Free Stolen by Lucy Christopher Page B

Eventually I’d find a road, some sort of track. I had to.

     
    It got cold before it got dark. My whole body was shaking long before the moon had risen. I curled myself into a small ball and sat hunched against the rocks, my teeth tapping against each other.
    I hadn’t been outside at night before. I knew it was colder at night than in the day, as I’d felt the temperature drop even when I’d been inside the house, but I hadn’t expected that kind of cold. Right then, it felt colder than a winter night back home. It seemed crazy for the desert to be so stupidly hot in the day, and then so stupidly cold at night. But I guess there are no clouds out there; there’s nothing to hold the heat in. The heat just disappears like the horizon. I suppose that’s why it was so light that night, too: There was nothing to hide the moon.
    I was glad of that. It meant I could still see my way around the rocks fairly easily. It meant I could watch the ground for snake-shaped shadows. I started pacing, anything to keep warm. Eventually, I couldn’t wait any longer. I picked my way back along the thin pathway to the edge of the Separates.
    From there I looked out at the fence you’d built. It was pretty tall but it didn’t look that sturdy. I ran my hands over my arms, rubbing them. I was too cold to think much beyond getting warm again. Occasionally I heard the rumble of your car engine approach as you circled past on one of your patrols. One thing that was pretty good about this plan was that I could hear you coming for ages before you actually arrived. My teeth were clacking together so loudly, though; I was worried you would soon be able to hear them, too. I wondered what you were thinking: Did you know exactly where I was?
    I wrapped my arms around me as tightly as I could, and stared up at the stars. Had I not been so cold and wanting to escape so badly, I could have stared at them forever: They were amazingly beautiful, so dense and bright. My eyes could get lost up there if I left them looking long enough. Back home I was lucky if I even saw the stars at night, what with the pollution and city lights, but in the desert I couldn’t miss them. They swallowed me up. They were like a hundred thousand tiny candles, sending out hope. Watching them made me think that everything might be OK.
    I waited until you next drove past me, and then I stepped away from the boulders. I was surprised when I took my shoulders from the rocks, surprised again at the cool of the air against my back. The rocks must have been soaking up the sunlight all these hours, becoming warmer. I took a couple of steps into the sand.
    I felt instantly exposed, as if I were naked and you were watching my every movement. I ran quickly to the fence, with my head bowed. Those few feet felt so much longer than they were. All the time I was listening for your car, and I heard it, too, but only as a dull rumble on the other side of the rocks.
    I stopped when I got to the fence. It was made of tightly stretched chicken wire, towering a few feet above my head. I couldn’t get my fingers into its tiny holes. I tried sticking my boot in to get a grip, but it wouldn’t hold, and I ended up sliding down the wire, skinning my fingers. I tried again with the other boot. No good. I kicked the fence. I pushed against it, but it just bounced me back.
    I started shaking then, whether from the cold or the fear, I don’t know … probably both. I forced myself to focus on the problem. I couldn’t get over the fence so I’d have to go under. I fell down to the sand and started digging. But this wasn’t normal sand, like on a beach. This was hard, desert sand with rocks and thorns and bits of plants stuck inside it. It was as tough and as difficult as everything else out there. I gritted my teeth, tried to ignore the way the dirt was scratching my hands, and kept digging. It was like being in a war movie, digging out of a prison camp. But things never work out like in Hollywood.