Blake was jolted from his thoughts by the sounds of voices coming from downstairs of the old farmhouse. Men’s voices. The deep vibrations resonated within the wood home. At first he thought nothing of it. But the voices were getting louder, more intense.

He eased the window open and leaned out for a better look. A black-and-white car sat parked in the driveway. The painted star on the side made his chest sore.

He moved as quickly as he could. He gathered Coot’s clothes, then nudged the boy. Before Coot’s eyes opened, Blake pressed a hand over Coot’s mouth.

“We’re in a jam,” whispered Blake. “A real jam.”

Coot’s eyes were big, looking straight at Blake. He nodded.

Then came the sounds of heavy footsteps downstairs.

“Hear that?” Blake said. “They’re coming for us. We got a few seconds to do this right.” Blake pointed to the window. “Get to that car and don’t wait for me. Turn the key, gun it, and go whether I’m with you or not.”

“But I can’t drive,” said Coot.

“Time to learn.”

Coot sprang to his feet, and in only seconds he was crawling onto a hot roof, wearing nothing but his long nightshirt. Blake followed behind, carrying a bundle of clothes beneath one arm, his boots in the other hand. He tiptoed on the tin using gentle steps.

The hot metal burned his feet bad enough to leave blisters. The particular words he chose to mumble were not words used by revival preachers. Then he tossed the armful of clothes into the air. They fell onto the grass, scattering on the lawn like confetti.

“Go down the drain spout,” Blake whispered to Coot.

Coot crawled down the metal pipe on the side of the house like he was a natural-born monkey. When he made it to the ground, the boy ran toward the Hudson parked behind the farmhouse. Blake had a bird’s-eye view of Coot from where he stood.

He saw the boy jump into the car. He heard the engine roar to life. Blake watched the car zigzag in the lawn, making wide turns back and forth as though a drunk were behind the wheel.

Blake said another ugly word.

He heard footsteps behind him, then voices coming from the open window. He looked at the downspout and decided it was too flimsy to hold his weight. He sat on his haunches so that his bare feet dangled over the eave and said a quick prayer.

“Lord Jesus,” he said, “please don’t let me break my neck. It’s all I ask.”

Men crawled out the window onto the roof. They were yelling.