There was a bus—he’d checked—but the same thing could happen. Someone would see him and ask what he was doing, traveling so far on his own. It was one of the problems about living in a small town.

Every Saturday the spur line of the railroad came through Lonetree to haul away the feed in the grain elevators. The thought came to Nate that he could hop a freight, like hoboes used to do. It was nothing he’d ever tried, though he and Larry used to lay pennies on the tracks for the train to flatten or lie alongside the tracks, imagining that they’d jump on board when it came by.

Friday night Nate packed his provisions—a turkey sandwich wrapped up in a bandana, a bottle of soda, and his one remaining silver dollar that he’d kept for emergencies. The depot where the spur line stopped lay about a mile and a half from their land. It came in the mornings, but he hadn’t ever paid that close attention to when exactly. Never mind—he’d get there early enough that he’d be ready.

The day was surprisingly warm for March. He didn’t need his heavy jacket—just a sweatshirt. He stuck his paper with the first hundred and fifty digits of pi in his pocket, along with a joke book Junie had given him for his last birthday, to keep himself occupied on the trip.

Stepping out the back door in the predawn light, he could feel his heart beating hard. He thought about all the mornings he and his dad had risen early like this to head out on one of their adventures. This was the first time it was just Nate on his own.

The night before, Nate had told his mom he was going out early to help Larry with his paper route. If she’d been paying more attention, she would have noticed that Larry never called him anymore. But she just nodded and said fine. She almost looked relieved that she wouldn’t have to deal with him at breakfast.

He hadn’t expected to bump into Rufus, who pulled up in his old Chevy just as Nate was heading down the road. Even before the shooting, Nate had never liked Rufus.

“Up pretty early,” Rufus said, leaning out the window of the cab.

“I’m going to see someone.”

“Walking, huh? Too bad that bike of yours ain’t road-worthy. I was always telling your dad we should just haul that thing over to the dump. You’d think he would’ve done something about it.”

Nate had had the same thought, but hearing Rufus say it made his back stiffen. “My dad and me were going to build a dirt bike together.” Are. He should have said “are going to.”

“Oh. Right.” Rufus’s lip curled into something that looked, to Nate, like a sneer.