by the creek and opened the pack Ma had given her. She had not had time to look before, but now she saw Ma had provided well. There were two loaves of bread—firm and pungent, not like that squishy stuff in the truck. That was something else weird about the bread truck, Jessie realized: The bread had had no smell. Jessie shrugged and pulled out one of the cloth-wrapped loaves. She saw Ma had also packed beef jerky and some of her anise cookies, Jessie's favorite.

Jessie had one of the cookies first—who was here to tell her not to?—and sorted through the pack to make sure she hadn't missed anything. Under the jerky was a strange container made of something like leather. Jessie would have said
the container was a man's purse, if it hadn't had all the compartments.

At the back were some strips of paper. These had to be money, Jessie decided. She hoped it was still good. With so many banks failing, Mr. Seward was getting finicky about what money he would accept at the store. Most people in Clifton used coins or barter anyway. But Jessie might need to find someone to accept these bills outside Clifton…. Jessie pulled out one of the bills that said “20” on every end. It didn't have a bank name on it, only “Federal Reserve Note, The United States of America.” And—a picture of Andrew Jackson! He looked just like he did in the portrait at home in Clifton.

Jessie forgot her worries over whether the money was any good or not. She was so happy to see a familiar face that she kissed President Jackson's picture. She giggled. Imagine if she met President Jackson in person and kissed him like that! Then she remembered: If it was really more than 150 years later than she thought, Andrew Jackson had died a long time ago. Even the bank problems all the men in Clifton complained about had happened 150 years ago. Maybe there were no money problems now. Maybe there were more.

Jessie's grin faded. She concentrated on counting the money, three more twenties and a couple that said “1,” with George Washington's face on the front. At least President Washington's picture was familiar, too. Things couldn't be too different in the 1990s if people kept George Washington and Andrew Jackson on their money. Pa would be happy to know President Jackson was worth more.

“He may have won the Revolutionary War, but he was still
a Federalist,” Pa always said about President Washington. Pa didn't think too highly of Federalists.

But Jessie was confused again. Pa already knew that Andrew Jackson was on a bigger bill than George Washington. Pa and Ma both had used this kind of money before they moved to Clifton.

Jessie rubbed her forehead. If only she could get everything straight in her mind. She took the last bill out, and a slip of paper fell to the ground. Jessie grabbed it before it blew into the creek. She unfolded the corners.

Jessie
,

By now you should know what I've told you is true. And maybe you've found some explanations for what I don't understand…. Know that in spite of everything, Pa and I love you. We never expected or wanted Clifton to turn out the way it did.

There should he more than enough money and food here for you. Take care. I'II pray for you the whole time you're away.

Ma

At the bottom was the name” Isaac Neeley”—the man Jessie was supposed to tell about the illness—with the number for her to call when she found a phone. Ma had also written out instructions about what Jessie was supposed to say. But Jessie's eyes blurred too much to read that part. Suddenly she felt unbearably homesick for Ma's familiar writing and Pa's political comments and—yes, even Nathan's screaming for jam at breakfast. Well, she'd be back home again soon, as
soon as she found a phone and got help for Katie and the others. And she could be brave until then.

Jessie put the note back in the area with the paper money and opened other compartments.

Coins spilled out of one spot, and Jessie almost knocked the whole pack into the water trying to retrieve them. It was one of these that Jessie would have to put in the phone, when she found one. But Ma hadn't been able to tell Jessie what coins to use.

“It's been so long,” Ma had murmured. “And things might have changed….”

Her voice had scared Jessie. Jessie tried not to think about it. She pried open another part of the billfold. This had pages, with papers stuck between a slippery surface.

“Pennsylvania Driver's License,” the first paper said. It had another one of those picture-things that were too realistic to be drawings. She realized the picture was of Ma before she moved to Clifton.

Ma's light brown hair mostly went to her shoulders, with some of it cut shorter and curled. Jessie couldn't help thinking it was kind of ugly that way. But Ma's blue eyes were kind, as usual, and she was smiling gently, as though gazing at Pa. She looked as young as Hannah.

Jessie turned to the next page and saw another picture-thing, this time showing a baby and a little girl in a short dress.

“Hannah and Jessie, 1983,” it said on the back.

This was proof, then, that Jessie had lived in the world outside Clifton.

Jessie felt so strange, she snapped the billfold shut and put
it back in the pack. She tore off some of the bread and jerky and began eating, automatically.

All her life until today, if someone had asked Jessie who she was, she'd have had an easy answer: “I'm Jessie Keyser. My pa's the blacksmith here in Clifton, and I've lived here as long as I can remember. We came out from Pennsylvania….”