Free The Turtle Boy by Kealan Patrick Burke Page A

this
far in Timmy's head, heavy black pain descended like a caul over
him and he had to stop and think of nothing until it went away. It
was too much. Maybe in the years to come it would make sense. For
now, it would hang like an old coat in a closet, always there but
seldom worn.
    Maybe he deserves to
die .
    His walk took him back to
the pond, to where bulldozers stood like slumbering monsters next
to a smoothened oval of dirt. They'd drained the pond and ripped
away the banks. The telltale signs of man were everywhere now, the
animals quiet. Despite his relief at having the dark water gone,
Timmy couldn't help the twinge of sadness he felt at having the
good memories buried beneath that hard-packed dirt, too. All around
him the land was changing, becoming unfamiliar.
    He sighed, dug his hands in his pockets
and walked on, unsure where he was heading until he was standing
staring down at the railroad tracks. A cold breeze ran invisible
fingers across his skin and he shivered. A quick glance in both
directions showed the tracks were deserted. No trains, no funny
tireless cars with flashing yellow beacons.
    School would begin soon, and he hoped
it would be the distraction he needed from the crawling sensation
he had been forced to live with, the sense of always being watched,
of never being alone.
    It'll pass,
son , his father had told him, I promise .
    Timmy prayed that was true.
    Because even now, with not a soul
around, he could feel it: a slight thrumming, as of a train coming,
the air growing colder still, the sky appearing to brood and twist,
the hiss of the wind through the tall grass on either side of the
rails.
    And a droning, faint at
first.
    A droning. Growing.
    Like a machine. Or an
engine.
    Pete's voice then,
disgruntled, whispering on the wind: They
were stupid to ride that close to the train anyway.
    Not an engine.
    Muscles stiffening, Timmy drew his
hands out of his pockets, held his hands by his sides. He felt his
knees bend slightly and knew his body had decided to run, seemingly
commanded by the small fraction of unpanicked mind that remained.
He looked to the right. Nothing but empty track, winding off out of
sight around a bramble-edged bend.
    He looked to the left.
    The wind rose, carrying the stench of
death to him and he felt his heart hammer against his ribcage. A
child, limping, trying to prevent himself from toppling over, all
his energy focused on keeping the mangled dirt bike—and
himself—upright.
    I wish that kid hadn't been
killed up there .
    The bike, sputtered,
growled, whined. Or perhaps it was Danny Richards making the awful
sounds—Timmy couldn't tell.
    The child's bisected mouth
dropped open, teeth missing, as he lurched forward, the weight of
the bike threatening to drag him down and Timmy bolted, ran for his
life. The wind followed him, drowning out his own screams,
thwarting his attempts to deafen the mournful wail coming from the
stitched-together boy hobbling along the railroad
tracks.
    " Where's my sissssssterrrrrr? "
    Timmy stopped for breath by the memory
of the pond. He could still see the boy, a distant figure lurching
along the tracks—a pale, bruised shape against the dark green
grass.
    Something's wrong,
something's broken . Timmy knew it then as
if it had been delivered in a hammer-strike blow to the side of his
head. He sobbed at the realization that the They Darryl had
mentioned, the They who would show him what he needed to learn,
were the dead. He would see them now. Again and again.
    Everywhere.
    And there was a truth he had
missed, a truth he was not yet ready—not yet able—to figure out on
his own. All that was left were questions:
    Why did he want to hurt
Dad?
    Why did he ask me if I'd die
for him?
    Why did he say maybe he
deserved to die?
    As he straightened, struggling not to
weep at the thought of what might yet lay ahead of him, he flinched
so hard his neck cracked, a cold sheet of pain spreading over his
skull.
    A voice that might have been the
breeze.
    A