When Henry got out of the fenced yard, he had run as far away from Wonderland as he could get.
He had run up dirt roads and through fields. He darted across a busy highway and raced through a trailer park. He hurried across parking lots and dashed into some woods behind a shopping center.
Then he had trotted deeper and deeper into the woods, jumping over moss-covered logs and clusters of bramble bushes and wild strawberries. Squirrels scurried out of his way, and birds fluttered wildly out of the trees as he passed.
When he was far enough into the woods, he had stopped, panting.
Then he slept a long, deep sleep.
For two more days, Henry ran along roads and darted among trees. He crossed fields and jumped across gullies. He followed paths and wandered along the side of narrow, twisting lanes.
He ate berries and bugs and even a tiny frog. Once he had been lucky enough to find a discarded bag on the side of the road with half a cheese sandwich and an apple core. He even turned over a garbage can here and there, gobbling up moldy bread, some fried chicken skin, and a few pieces of doughnuts. He licked tuna clinging to the sides of a slightly rusted can and gnawed on a moldy pork chop bone. When he had come upon a narrow creek winding through the woods, he drank and drank and drank, the cool water tasting finer than any he had ever had before.
Now he lay down under the trees, where the ground was soft with pine needles and rotting leaves, and fell asleep.
He slept until the hooting of an owl and the croaking of frogs woke him up.
It was dark.
The darkest dark that Henry had ever known.
Every now and then, fireflies twinkled in the distance.
Henry felt lonely and scared and hungry.
Maybe he had made a mistake.
Maybe he should go back to Wonderland.