BooksBarbecue
Back The Runaway
Chapters (80)
  1. Cover
  2. TITLES BY NICK PETRIE
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  79. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  80. What’s next onyour reading list?

“When I was coming in,” he said, “right after I crossed the river, I saw my truck pulled off the highway. If Pony Boy is waiting somewhere, I think that’s where he’ll be. I think Roy put him there as a backup. I’m going to stop. I can let you out here if you want.”

“No, please.” She didn’t want to be pregnant and alone in the bottomless Nebraska night.

“All right. I’m just going to drive right up to it. Keep your head down. I want him to think there’s only one person in the car.”

“What are you going to do?”

Peter gave her a wolfish smile. “That depends on him.”

They descended toward the river. He dropped the windows and opened the sunroof and the cold air rushed in. Ahead on the right, in the middle of a sweeping curve, she saw an old work truck parked well off the road at the edge of a shaggy meadow that looked like it hadn’t been mown or grazed in a long time. Just past the truck was a thick stand of evergreens, maybe where a house or barn had been long ago. She didn’t see Pony Boy or his pickup.

“Okay,” he said. “This is it.”

She put her head down as he braked and left the road a few lengths ahead of the old truck with the wood cargo box. As he pulled into the meadow so that the truck stood between him and the highway, she turned her head and saw him slouched down in the seat, maybe to seem smaller, more like Hollywood. Then he showed his teeth. “There you are, you sonofabitch.”

He picked up a little orange walkie-talkie and spoke into it. “That you, Pony? Dude, it’s me.” He’d made his voice higher and put a little twang into it. Then he stuck his right hand out the sunroof in a wave as he flashed his brights with his left. She wanted to look but she didn’t. He slowed more. She heard a voice. Then he hit the gas and turned the wheel. The engine rose up loud and she felt a thump from the front.

She raised her head and watched Peter leap from his seat with the rifle. He stood over Pony Boy, who lay in a crumpled heap with his hair in his eyes. Pony raised a palm and tried to sit up but couldn’t. He tried to keep the pain from his face, but failed. Something was wrong with his leg.

The gray truck was parked well behind the stand of evergreens, hidden from the road.

40

Helene watched as Peter took a few steps and kicked something away into the grass. He slung the rifle behind his back and returned to Pony Boy and began to pat his clothes.