It did not seem much use to ask whether Adam still had enough courage to return home. At this point, Michael realized that going back was no longer a possibility for the three of them. As Macy had pointed out the moment they would go back they would be arrested.
They were running from the authorities now.
And presently Michael had an awful feeling that they were being watched by an officer. Adam was thinking along the same lines. He slowly bent down and rummaged through his book bag. Once he found the gun he carefully extracted it, pointing it towards the source of noise.
"Adam! Put that thing away!" Macy snarled under her breath. "That's what got us into this mess!"
But Adam kept it steadily aimed as the intruder came closer. Sweat broke out across Adam's forehead and trickled down his face, as his finger wrapped around the trigger. Waiting...anticipating the worse...his heart beating faster than it should as the bushes nearby rustle.
"It could be just an innocent animal!" Macy said, further pleading for Adam to lower the gun. "Also if you shoot the gun it will automatically draw the authorities to this spot! Please, think it through!"
"Macy," Adam said impatiently, "shut up. Show yourself!" he shouted towards the bush. "Or I will shoot!"
All three of them inhaled deeply as the bushes parted and Dylan emerged looking down right frightened with his hands up in the air. Adam hesitantly lowered his gun, giving Dylan the nastiest look. "Jesus Christ, man, what do you think you're doing creeping up on us?"
"Never mind that, what the hell are you doing with a gun? You're the one responsible for the school shooting aren't you?" Dylan let out a low whistle. "Damn, do I have news for those back there waiting."
Adam immediately raised the gun back up, pointing directly at Dylan's head. The trigger clicked and Macy jumped slightly. "Try to go back to school," Adam said. "I always thought you were a jerk."
Dylan let an incredulous laugh. "Stop pissing around, you don't have the guts. So what are you going to do, make me come along on your journey? I would be, what do they call it, your hostage?"
Keeping the gun trained on Dylan, Adam shrugged. "Not my fault you followed us. Too bad, so sad. We have a destination to reach and you will not stop us."
Dylan seemed to be fishing around for alternatives. "Let's say if I go back silently..."
"No," Adam cut him off.
Macy let out a groan. "Adam, just let him leave and put that blasted thing away. You're going to end up hurting someone else."
For the second time within the thirty minutes that they were standing in the woods another noise caused by commotion aroused. This time it was blatantly obvious who was bearing down on them. Two burly police officers who were within twenty feet of them came thrashing through the forest heading directly towards them.
"Shit," Michael muttered. "Run!" Nobody needed telling twice, all four of them took off in a sprint. They ran blindly forward, dodging the large trees.
Michael gulped deep lungfuls of air. His brain was on hyperdrive; He was racing for his life. Their one goal was to escape. Nothing else mattered. The situation was snapped into perspective and survival was of the essential necessity.
His arms were being scratched to ribbons by a briar he'd run through. He was led to believe that among the four of them nobody had run this far from home before. Not even the impulsive Adam. They were all totally lost. Still, their arms pumped by their sides, their feet crashed through the underbrush, their eyes scanned the forest. They could outrun them. If only they could find a clearing-
Suddenly Adam, who was leading the pack, threw out his left hand, indicating that up ahead they would turn left.
Michael looked over his shoulder. The officers were getting closer. The four of them burst through a clearing, but immediately skidded to a halt. Adams arms were waving, his feet backpedaling in the rocky dirt.
Unfortunately it wasn't until Michael, who had been bringing up the rear, collided with Dylan that he realized they had stopped abruptly. Within seconds a domino effect occurred. Adam was pushed over the hill, followed by Macy, Dylan, and finally Michael.
The drums that had been beating in his ears ceased at once and now the only sound he could was the sound of four teenagers falling down the hillside. Rocks scrapped at their skin, ripped Michael's shirt around the neck and sliced his cheek.
Up ahead Macy was careening out of control, she flung out her hand in a desperate attempt to cling onto something, but all she got was a razor sharp rock that partially sliced her palm.
Meanwhile Adam had landed uncomfortably at the bottom and it didn't take the others to long to join him with a thud. They all kind of laid there in a stupor; the only thing that was crossing their minds was the pain that coursed through their bodies. Somewhere far above them the police officers were shouting.
"Is everybody okay?" Macy asked, sitting up slowly, nursing her wound. She did a body count, and seemed satisfied that everybody was getting to their feet.
Adam's half-inch cut on his forehead that he received just the other day had re-opened. Blood trickled down his forehead. He held his hand up to the cut. "Damn," he muttered under his breath, observing the blood on his fingers. He turned soberly to Dylan, who had a few scratches along his arms. "Welcome to our hell."
Until nightfall, things were comparatively easily, though they were moving fast, and no one lost their temper. Adam would find time to talk about their next plan of action. But at ten the rain started to come down in an unexpected downpour. They all clamored to seek refuge in the nearest diner, and fifteen minutes later they were seated around a booth. The four of them dripping wet, studied the menu. A rain drop ran down Michael's bangs and dripped onto the menu.
Michael wanted to add, by the way, that the diner was the ordinary cheap eating-house frequented by other students and workmen. They provided an adequate meal at less than ten dollars, and they were picturesque while at the same time maintaining the family-style d^Âcor. There were the indecent pictures in the adjacent bar, and the alcoholic paraphernalia. It was moments like these when Michael could use a pint of something. He watched forlornly as a lady ordered a beer.
Adam had requested to sit in the smoking section after having previously stopped at a convenient store to buy a new pack. He slipped one out and lit it up slowly and carefully and took a long drag on it.
For one reason or another nobody really spoke. Macy was seated next to Adam, but never once protested his smoking habit. Additionally, nobody really knew how far they were from home. What they did know is that they had finally left Queens.
A few minutes later their waitress swept around. She introduced herself as Laura. She was a tall, melancholy woman with curly blonde hair. Laura's peculiarity was that she was bout forty-years-old and the only job she held down was being a waitress throughout the week. Picture her very pink and rather young, with the fresh cheeks and soft hair of a nice little girl, and lips excessively red and wet, like strawberries. She had a way of studying her customers up, as though they were all inferior. Her eyes were a dull gray as she looked from Macy to Adam to Michael and then finally rested upon Dylan. Michael had to wonder what she thought of four cut up, and rather wet teenagers who were currently sitting at their table.
"What would you like?" she asked curtly, chewing on a piece of bubble gum.
"I'll just take a soda and a cheeseburger," Dylan spoke up.
Macy ordered her coffee and Adam and Michael joined in with the consensus of getting a cheeseburger and soda.
Michael had so many different feelings at first, sitting with his three friends after having already been through so much and they weren't even half way through the trip. It was hard to know what to say next with such varied thoughts coming into your head. He asked where they would head next, and thought that perhaps he was overdoing it.
Adam shrugged his shoulders, and dabbed the napkin to his scar. He waited until the waitress was out of ear shot. "We head east," Adam told them, snuffing out his cigarette. "Ohio's east, and that's our destination."
That was about the longest conversation they had. Occasionally Macy would bring up something. She had picked up a map of Pennsylvania and was helping to route out their trail. She pointed to the Appalachian Mountains and remarked that eventually they would have to cross through them.
Never feel sorry for a waiter, Michael thought. Sometimes when you sit in a restaurant, still stuffing yourself half an hour after closing time, you feel that the tired waiter at your side must surely be despising you. That's the way Michael felt as the restaurant emptied out around them and the waitress swept by frequently to see how things were going, but she really didn't bother to hide her annoyance.
Adam lit up another cigarette and threw down a few dollar bills to cover his meal. Everybody else followed suit and together they filed out of the restaurant and back into the pouring rain. For a few seconds the four of them stood under the overhang, shoulder-to-shoulder, avoiding the rain. Cars streaked by them on the highway. A vacant phone booth stood to the right of them and a few drunks staggered out of the bar.
"Those were the nights," Adam said, watching the drunks singing in the rain and traipsing across the parking lot. Michael could not be sure, but at the reflection to last weekend he thought Dylan was trying to meet his eyes. Though they had been plastered at the time, it was hard to forget the night they spent together.
Adam tossed his cigarette aside and stepped out into the rain. "Let's roll."
It was now absolutely necessary to find a place to sleep, and Macy remembered spotting a Motel 6 along the highway. The motel was the dirtiest motel around. From its dark doorway there came out a vile, sour odor. The desk clerk was an overweight man and was entranced by a rerun of Gilligan's Island when they arrived.
"Well, beggars can't be chooser," Macy commented darkly, observing the slum of a lobby. A few homeless people were lounged out on the couches, probably catching as much sleep as possible until the security guard would come around and poke them awake.
Michael kept pace with Adam. "How are we going to pay for this?" he asked. The good part about Motel 6 is that it couldn't possibly be more than $100 a night, and probably the biggest necessity on this trip was saving money.
"I got it covered," Adam said coolly. "Just let me do the talking." Consequently, Macy, Michael, and Dylan hung back and let Adam take charge. The large man behind the desk sat up as Adam approached. He let out a low, gruff, annoyed cough and asked how he could help Adam.
Michael couldn't really hear the conversation so he joined Macy and Dylan on a vacant sofa. His eyes wandered across the peeling wall paper, the rickety coffee table and he was reminded not so fondly of Rosa's apartment back in Queens. The only thing different was that there were a bunch of tobacco chewing bikers ambling around.
"I feel out of place," Macy said, also noticing the menacing looking bikers.
"Don't worry about it," Adam said, arriving by their side. He was dangling a room key on his index finger. "The four of us will share unlucky room thirteen. Hope no one is superstitious," he winked.
Nobody bothered to ask how he was able to achieve getting a room. Michael was willing to bet that the answer would be a shocker, and no one was willing to deal with the shock this late at night. The only thing that was inquired was Adam's sudden change of moods. He did seem to be more relaxed than before.
"Because he had his fix," Dylan answered.
Adam let out a hollow laugh and unlocked the door to their room. "Make another remark like that and your ass will be outside for the night," he said carelessly, and pushed open the door.
The room was small and inveterately dirty, for there was no maid, and the guy at the front desk was probably too absorb in watching television to do any sweeping. The walls were as thin as matchwood, and to hide the cracks they had been covered by cheap paintings. It was lighted by one dim electric bulb. Two queen-size beds stood on rickety legs against the wall. A television was bolted to the wall and the outdoors looked more appealing than the bathroom. Up towards the ceiling bugs marched in single-file lines. Macy let out a little, disgusted squeak at the sight of them.
"Well, it's only for one night, right?" Adam said, dropping his book bag on one of the beds. "We sleep for a few hours and then start out early tomorrow morning." He wandered over to the bathroom and peered into the mirror, again dabbing at his scar, pushing his shaggy blonder hair out of the way.
Michael now unhesitatingly walked to the opposite bed and feel down on his back. For the first time he felt at ease about this trip. Maybe things were going to be all right. He folded his hands behind his head and felt the other side of the bed sag under the weight of Dylan. Michael's heart tightened up for a second. He hadn't even entertained the notion about who would be sharing beds. It just never crossed his mind.
Macy stood by the end table, viewing Adam wash his scar, while at the same time she continued to study the map. After a few minutes' reflection, she folded the map up, saying: "It would be nice to take public transportation. What do you think the chances of that are?"
Flicking off the light, Adam shook his head from side to side. "We would be too easy to track that way. They could see that we're heading towards Ohio. I don't think we'll do it all by foot, but we'll go that way for the majority." He took off his shirt and sat with legs stretched out over the blanket, smoking cigarette after cigarette. He watched Macy's face scrunch together, while contemplating over their plans of action.
But it was Dylan who spoke up next. "What about clothes? You and Michael may have packed clothes, but Macy and I were taken hostage remember?"
"We'll stop at a flea market or something cheap," Adam responded curtly. "Let's get some shut eye. I'm setting the alarm for seven in the morning."
Macy was the only one who didn't bother to undress. She merely crawled up in bed and drew the blankets up to her chin, snuggling, complaining a few times how rough the mattress was. "There is a spring right in my back," she grumbled, flipping over onto her side.
Michael watched out of the corner of his eye as Dylan stripped down to his baby-blue Fruit of the Loom boxer briefs. Suddenly, Michael felt rather nervous. This was the first time he had shared a bed with Dylan when he was sober. He didn't really expect anything to happen, but did Dylan feel the same way?
Despite the fact the he felt exhausted, Michael couldn't sleep a wink after he slid in between the cold sheets of his bed. He thought that tomorrow would be another day that they would be running from the police, but it would also bring him closer to his mom. He couldn't lose sight of that goal.
He lay in the dark, listening as Dylan climbed into bed next to him, while Macy continuously flipped around and then Adam muttering his protest towards her restlessness. "Well I can't help it!" Macy said at one point, very impatiently.
For about an hour, Michael steadfastly refused to himself drift to sleep. A bunch of random thoughts strolled through his head that kept him awake and then he would hear Adam's soft snoring, Macy's tossing and turning, but he didn't hear anything coming from Dylan.
Cautiously, Michael turned over to his other side so that he was face to face with Dylan. The reason he didn't hear coming from Dylan was because he was still wide awake. Their heads were on different pillows, but they lay there for awhile staring eye-to-eye. A connection was being formed. What kind of connection it was, Michael wasn't too sure.
Then Dylan silently held his index finger up to his lips. Underneath the covers there was the tiniest rustling sound as Dylan extended out his arm, his fingers running across Michael's Hanes boxer brief waistband and then his hand slipped into Michael's underwear. Michael felt an instant erection that formed in Dylan's hand and he followed suit, diving his hand mutely into Dylan's underwear to find an equally as hard erection, if not harder.
And that's how they stayed when they both fell into a blissful sleep, ignoring the sound of the rowdy bikers leaving the bar, the sound of the marching bugs on the ceiling, and the sound of Adam's even breathing. Who would have thought that delight could be found in a place like this, was Michael's last thought before he drifted into a comfortable sleep.