Chapter 21
“Where are they?” says Daniel.
“Must be busy with something else,” says Braedon. “Let’s get out of here.”
They stand still, straddling their bikes, a block away from Riverwood’s community center.
Braedon convinced Daniel to take his old bike, not the stolen one given to him by Graham and the other two boys.
Taking that bike would just cement Daniel’s indebtedness.
And if they get in any kind of official trouble, riding a stolen bike won’t help matters.
Braedon straddles Daniel’s little brother’s bike.
It’s too small for him and, if there’s some kind of bike sprint to get away from who-knows-what, he’ll be the slowest wildebeest in the pack.
Braedon feels the odd sensation of dread juxtaposed with excitement.
He promised his father he wouldn’t go out tonight.
Even if he hadn’t, he has enough common sense to know this is a terrible idea, accompanying Daniel to deliver the ingredients of a Molotov cocktail.
If they get caught, Braedon could get kicked out of Dorset-Cornwall.
And then there’s the possibility of juvenile detention, which Braedon knows about from hearing Grandpa Judd talk about it.
How he hated arresting kids who might get sent there because, even though Grandpa Judd is a law-and-order kind of guy, sending a criminal kid to live with a bunch of other criminal kids just gives them the connections to become criminal adults.
But Braedon also feels the thrill of being out at midnight.
When every other kid his age is probably asleep or watching TV in the safety and comfort of home, he’s getting a whiff of independence and its risk/reward possibilities.
He’s not being told what life is in a classroom or around the dinner table.
He’s experiencing it firsthand. And at twelve years old, the difference between the two is gargantuan.
“Shit,” says Daniel, looking down at his phone. “They want us to torch a truck.”
“What?” says Braedon.
“A red pickup truck in the lot. They want me to do what you said. Make that cocktail thing, light it on fire, and toss it into a red pickup truck. Shit. I’m cooked.”
“Forget it, Daniel. We’re not doing it. Let’s just get the hell back to your house.”
“No,” says Daniel. “I have to get this over with. You stay here. I’ll pedal up, light the thing and toss it in, and we ride for our lives.”
Braedon considers offering to go with Daniel, but he’s proved his friendship enough just by biking into town with him. Instead he says, “Be careful. Don’t light yourself on fire.”
“I won’t.” Daniel holds out his fist, and Braedon bumps it.
Daniel reaches down to the bike’s water bottle holder.
The plastic water bottle is gone, replaced by an empty Dad’s Root Beer bottle made of dark brown glass.
It’s filled with gas from the red plastic gas can in Daniel’s garage, the original cap twisted back on.
Daniel lifts the bottle, unscrews the cap, then removes a rag from his front pocket.
That, too, came from the garage, where his father keeps a box of old rags under the workbench.
He stuffs one end of the rag into the bottle, removes a barbecue grill lighter from his back pocket, and says, “Here goes.”
“Won’t be necessary,” says a voice. It’s Graham, on his bike, the other two boys behind him.
Braedon wants to take off but knows he can’t outrun them.
Even if he wasn’t on a too-small bike, Graham and the other guys are three years older and a whole lot bigger.
They look like adults with kid faces. This is the first time Braedon has seen them up close.
They’re not as scary as he thought they’d be.
They appear awkward and maybe a bit confused.
Nervous. Braedon supposes a person can only be so intimidating on a bicycle.
Graham and his buddies aren’t even old enough to have driver’s licenses yet.
“Okay,” says Daniel. “That’s cool.”
“It was a test,” says Graham. “A loyalty test. And you passed. Although you shouldn’t have brought him with you.” Graham points his chin at Braedon.
“He’s sleeping over at my house,” says Daniel. “I had to.”
“Who are you?” says Graham.
“Daniel’s friend,” says Braedon.
“I know that,” says Graham. “But who are you? How come I don’t know who you are?”
“Oh,” says Braedon. “I just moved here a few months ago.”
Graham doesn’t respond. They hear a dog bark in the distance, and the low rumble of a truck on Main Street. The other two boys remain behind Graham, their faces in and out of shadows made by a street light and recently leafed-out oak trees.
“You can have this if you want it,” says Daniel, holding the Molotov cocktail out toward Graham. The scent of gas has permeated the rag, an olfactory reminder of the little firebomb’s potential.
Graham shakes his head. “Hold on to it. You guys are coming with us.”
“Uhh…” Braedon hears himself say. “I can’t. I’m already in huge trouble.”
“You don’t know what huge trouble is,” says Graham. “But you’re going to find out if you don’t do what we tell you.”
“My parents are going to know we’re gone,” says Daniel. “And they’ll call the police.”
“This won’t take long,” says Graham. “We just need your help hiding something.”
“What?”
“None of your business.”
“Why do you need us?” says Braedon. “Why can’t you hide it yourself?”
“We don’t need you,” says Graham. “Just him,” he adds, eying Daniel. “He’s the only one small enough to fit through the pipe. And quit asking questions. It’s not like you have a choice.”
“No,” says Braedon. “We do have a choice.” He hears his voice quiver and hopes they don’t notice. “And we choose not to go with you.”
Graham laughs. “You are so dead, kid.”
Braedon reaches over with both hands and grabs the Molotov cocktail and lighter out of Daniel’s hands.
He pulls the trigger on the long lighter, and a flame emerges on the other end.
“I’m going to light this and throw it. And pretty soon a whole bunch of people will come over to check it out.
You can either stick around and I’ll throw it at you, or you can get the hell out of here. ”
Graham reaches behind his back. When his hand returns, it’s holding a pistol. “What did you say you were going to do?”
Braedon catches the light reflect off the gun’s short barrel. Then hears a click, and a bright flash blinds him.