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Runaways: The Long Journey Home

By Brenda C. Poulos

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Chapter One

Barefoot, Jake tripped over the worn threshold of the kitchen and onto the front porch. He pivoted on one foot and hurried to catch the old screen door before it slammed shut. He flinched and held his breath, his hands shaking as he pulled out two splinters from his big toe.

While resting his foot on the rotting porch rail, he peered through a hole in the screen door into the only home he’d ever known. The old wooden table stood in the middle of the room. Beyond that was Jake’s sleeping corner, his pallet still wet with blood from last night’s beating. Across the room was the faded green pullout sofa where Father slept. Next to the window sat an icebox that no longer kept things cold.

Father’s boots, thrown into a corner, tempted Jake. Their feet were almost the same size. He grabbed the door handle.

He crept across the floor toward the shoes. The smell from them was overwhelming. He hesitated. His feet weren’t used to wearing shoes. It might slow him down. He set the shoes back onto the floor and headed toward the door. He froze mid step when he noticed the full moon through the screen.
Escaping would have been so much easier on a dark night. He stepped outside and shivered as light sprinkles of rain and cold wind peppered against his face.

Jake winced as he pulled his trousers away from his calves. Last night’s beating was the most severe he had ever endured. He’ll never touch me, again! He wiped a stray tear with the back of his hand.
He had only been playing with Hound, but Father came running when he heard him growl. Jake had tried to explain, but Father strapped him all the harder. Blood from his bare legs spattered on the already stained and dirty floor.

Now, looking back through the screen door, his eyes fell on Father’s thick black coat slung over the back of the sofa. A warm jacket would sure feel good. It lured him back inside.
He opened the door once more and tiptoed forward running his fingers along the edge of one sleeve. It sure is cold out tonight.

As he stood there in the moonlight, wrestling with the thought of taking the coat, he was startled by Hound when he stood up and stretched. The dog trotted up to him but Jake shook his head and put his finger to his lips. Hound went back to his pallet, circled it a few times and settled back down to resume his sleep.

Jake stood over his father, watching as his chest raised and lowered. His eyes turned to the rifle leaning against the corner. Maybe I’ll just end his life the way he did Mama’s.
Precious seconds ticked away.

***
The bright winter sun coaxed Ethan from a deep sleep. The almost bare springs of the old sofa poked him in his side as he rolled over. He groaned as he pulled the thin, ragged quilt over his broad shoulders. He stretched out his arm, fingers beckoning Hound for his early morning scratch behind his ears.

He shook himself awake and jumped to his feet. Something was wrong. His eyes darted to the corner. No Hound.

He gave the boy’s pallet a hard kick. He was gone, too. Ethan stomped toward the bathroom door and pounded his fist on the frame.

Silence.

Hopping into his pants, he scuttled into the kitchen. He threw on his shirt and used the sleeve to clear a spot from the dirty windowpane. He squinted as he looked through it, searching for any sign of the pair.

He grabbed his coat and rushed to the unlatched door, tripping over a smelly bag of garbage in his path. He cursed under his breath as he ran outside.

He jumped over the wire fence, and then hit a large patch of ice at the corner of the cabin. He slid the rest of the way to the kennel at the far end of the yard. He whistled for Ghost.

The wolf appeared in an instant, his teeth bared and growling. Ethan snapped the muzzle over the pure white snout. “Sorry, boy, but we need the element of surprise on our side. Hound’s older than you, but we both know he can run faster.”

Intense heat began to course its way through his body. He could care less about the boy leaving, except for the fact that he served as a suitable whipping boy at times when Ethan’s anger built and he found no other outlet. He was a painful daily reminder to him of Ginnie and Sam’s insidious alliance. Perhaps without him around, Ethan could learn to forget and find peace for his tormented soul.

All he wanted was his dog. He’d do anything to get him back. He’d killed before. He would kill again—without so much as a blink of an eye.
***
Jake wiped the rain off his face with the palm of his hand. It was coming down harder now, making his trek through the unknown terrain more difficult. His ears picked up the sound of Hound loping up behind him.

Jake closed his dark brown eyes and rubbed the middle of his forehead with his thumb. Dropping to the ground, he searched the dog’s face. “I’m glad to have your company but I’m afraid your being with me might make me easier to find.” He put his arms around Hound’s neck and wallowed in the soft, warm fur. I wonder if he feels to blame? How can I explain madness to a dog?

Hound whimpered and stretched out his long tongue to lick Jake’s face.

After another moment’s hesitation, Jake sighed and shook his head. “Ah, okay.” He stood then, motioning for Hound to join him.

They picked their way down the muddy path to the river. Ice pellets hitting the water sparkled in the light of the full moon.

By now Father would have noticed they were gone. He’d probably already loaded his rifle. Jake was sure he’d pursue them—and he wouldn’t give up easily.

The storm had strewn fallen branches across the path. More than once Jake slipped on leaves slick with rain. His bare feet grew numb. He looked down to see his bloody footprints on the path. He gritted his teeth and pressed on.

As he traveled, Father’s curses roared over and over again in his head. Hot tears ran down his cheeks. He knew Father hated what Sam and Mama did, but he couldn’t understand why he had stopped loving him.
Father had showered love on him as a small boy. A picture replayed in his mind of his parents snuggling, tickling and laughing with him until they all fell asleep on the big four poster bed—the one Father later burned without so much as an explanation.

Hound stayed by Jake’s side as they traveled throughout the night. More than once, he kept the boy from falling asleep and sliding into the icy water below.

The sun would be up, soon.

Hound’s stomach rumbled—or was it his own? “I’m afraid we’re both going to miss our daily meal.” He patted Hound’s head. “When there’s not enough scraps to go around we share, don’t we? But Ghost? Never. He’d take my hand off without a second thought.”

Jake collapsed next to Hound underneath the thick brush lining the river. He closed his eyes. How did Hound get out without Father hearing? He might never know how he’d done it, but he was grateful—ever so grateful—that he had. His first smile since Mama’s death spread across his face.

He’d never been away from Father. He’d never even been out of the yard since Mama died. How long it had been? He had tried to climb the rusty chain-link several times before but was always caught by Father and forced to watch as the dogs ate his own portion of the scraps.

He was taller now and easily jumped over the fence. He had waited a lifetime for this day.

***
Ethan trudged down the steep embankment toward the river. He thought about the day Ginnie brought their baby into the world. He’d yelled for Ruth to come when the labor pains began. She’d come all right, but confided she didn’t know what to do for Ginnie. Still, it had been of some comfort to him just having another person there. His experience with animals somehow hadn’t translated when it meant helping his own wife.

He would have taken the pain on himself, if it had been possible, for he loved her that much. Her yellow hair, wet with perspiration, clung in little ringlets around her face. She’d never looked more beautiful.
The baby’s first cry was the most wonderful sound he’d ever heard. If there was a God, he had certainly been smiling down on them that day.

Those tiny fingers and toes had been made possible by the love he and Ginnie shared. That was the purest happiness he’d ever known, only to be followed three years later by the most unbearable pain. And as for you, Sam—good riddance.

Ethan shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Why was he thinking about Ginnie, anyway? His fingers tensed their grip on the gun.

His lips curled as he thought about his prey. The tracks in the mud showed them heading for the river. The boy didn’t realize that the water would rise if it stormed, again. Not a safe place for a boy and a dog. Without food and no weapon, he was totally unprepared for life outside the yard.

“Yes, Ghost, he’ll be dead in a day—two for sure.” He imagined seeing Jake’s corpse in a grotesque position with carnivorous animals feeding on his lily-white flesh. He let out a deep, gratifying sigh and picked up the pace.

All of a sudden, Ghost ran ahead. He’d only do so if he’d spotted his target. Ethan hurried to catch up to him lest he harm Hound. It was a good thing he’d thought to muzzle him.

Ghost had a jealous streak. Without provocation, he’d tear Hound limb from limb. Only a signal from Ethan could keep that from happening.

He’d raised Hound from a pup, bonding with him during the time Ginnie became distant. She had withdrawn into herself as she mourned the loss of the baby girl she’d miscarried at five months. Hound was a lot of company to him in that dark and lonely time. He’d served as his best friend and he’d always treated him as such. He fed him his scraps first. His pallet was right next to Ethan’s sofa bed.

Stepping over a log, he planted his foot in a pile of dead leaves. All at once a sharp pain pulled him to the ground. He let out a guttural scream. An old rusty trap imprisoned his right foot. He clenched his teeth as sweat beaded on his face.

With shaking hands, he strained against the jaws of the trap. He didn’t stop until his fingers were numb. He rested, sucking in several breaths of air. When he could feel his fingers again, he stretched them several times, took in a deep breath, and seized the trap once more. One. Two. Three. With his hands on each side of his boot, he pried the jaws apart at last and ripped out his foot.

With another loud yell still echoing through the trees, he released the metal and let it fall to the ground. He winced at the pain and wiped the stinging sweat from his forehead with the palm of his hand. When it subsided, he inspected his injured foot. The flesh of his ankle was torn open clear down to the bone. He bit his lip, and then closed his eyelids and rested his foot on top of his other boot.

There was no blood at first, but in no time at all his foot was covered with it. Shaking, he took off his jacket and then his shirt. He put his coat back on and used the shirt to wrap his shredded ankle and foot before blacking out.

***
Jake fell asleep sometime between Mama’s smile and the warmth of Hound’s body against him. Mama looked so beautiful. Mama. He could hear her laughter. Mama. He longed to reach her outstretched arms.

Hound’s bark broke into the boy’s dream. He wanted so much to stay with Mama for a little while longer. The peace that surrounded her was a balm to his wounds, both physical and emotional. He was just on the verge of touching her yellow hair when the dog barked again, and he could enjoy her presence no longer.

Jake rubbed his eyes and stretched his lanky body. He held his hands to his eyes to shield them from swirling leaves. Dark clouds had formed a halo around the sun. It would soon be snowing. He spun around when a twig snapped nearby.

Ghost and Hound stood in the clearing behind him, facing each other. Both remained motionless except for the sporadic flinching of their huge shoulder muscles.
Jake knew Hound could defeat Ghost, but his immediate worry was the rifle. Father only took Ghost off the chain for hunting—and he never hunted without the rifle.

This time, though, Father wasn’t hunting coon or weasel or squirrel. This time he was hunting for Jake.
Father was a killer. Jake had heard the story every Saturday night: how Father caught Mama and Sam under the apple tree; how he shot them both without hesitation.

He’d kill him, too. That was as certain as the sun coming up in the morning and going down at night. There was a bullet in that rifle with his name on it.

Jake stopped short. He dared not go closer to the pair. The hammering of his heart was so loud it almost drowned out their vicious growls. He watched in awe as Hound guarded him, his master.

Ghost was muzzled, but the dog had been working at the leather and had torn one side loose, leaving it hanging. His sharp teeth glistened as he bared them.

Jake’s eyes darted in all directions. Father must be nearby.

***
Up on his elbows, Ethan pulled himself through the falling snow in the direction of the dogs’ growls. Could he get there in time to save Hound? From the beginning, his intention was for the dog to be the boy’s companion, protecting him as he grew to manhood. But, that all changed on that fateful day in the orchard seven years ago. No child of Sam’s was worthy of Hound. Ethan whistled, then ordered, “Ghost, come!”

***
Moments later, Jake crumpled to the ground, sighing as the wolf suddenly backed off and raced down the slippery path from which he’d come. Jake’s mouth hung open. He couldn’t believe it. Why did Ghost retreat?

He signaled for Hound to join him. “We’ve got to get out of here.” Together, the two of them scrambled through the low brush. They didn’t stop until Jake stumbled onto the entrance to the apple orchard. He lifted the wire latch and pushed back the wooden gate.

An enormous tree cast a shadow on the narrow dirt path. He froze. Could this be the apple tree? His heart raced as he took several steps forward and stopped when he saw the crude carved heart. He couldn’t read, but was certain of what it said, “Ethan and Ginnie - Love Lasts - Forever.” His fingers trembled as he touched the words.

His mother, some five years younger than Ethan, had flung her arms around his neck when she saw his love for her displayed so permanently. So it was only fitting they’d married under the sweet-smelling blossoms the following spring.

The beautiful Ginnie gave birth to Jake exactly nine months later.
***
Ethan awoke on the kitchen floor late that afternoon, a fiery sunset igniting the sky outside the dirty window. He searched his memory, trying to recall the events of the day. He was in the woods…the trap snapped onto his foot…the dogs fought…Ghost returned to his side. He rubbed his chin. How had he gotten back home?

He rested under the old quilt, too exhausted to put Ghost in his pen. The wolf was never permitted to sleep on the pallet. That special place was reserved for Hound. But Ghost did Ethan a good deed, so he would allow him to lie by his side—just this once.

Ethan fell into yet another fitful sleep, waking once more in the middle of the night. He watched as Ghost’s shadowy form stretched and then ambled over to the kitchen to rummage in the gray bucket by the sink.

Even though the scraps had been there since the day before, the rumble in Ghost’s stomach enticed him to eat. When he finished, he circled around to Ethan, who was struggling to sit up on the side of the worn sofa. He settled down by his master’s side and watched as he inspected his leg. His ears pricked when he sucked air into his mouth through clenched teeth.

Ethan reached behind him to click on the switch to the overhead light. He shuddered when he discovered his leg had swollen to twice its normal size. He dragged himself over to the bucket in the corner of the kitchen, cupped his hands, and dipped them into the cold rainwater supplied by the still unrepaired hole in the roof.

He held his breath as he washed the wound, berating himself for not replenishing the antiseptic from Ginnie’s first aid kit. Still, there might be a bottle of moonshine underneath the porch...

Finding himself unable to stand on the injured leg, he belly-crawled in the direction of the porch. One by one the minutes slipped by, his progress slowed by fits of pain and precious time lost to blackouts.

Sometime around sunrise he reached his destination. He rolled onto his side and stretched his arm under the steps as far as he could, raking it back and forth in the dirt but failing to come up with anything except a few rocks and a lid from an old tin can. Too many trips there on lonely evenings may have cost him his life. He should have rationed the liquor out for special occasions, like celebrating an exceptionally good hunting trip, or times when he punished the boy—and then needed to forget…

***
Trudging through deepening snow banks, Jake and Hound made slow progress the following day. Shivering from the cold, they somehow managed to keep going until dusk. “I’m afraid we took too much time in the orchard. Father’s sure to catch up with us soon.” In the meantime, he considered what would happen if he were to be confronted by a stranger. Would he be able to defend himself? Should he make up a story of some kind? Give himself a new name?

Except for Father, the last person he’d seen was Ruth. She was Mama’s best friend, but she’d left the day following the murders. She was Sam’s wife, but she didn’t even stay for his burial. After saying a few words to Father, she raised her hand to announce her departure into the world, the wind whipping her long red hair around her face as she headed down the dusty road.

She never looked back. She just disappeared from their lives forever, wearing Mama’s blue sweater.

Jake did a double take as he looked up at the purples and pinks blanketing the sky over the mountain peaks. Maybe tomorrow they should go in that direction—opposite of the way Father headed when going into town for provisions. His teeth chattered and his head spun. “W-we would-n’t w-w-ant to run—into him—now would we, H-h-ound?”

Hound barked his assent, running round and round as he often did when he spotted a rat or gopher in the backyard.

“What is it, b-b-oy?”

Hound barked again, running forward and then back toward Jake.

“You—want m-e to follow—you, b-b-oy? Okay. Let’s—go.”

The pair plodded through powdery snow, coming upon a rundown shack half-hidden behind the heavily laden boughs of a large pine tree. Its roof had caved in near the front door, and the porch had almost rotted away.

Jake brushed away cobwebs from the small window next to the door and peered inside. “I—don’t t-t-hink anyone l-l-ives--here anymore, H-h-ound.” He lifted the crude latch and the door opened back against the inside wall. His heart raced as he crept inside.

It was almost dark, but from what he could tell, it was only one room. No table. No chairs. Nothing but an old rocker. It was shelter, though—and warmer than outdoors.

Did they dare stop for the night?

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