33

DERBY LINE

Clare and Dante pedaled away without speaking. They were surrounded by fields of a low surface crop, with no place to take cover. It was midday. Clare stopped. Dante pulled up beside her. Crop spiders—small six-rotor helicopters used by farmers to keep track of their crops—buzzed and hovered over the field.

“What are those for?” Dante wondered aloud.

“I don’t know. But I don’t like the looks of them. If those are cameras then we certainly don’t want to show up in the pictures. We need to keep out of their sight and find a place to stay until dark. That was a close call with the policeman back there, and they might be on to us.”

“But where?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I just don’t know.”

Having come up with the last plan, Dante felt empowered.

“I think we should ride as fast as we can until there’s a smaller side road, and then take that,” he said. “We need to find some trees, or brush, or even a crop of taller plants. Like corn, or sorghum.” He remembered how impressive the tall plants in Maryanne’s private garden had been. He and Clare had run through the rows of corn with childish delight. “And none of those,” he added, nodding toward the hovering drones.

Clare was anxious about remaining on the highway but couldn’t think of anything better.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s try it.”

They sped off. It didn’t take long before they found a road that intersected. Dante got there first.

“Right or left?”

“Right,” Clare directed. “I’d rather not head back to town. And I can see some trees over there,” she added, pointing down the narrow lane.

They pedaled down the road until it turned to gravel. Never having experienced a gravel road, the children were shocked at its existence. Unfortunately, they still had not found a suitable place to wait until dark. The trees they had seen earlier surrounded a country home. They rode on. Dante secretly worried about having to ride back on this same rough road. Clare, meanwhile, was concerned about the popping sound of the rocks under her tires.

“You don’t think these rocks will hurt the bike tires, do you?”

“Nah,” said Dante. “Shouldn’t.”

They were miserable. At last, Clare jumped off her bike.

“This road seems like it goes forever, but I don’t think it’s going to take us north. Let’s just walk out into the field; it’s not that hot today. I bet no one will see us. And those drone thingies have gone away. We need to rest if we’re to get back on schedule and ride all night; we already lost time last night.”

Dante looked around. Some crows flew over an otherwise deserted landscape. Clare was right about the temperature. It was unseasonably cold for late summer, though with global climate change everyone knew “normal” weather patterns could no longer be counted on.

Like a couple of animals, the children nested in the field of grain covering themselves with the lightweight tarp, thinking perhaps, that like Harry Potter’s famed invisibility cloak it would protect them from harm. As they drifted to sleep, crickets played a naptime symphony.

It was 8:30 p.m. when the children awoke. The scent of dampness on parched land reminded them of their hunger; they shivered with a slight chill and pulled back the tarp. The sky was darker than usual from the cloud cover, and the ground around them was wet. Rain! It hadn’t been a downpour, but it was enough to moisten everything that hadn’t been covered. They thanked Maryanne for taking care of them so well.

Because the return trip down the bumpy road would be slow and tedious, the children ate just enough to sustain themselves. Their food supply was low. Dante had sampled the grain crop in which they hid, but Clare worried about chemical contamination and discouraged him. She checked the map again before they lost daylight. It would take at least another night after this, and then she thought they would be there: the border.

They would take no unnecessary chances in cities. Clare had decided Dante’s trick of hanging out with the other children had been a good one. It had been easy and was enjoyable, although she hadn’t liked what felt like lying. Dante tried to convince her it wasn’t really a lie, but she had qualms about it. Still, if they had to, they would use this strategy again.

A tear came to Clare’s eye. Thinking about their encounter with the children reminded her of Lily. She missed her friend and wondered what Lily was doing.

The children rode the remainder of the night without incident. The trek on the gravel lane helped them appreciate the quick, smooth ride of a paved road and how much they’d previously taken for granted. Inwardly, they thanked God for the durability of their bicycles which had taken them this far.

The night continued cold and wet, and though uncomfortable, they understood it was to their advantage and were grateful. Jesse had warned that several crops were near harvest, resulting in more farmers and GRIM agents out and about. The cool, wet weather would push back the harvest.

As day broke, Clare and Dante searched for green highway signs that would indicate how many miles were yet to go. There it was:

Derby Line
68 miles

“That’s it,” Clare whispered to Dante. “Derby Line.”

“Is that the place with a library that sat right on the border?”

“Yes, it’s still there. But there’s definitely no crossing over through the library. Still, if the town is on the border, I’m thinking we might be able to sneak over on our bikes. Or maybe find a house with purple flowers. According to Ana’s list, several Seed Savers live there. For now, we need to ride as long as we can before taking a break. Sixty-eight miles will really be pushing it, and I’d much rather try to cross at night.”

They looked up and down the highway. It was 5:30 a.m. and hardly any traffic. The children pedaled on.

They kept going until nearly eight o’clock. A grove of oak trees was too good to pass up, especially since they were taking chances being out this time of day. In the shelter of the trees, the children ate all but a small serving of the remaining food and settled in to nap. They hoped the next time they lay down to sleep would be in a bed, and possibly in a place where they were no longer fugitives. It was difficult to fall asleep, even as they knew it was of utmost importance.

“Wake up.” Clare was shaking Dante. “Here,” she said, shoving the remaining food at him. “We need to get going now. We’ll walk across the fields until it’s darker. We can’t be seen from the road. We need all the time we can get once we are at the border.”

What she didn’t say to Dante was how unprepared she felt. That she hadn’t done her homework on this. That although she had the opportunity to use the Monitor at Gruff’s, she hadn’t taken advantage of it. That although Jesse and Maryanne had given them useful advice and marked a few “good places to cross,” there was so much more she didn’t know.

Although she knew in her head what a border was, what exactly did one look like in real life? Was there a line drawn through the city, through the wilderness? Certainly not across water? Were all the trees cut down and grass burned to form a fifteen or twenty foot swath? Did every country have massive fences and walls blocking crossing except at designated checkpoints? Were there guards or dogs or sensors awaiting them? How could she not have asked, she wondered now. Their best hope was to find a friend who could help them. In the meantime, she planned to show a brave front for Dante. She certainly owed it to him. And to Mama.

Leaner and more muscular than when they began their journey, Dante and Clare rode silently through their final night. At the first hint of daybreak, they saw the sign that read Derby Line, 2 miles. As they continued on, the landscape changed from fields to an occasional house. Though barely light enough to see, they slowed their progress to peer around for purple flowers. They so wanted help. Dante was praying fervently, but this time it seemed as if they were on their own.

Clare checked the time. They would be able to make it to the city before it came alive, but their cover of darkness would be fleeting. Jesse had guessed that slipping over the border in Derby Line would be fairly easy. “Even in Derby Line things are different,” he had said. “People there have gardens right out in the open. The government kind of looks the other way when it comes to Vermont; they don’t want any trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” Dante had asked.

Jesse had smiled wryly. “There’s always people who think Vermont should secede and join our friendly neighbors to the north. So they get away with stuff. Derby Line is a tiny village at the north end of Derby proper. It’s so small I can’t imagine that you’d run into trouble. When you get there, look for signs pointing to Canada. Most of the streets that used to cross through are blocked off now, I believe. But I heard it’s just with barriers and flower pots—like the dead ends at railway crossings. It shouldn’t be a problem on your bikes. Most likely there are cameras, though. In which case, the fact that you are kids on bikes is probably to your advantage. Don’t know how well-lit it is at night, but I’d guess pretty lit up.”

His words echoed in Clare’s head. All the hard riding and days of scant eating led to this moment.

Pedaling forward with the approaching daylight, Clare and Dante glimpsed an ancient church spire rising out of the village. The houses grouped progressively closer together, and ahead of them lay the unmistakable clump of buildings making up Derby Line.

Unlike where they’d come from or what they’d seen in New Jersey, this place was a postcard from the past. It was beautiful. Large shade trees and green grass welcomed the children. As they moved closer, there were old Victorian homes, well cared for and lived in. Clare’s heart sped up—a garden full of tomatoes on the vine. Dante saw it, too. For a brief moment she thought they had already crossed over, but then she remembered Jesse’s words.

Suddenly Dante stopped his bike and darted behind a hedge, entering a sleepy yard. Panic struck Clare as she followed instinctively.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Up ahead,” Dante whispered. “I saw him.”

“Who? Who did you see?”

“The GRIM man. The one who used to follow us around back home.”

“What? Where? Are you sure?” She poked her head around a shrub.

“As we came around the corner, I saw him. He’s in his car over there,” he said pointing. “But I don’t think he spotted us. He was looking down at something.”

Clare’s eyes followed his gesture. A cold chill ran through her. It was him all right. She’d know his profile anywhere, and he drove the same unmarked GRIM car as he had back home.

Her mind blasted in several directions at once. What now? How did he know to be here? How would they escape? She reached over and grabbed Dante’s hand.

“It’ll be okay,” she said. “Good work spotting him.”