Echoes of Newtown. Blake Fite
“This is as good a stopping point as any—only about two miles to Staunton” Billy said. “We got two fine trees here. Let’s get some rest.”
The boys sparked their flint to make a small fire. As they warmed their hands over the flame, Rascal said, shivering, “Maybe next time we run away, we do it at the beginning of summer.”
“You got fire, ain’t you.” Billy said. “Then you’re welcome!” he laughed.
Billy secured a sturdy branch between the two trees about three feet above the ground. “Grab some sticks about the size of your leg,” Billy said.
The boys leaned sticks along the horizontal branch on both sides until they’d made an A-frame shelter that ran the length of the branch.
“There,” Billy said. “Now that’s a proper lean-to shelter—just like my Pa taught me.”
The boys huddled under the lean-to shelter for their first night on the run. Maybe it was the wild dogs or orange-eyed creature or everything put together, but once Billy’s head hit the pillow, his mind began to wonder out loud.
“He left me all alone when he took my Ma and Pa,” Billy said as he drifted toward sleep, staring at the tiny slices of sky he could see through the stick shelter. “I guess He wanted me to fend for myself.”
Rascal kept quite as he usually did when Billy got personal until something stirred up within him that had him speaking before he could stop himself. “Wye, now you wait a minute, Billy! You got a raw hand in this life, that’s true. But if we’re just talking about hardship, there’s enough to go around. Now, didn’t your Pa lose a wife when your Ma passed? You said it yourself how he pushed forward to raise you up until the war took ‘em. Now how is a Pa able to do that. Maybe that’s God givin’ instead of takin’.”
Billy listened without interruption, still staring upward.
“Billy, you ain’t dead, and you ain’t alone, so let’s get that straight. If God wanted you to fend for yourself, you’d be dog food right about now, remember?” Rascal said.
Rascal surprised himself with his outburst but also found it satisfying. “Seems the more evil we see, the better God looks to me,” Rascal mumbled. He wasn’t sure if Billy would pat him on the shoulder or punch him in the mouth, but Billy did neither. They both pulled their blankets around themselves tightly and without another word fell asleep to the distant call of coyotes.
The First Morning
The boys woke with the sounds of nature. Birds chirped. Squirrels chased and jumped and dug. Somehow in nature, every character knew just what to do. Groggily, Billy slowly opened his eyes, then he jumped so abruptly that his head knocked several sticks out of the shelter.
“DOG!” Billy yelled, paddling his feet back and forth to get the animal off of his leg.
The dog calmly removed himself to the corner of the shelter where he sat up tall and looked at Billy. By this time, Rascal had opened his eyes and tried to catch up on the action.
“I guess he followed us,” Rascal finally said. “That’s the dog from your Uncle John’s.” Rascal reached up to the ring in his ear and remembered the events of the night before. Then, he reached a hand over for the dog to sniff. “See, this dog’s no trouble.”
Billy relaxed and pet the dog. “So, you just come in here like the king, huh?”
“Yeah,” laughed Rascal. “He’s Rex the King.”
“Well, keep up, Rex the King. We’re heading to Staunton!” Billy said.
The boys rolled up their blankets and ducked to make their way out of the shelter. As Rascal slid his knee forward to crawl out, he felt a long flat rock beneath where his head had been all night.
“Look at this.” Rascal said, running his fingers under the edge of the rock to release it from the ground. “It’s a knife—a real knife. A giant knife!” Rascal pulled from the dirt an unflawed section of flint about 10 inches long. It was the same knife he found at the museum. How did that knife get here, thought Rascal? It was perfectly straight with precise tolerance and balance—something he’d learned about at the dormitory.
“What do you know about knives?” Billy said, sarcastically.
“I know I’ve never seen one more perfect than this,” Rascal said.
“It’s dull as a rock,” Billy retorted.
“The balance! The tolerance! It’s unnatural. It’s … supernatural!” Rascal continued. He took hold of one of the larger limbs from the lean-to and lifted the knife to it. “Let’s see what you can do,” Rascal whispered quietly to himself. As Billy packed up and headed away from the shelter, Rascal snuck a hidden moment to test the knife in action. As willingly as a cooked carrot, the thick limb gave way to the blade, and a strong sense of confidence fell over Rascal.
“Holy smokes!” Rascal said under his breath, wide-eyed with excitement. Rascal had a habit of secretly tucking away items that seemed worthless to others, and while this item may have seemed nothing more than a dull hunk of rock to Billy, Rascal saw treasure. He wrapped the knife in a small strip of leather he’d salvaged from an old shoe. I knew this would come in handy! Then, he rushed to catch up.
This Is Staunton
“Here!” Billy called as he tossed Rascal an apple. “People everywhere, Rasc. Eat up. We must be getting close.” It wasn’t 200 steps more before the boys were surrounded by all manner of travelers—merchants and artisans, farmers and families—everyone walking with direction. “So, this is Staunton.” Billy stated with a hint of wonder.
“NEXT STOP, VERONA!” a voice shouted from behind a small window. A stately man with a hat marked “S” for Staunton spoke directly at the boys as they inched toward the window. “Yes, boys. Step right up to punch your ticket to the future.”
“It’s like he knows,” Rascal whispered to Billy.
“Two tickets to Verona, Sir.” Billy said, as he placed his tickets on the sill for validation.
“You’re just in time,” gentlemen. “Now, we don’t want your parents jumping from the train to track you down. You best hurry aboard.”
“Yessir,” Billy answered. The boys lugged their haversacks up the iron stairs to their seats.
“Rex!” Rascal exclaimed, seeing the dog looking at the boys from the train platform with unmistakable disappointment in his eyes.
“Let him go,” Billy said. “People leave. It’s part of life.”
“But we don’t have to leave him!” Rascal answered.
“What has happened to you, Rascal? Ever since you found that knife, you—” Billy stopped abruptly.
“STOP THIS TRAIN!” Rascal shouted. He ran to the front of the train and reached up for the conductor’s horn.
“Young man. That’s a ticket to state penitentiary,” an ominous looking conductor said.
As train workers began to gather around, the boys grabbed their bags and hopped off the train, running toward the rear most car, past about 25 passenger cars, with Rex running close behind. As they ran, the train woke from its slumber and began to roll forward. The last car was flat with no walls or roof. It was loaded with heavy goods nestled tightly together. The boys threw their bags aboard.
“This is crazy,” Rascal yelled above the dull roar of the train. “I can’t get Rex on board while the train is moving. I’m sorry, Billy. I just cost us our seats.”
“You get up there,” Billy directed. Rascal pulled himself aboard. “C’MON BOY!” Billy called from the bottom rung of the railcar step, clinging tightly to the ladder with his left arm as his body reached toward the dog.