![]() ![]() We shouldn't be roaming in the open like this. My whole plan had revolved around Cad being here, waiting for us, so that Tim could immediately board his boat. I led Tim further up the river through the marsh, knowing how much danger we were in now. "He… He's got to be along here somewhere. Only a little further up… but as we reached the river's border, neither Cad nor his boat were anywhere to be seen. I continued to reassure Tim in whispers that Cad would be waiting in his rowboat, just like he’d promised. We crept as quietly as we could through the sludge, toward the edge of the vaporous water. The river was wide, so wide that the opposite bank was a blur even in the daytime when the mist was thinner. Fifteen feet away flowed Veil River, above which hung a dense gray mist. We were standing amid a slushy marshland, pale and glistening beneath the strip lights that lined the exterior of the wall. I swallowed hard as I gazed around at the seldom-frequented surroundings. A chill stole through me as we emerged on the other side. He glanced at me uncertainly before lowering to his hands and knees. It killed me to think of how much time he'd been holed up in that box. I leaned over and wrapped my arms around his midriff, helping him step out. His black hair clung to his moist forehead as he raised his head to look at me. It took a few seconds for him to unglue his eyelids and realize that it was finally time to climb out. The mark that had changed our lives forever. My eyes moved over the mark etched into his right hand. My heart was hammering against my chest as I opened it.Ĭurled up in the cramped wooden crate, knees drawn to his chest, eyes tightly closed, was my eight-year-old brother, Timothy. I darted for the wooden trailer hooked to the back of my bike and, clutching the clasp that was holding the lid securely shut, I unfastened it. If someone spotted me here like this, all my days of preparation, all my sleepless nights, would be in vain. Then I worked on the previously weakened bricks behind it and above it until I had created a hole just large enough for my frame to squeeze through. Finding it, I gained a firmer grip and coaxed it out of place. My fingers fumbled along the bricks, feeling for the tell-tale gap. I hurried to the wall and sank to my knees on the ground. I grabbed the handles of the container directly in front of me and slowly eased it forward to reveal the brickwork behind it. The chemical the hygiene department sprayed in here helped to mask the odor of trash, but had the tendency to cause a dull headache.Īrriving at the last row of trash containers lining the back wall, I stopped. The overpowering smell of artificial mint filled my nostrils as I wound around the containers toward the back of the enclosure. I gazed around the sea of color-coded trash containers, wide-eyed. Pulling the gates open just wide enough for my bike to fit through, I rolled it inside. I cycled for another fifteen minutes down the winding route, past the suburban cottages and misted greenhouses until I reached a pair of corrugated iron gates- the junkyard's entrance. Gritting my teeth, I faced forward again, my eyes focusing on the narrow cobblestone path that branched off from the end of the road. She turned on her heel and I let out a slow breath. You know the junkyard gets creepier the later it gets." "Right, well… you'd better be on your way. She lingered a few seconds longer before glancing back at the launderette. "Wish I had someone to run my errands." She grimaced at her laundry. "Oh, I see," she said, her eyes moving from my three-wheeled trailer and returning to my face. Connelly's old china," I explained, a response I had thought up long before leaving my room this morning. ![]() My jaw twitched as she left the sidewalk and approached me. "What are you doing out here, Violet?" she asked. She was clutching a bundle of white sheets. The fluorescent street lamps illuminated the tall, lithe brunette standing on the sidewalk outside Georgette's Laundry. I forced a casual expression to my face and twisted around. What was she doing in this part of town at nightfall? It was one I’d grown accustomed to hearing every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I repositioned my throbbing palms on the handlebars and my feet on the pedals of the bike when a voice called behind me. Catching my breath, I wiped my palms against my blouse. I slowed to a stop once I reached the end of the last concrete road on this side of the city. I hadn't passed anybody I knew, and nobody had halted me to ask where I was going. By the time I arrived at the edge of town, the sun had set. I tried to fix my eyes ahead on the perfectly even road and not keep glancing over my shoulder at the makeshift wooden trailer I was pulling behind me.Īs the uniform townhouses on either side of me grew sparse, so did the light. ![]() M y sweating palms slipped against the handles of my bike as I cycled at a pace I hoped would not look suspicious. ![]()
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