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Maybe he is chained up with handcuffs. I know maybe they killed him. I know that maybe. He always told us this day might come.
    We know what to do.
    What we do now is wait.
    We have to wait.
    We have to be invisible.
    We are prepared. We have food and water and emergency blankets to stay warm. We have knives, and Bo has his hand weapon. We have those things because we always have those things on training days.
    Da told us this day was coming.

“We can take you to the police. The police can help.” Eric keeps his voice soft and quiet so Corbin won’t hear.
    “No. Not the police. They won’t help me. Trust me. I just need a ride.
You
can help me,” I answer in my own secret-sharing voice. When I look at his face, I can see he will do it. He will help me. He
wants
to help me. I just need to give him one more little nudge. “My brother is depending on me,” I say. “My brother . . .” That’s when Eric takes a deep breath and nods yes.
    “Corbin,” I say, loud enough that the little one can hear me in the kitchen. “Your brother is going to give me a ride now. . . .”
    “Hey, yeah, I want to come! Eric, you can’t leave me. You know. Mom says you got to stay with me.”
    “Sure. That works, right, Eric?” I don’t wait for Eric to say anything. “But, before we go, you should to go to the bathroom and get us some snacks for the road. OK?”
    When the little brother trails down the hall, I turn to Eric and say quietly, “It will be OK. It’s fine if he comes. We just don’t want him to get scared and confused. It’s just a ride. Nobody knows I’m with you. Nobody knows where I am. It’s just a ride. Right?”
    Corbin is back in the kitchen now, rustling around in the cupboards.
    “I like snacks. Get us lots and lots of snacks. And something to drink, too,” I tell Corbin. I turn to Eric and say, “Do you have gas? I can give you money for gas if you need it.” His answer will tell me if I’ve got him under my finger, if he’s ready for me to push him where I need him to go.
    “I have gas,” says Eric. “And anyway the gas station was by the Beaver Trap. It blew up.” It is a very normal thing to say. He’s keeping our secret. He’s protecting his brother. That’s very good.
    “Oh, yeah. Wow,” I say. “Gas tanks blew up like crazy. Blew up like a bomb. Well, good thing your car is ready to go then. But I still want to give you money for your trouble.”
    I notice a chessboard on a little table by a window. The board is dusty. This game has been sitting a while. I reach out to put my finger on the queen nearest me.
    “Don’t touch that!” says Eric. I pull my hand back. What is happening in my pawn’s little round head?
    “Whose game?” I ask.
    “I’m playing my dad.”
    “Are you white or black?
    “Black. I’m black.”
    “You win on the next move. You know that?”
    “There is no next move.”
    “You want me to show you how?”
    He says nothing. He looks away from the game to where his brother is banging cupboard doors, getting ready for an adventure.
    “Got what we need? ’Cause let’s hit the road.” I say it loud, to Corbin in the kitchen.
    Corbin grins and shows me the grocery bag he’s filled with junk food. I walk over and look in like I’m interested. Calories are calories. A drink is a drink. I choose a knife from the knife block in the kitchen. It’s short, a paring knife. The blade is a tapering triangle, dull edged, but strong. It wouldn’t be great for peeling apples, but it will be great for jabbing. The point will go in fast and hard. I won’t be peeling apples.

Even though we know the hillside, it’s dead dark and hard to see, hard to put a foot exactly right every time. Sometimes there’s junk on the trail. Junk that wasn’t there when we left yesterday morning. Bedsprings, those are bedsprings, from a bed that used to be in our house. Something rolls out from under my foot and I fall until I catch myself. Something jabs my hand. It’s glass.