Among the Brave

Chapter Twelve

Turn onto a side street! Hide!” Trey screamed. Without thinking, he grabbed for the steering wheel. Mark shoved him away with one hand, as easily as he might brush aside a fly.

“Ain’t another road for miles,” Mark said. “Want to end up in the ditch? Just wait—”

The headlights drew closer. Mark seemed to be speeding up, and Trey had a moment of insane hope. How fast would the truck have to be going to just jump over whatever vehicle — whatever danger — was coming their way?

But that was childish thinking, based on a comic book his mother had let him read once when his father thought he was studying Latin. Real trucks couldn’t jump.

“Hmm,” Mark murmured. “It’s old Hobart.”

“Who?” Trey asked.

Mark put his foot on the brake.

“What are you doing?” Trey screamed.

“Shh,” Mark said.

The truck slowed, then stopped, as the other vehicle— another pickup — drew alongside them. Trey could only stare in paralyzed horror as Mark began slowly rolling down his window. The other driver did the same.

“Hey,” Mark said.

“Hey,” the other driver said. In the near-dark, Trey could tell only that it was an old man. His grizzled white hair and beard glowed eerily in the green light of the dashboard.

“Whozat you got with you?” the old man asked.

“My cousin,” Mark said calmly. “He was here visiting when — you know. Hobart, this is Silas. Silas, this is Hobart”.

Trey guessed he was supposed to be Silas. He nodded awkwardly, even though it was probably too dark for Hobart to notice. They was glad of the darkness. It’d make it impossible for Hobart to ever say exactly whom he’d seen.

“Now, I’m so old, it don’t matter no more what happens to me,” Hobart said. “That’s why my family sent me to town to see if we got any money left in the bank. But, a couple of young scamps like yourselves — where are you off to in such a hurry that it’s worth risking your life to go there?”

Trey held his breath. Mark wouldn’t dare answer that question, would he?

“I’m not driving that fast,” Mark said.

Hobart chuckled. It was a grim sound in the dark.

“Fast, slow, it don’t matter. These days, leaving your house is like asking to be killed. I heard tell they was shooting anyone who even tried to drive into Boginsville. And over in Farlee, they’ve got soldiers patrolling the streets, telling people to turn out their lights, or turn on their lights, or cook them supper, or dance walking upside down on their hands — whatever the soldiers want, the soldiers get, or else they pull the trigger. And sometimes, they pull the trigger just for fun, no matter what the people do,” Hobart said. “Best thing you two could do is just turn right around and go on home."

Trey gulped and waited for Mark to answer.

“Looks like you survived, being out,” Mark said.

“Soldiers haven’t made it out to Hurleyton,” Hobart said. “Yet.”

“Was the bank open?” Mark asked. Even Trey, who could never detect subtle innuendo in any conversation, could tell that Mark wasn’t just making idle chitchat

“Nah,” Hobart said. ‘Whole town’s shut down tight.”

“It generally is at five in the morning,” Mark said.

“You questioning my story, boy?” Hobart growled. “I came out yesterday afternoon. When I couldn’t get into the bank, I spent the night at my nephew’s house in town.”

“Playing cards and gambling and drinking,” Mark said.

“So? They haven’t made that illegal yet too, have they?” Hobart practically whined.

“They will if your wife starts telling the soldiers what to do,” Mark said.

Hobart laughed, and Trey was surprised. Hobart and Mark had seemed to be on the verge of an argument, but suddenly it was like they were best friends sharing a private joke.

“Tell you what, boy,” Hobart said. “You don’t tell no one you seen me, I won’t tell no one I seen you.”

“Deal,” Mark said.

“Okay, then,” Hobart said. But he didn’t drive away yet. He peered straight at Mark and Trey, and for a second Trey was certain that the old man’s glittering eyes had taken in the contrast between Trey’s flannel shirt and his stiff servant pants. Trey even feared that the old man could see through the dusty seat to the papers Trey had taken from the Grants’ and the Talbots’ houses.

“I don’t know what you two are up to,” Hobart said. “But you be careful now, you hear? Don’t do nothing I wouldn’t do.”

“Well now, that don’t restrict us much, does it?” Mark teased back.

Hobart chuckled and began rolling his window up. Slowly, he drove on.

Trey let out a deep breath. He felt dizzy — now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure he’d let himself breathe the whole time Mark had been talking to Hobart.

Mark was rolling up his window now, too, and expertly shifting gears to get the truck going faster and faster.

“Can we trust Hobart?” Trey asked in a small voice that seemed to get lost in the sound of the truck’s engine. He was trying to decide if the question was worth repeating, when Mark answered.

“Hobart’s terrible about cheating at cards," Mark said. "But if he says he won’t tell nobody about us, he won’t."

And Trey wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. If Hobart had insisted on telling Mark’s parents — maybe even dragged Mark and Trey straight back to Mark’s house — their dangerous journey would be over practically before it started. Trey could have said, “Oh, well, we tried,” and given up with a clear conscience.

But the way it was now, he felt guilty for wanting to quit.

And he was still heading straight into danger.