What had happened was this: about halfway into a night of driving, Henry had sensed something was off. He'd crawled along in the back of the pickup toward the little sliding window that opened into the cabin of the car. The driver had been on his phone, saying something about switching his route to go back the way he'd come. He'd said he was going to turn around but that he had to get some kids out of his car first (meaning me and Henry). Well, Henry didn't want that. He wanted to keep on to San Judo. So he'd climbed in through the window and pulled his Swiss army knife on the driver. He'd gotten him to pull over, and then he'd shoved the guy out onto the road and started driving the truck himself.

When Henry told me all of it, I was stunned. He'd been so hyper-concerned about being cautious—stealing a car would definitely bring out law enforcement.

"No," Henry told me. "That stuff in the back? It's all stolen car parts. That guy was into something illegal. If he put the police on our trail, he'd only hurt himself."

How he'd known that, I wasn't sure. But he said we'd ditch the car parts in the woods (which was why he'd been away from the truck when I'd woken up; he was looking for a place to dump the stuff) and drive until we got into the city. Then we'd get rid of the truck somewhere and figure out our next step.

"What about him?" I asked, pointing at Mac.

"Who?" asked Henry. I raised my eyebrows and he looked behind me. "Oh," he said, remembering the kid, who was just smiling away. Henry lowered his voice. "He says he's homeless, that he stowed away on the truck before it left yesterday. He can stay with us until we get to San Judo."

Mac was going to drive me crazy. I knew he would. Still, I knew we couldn't just leave him in the middle of nowhere. We were hitchhikers too, and he'd apparently found this truck before we had. "Can he sit in the back?"

"No. When we're closer to the city, it would be bad to have someone in back. It would just draw more attention to us."

Another question sprang to mind. "Do you know how to drive?"

Shrugging, he matter-of-factly replied, "I must, because I did fine last night." Then he narrowed his eyes. "You know, Nadia, I don't even know how old I am."

"Neither do I," I said.

"You don't know how old you are?" chirped Mac. He'd snuck up on us. "I know how old I am! I'm eight. You look like teenagers."

Henry sighed, then he started to lift some more junk from the back of the truck. "Let's just get this unloaded."

After about an hour, we were on our way. Henry was driving, I was in the passenger seat, and Mac was in between us. I was surprised at Henry's driving skills. He didn't have any problems at all operating the truck, so I tried to guess his age. Seventeen or eighteen sounded best to me, old enough to know how to drive. I didn't think he could be too much older than that. There wasn't any sign of facial hair; his chin was smooth, and though he certainly didn't look like a child, he had a kind of youthful shine. As for myself? I didn't think I could be older than Henry, but I might be younger, perhaps in the range of fifteen or sixteen. I wasn't sure whether I could drive and had no inclination to find out.

Mac talked just about the whole time, about foster homes and running away and his favorite fast food and what cars he wanted to drive and so many other things I just didn't care about. At first I struggled to maintain my patience, but then I noticed how different the background noise was from the mostly-silence that Henry and I had traveled in until that point. Even though I didn't really listen to anything Mac was saying, I wasn't so irritated after I got used to it, became immune and even, later on, appreciative of it. His chatter was like a cushion; it helped my mind stay unfocused, so I didn't have to think as much about the conflicting feelings I had toward Henry, whose apparent lack of conscience bothered me. Had I not felt drawn to him, I probably wouldn't have been so concerned, but I'd begun to recognize an uncomfortable desire to be nearer to Henry as well as a fear of what might happen if I were. I wanted to like him--I couldn't help but want to stay with him--but there was something in me that wondered whether I could actually trust him. He'd told me he wouldn't forget me; he'd promised he wouldn't leave me. But what did I know about him and his honesty? What did he even know about himself?

At one point, Mac reached across me and popped open the glove compartment. To his joy he found a wad of dollar bills inside. "All right!" he cried. "I got some cash!"

Henry's eyes lit up. "Money? Good. I was just starting to worry about gas. We'll pull over soon."

We were heading into a more populous area. The two-lane road had turned into four lanes practically in the blink of an eye. We'd been passing little towns, truck stops, and motels for about twenty minutes before I really noticed. And there were more cars on the road, too. Henry was just following signs that led to San Judo; there were enough of them that it was relatively easy. From the looks of things, we weren't more than another half-hour's drive from the city. My excitement grew along with my anxiety. Where exactly were we going to end up? What would we do when we got there? We had nothing. If I weren't with Henry, I'd surely have been far more nervous, but even as it was, I was on edge.

When we stopped for gas a few miles out, Mac wasn't super-excited about spending what he called his money on gas, but he knew Henry had to, or we wouldn't finish our journey. The kid was easily consoled, though, when Henry told him he could spend whatever was left over on some snacks.

"I'm getting a Snickers! You know how long it's been since I had a Snickers? Let me tell you, it was a looong time ago. Mmmm mmm. Gotta love that chocolate goodness." Mac stuck out his tongue and slurped away at an imaginary candy bar. Then he began dancing in his seat.

I found myself smiling. I didn't even know it was happening until the muscles in my cheeks stretched a way they hadn't gone in a while. Then I realized. The feeling was so strange that I laughed a little at myself, and that felt amazing, too. I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed. In my good humor, I looked over at Henry. There was a faint smile on his face as well; seeing it sparked something in me. He'd been so serious all this time, but even he could smile. I didn't know it then, but that was going to be the only time I'd see a smile on his face for a long time.

We pulled into a gas station that was relatively quiet. There weren't a ton of people there, but it wasn't entirely deserted either. Henry stopped the truck at the nearest pump and hopped out. I watched him as he stood staring at the instructions, and I wondered if he knew how to work the thing, if he'd ever done it before and could pull the experience from his mind. After a minute of standing there, though, he seemed to get it and removed the nozzle.

Mac and I waited in the truck. The little kid talked on and on about candy bars and other things I didn't care about. I was more intent on watching what was happening outside. This was the first time I'd been around people outside of Oliphant. I was fascinated just looking at them moving around in the parking lot, walking to and from their cars, going into the gas station. What were they like? Where were they going? Where were they coming from? Would they be friends or enemies if they knew Henry and I had escaped Oliphant?

"I'm going inside to pick out my Snickers," said Mac, breaking me out of my daze. "Be right back."

He scrambled across me and slipped out of the door. I didn't bother trying to stop him, just stared after his short figure as it jogged off into the station. Henry finished pumping gas soon after and followed him in. So I was alone in the cab of the truck. Left to my own thoughts. A man at the pump next to us stood scratching his large stomach, waiting for his tank to fill. A girl looked at me, face squished against her window, as her car passed nearby. Some little kids laughed really loud, and their mother barked something back at them. Two cops walked over to the gas station door and then stopped, one putting his foot up on the curb and his thumbs in his belt. I winced slightly when I saw them, pretty sure police officers were not the sort of people we wanted to be near.

But as I surreptitiously watched them chat, I got a strange feeling that someone else was watching me. I couldn't explain it, really, and I'd felt it briefly in the cabin as well. I didn't get the goosebumps this time; it was more a weird discomfort, and it was enough to convince me to step out of the truck. Leaving the door open behind me, I scanned the area, the pumps, the road, the parked cars, but nothing really seemed out of place. I didn't notice anyone staring at me. As I turned toward the station, I caught a brief glimpse of what might have been a person dart around the side of the building. Something about the movement unnerved me, and I started toward it, but then Henry and Mac were exiting through the glass doors and walking my way.

I stopped in my tracks and took note of how the two police officers near the door glanced at the two as they left the station. Not just glanced—stopped their conversation and full-on eyed Henry and Mac up and down, kept their eyes glued on them until they reached me. And then I became the subject of their gaze, too.

Henry gave me a puzzled expression, but Mac was practically bouncing up and down, rendering discreet conversation impossible. "Man! I got a big one!" cried the kid, as Henry passed me by and opened the door for him. I went around to my open passenger door and climbed in. "Says it's sharing size, but I don't mind if I don't," I heard Mac continue. Then Henry was back in and starting the engine.

The cops were at the driver's window before any of us even realized they'd walked over. Instantly, I realized I should've said something to Henry before we'd gotten in the truck, but it was too late now. They'd been eying us with suspicion, as I'd feared, and I couldn't help thinking that this was it. We wouldn't be able to get out of this. However much hope I'd been able to put in Henry over the past couple of days, I doubted his ability to fool these men. Apprehension built in me; I couldn't go back to Oliphant, now--I couldn't be separated from Henry. Something felt so . . . so inevitable, between us. I was sure he knew it, too. I dreaded losing that so soon after I'd found it, before I even knew if it meant anything.

"What can I do for you?" Henry asked the nearer officer, so casual and confident, as always.

The cop removed his sunglasses and narrowed his eyes at Henry. He was the one who'd been standing with his thumbs in his belt and his foot on the curb. He had pocked skin and unflattering facial hair. "You know you've got no license plate on the back of this truck?"

"Yes sir, I do know that. I got it a day ago. I'm driving it back home, where I'll get the plates." I worried at the slight touch of disdain in Henry's tone.

"Just bought it yesterday, huh? Let me see your license and registration."

My fingers tightened on the edge of my seat, which I only then realized I'd been clutching.

Henry leaned across me and opened up the glove compartment. There was nothing inside; I'd seen it when Mac had found the cash. If there were any papers, the truck's previous owner kept them somewhere else. Taking a deep breath, Henry looked back to the officer. "I don't have either."

The man was quiet for a good, long ten seconds. Ten seconds during which I felt as if I'd woken up at Oliphant all over again. I felt nauseated.

"You don't have either?" The officer turned to his partner, looked back to us with raised eyebrows.

"No sir, I don't."

"Do you know you're supposed to have both on you at all times while driving a vehicle?"

"I do."

"Well?"

Henry adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, and something about that made me feel better about my own fingers digging into the seat cushion. "I told you. I don't have either."

Shoving his sunglasses back up over his eyes, the officer crossed his arms and said angrily, "Well I don't know what you expect me to say to that except I'm going to have to confiscate your vehicle. You can't be driving without license and proper registration! How old are you, anyway? This even your car?"

My heart was pounding. We'd be taken in. They'd figure out we'd run away from Oliphant. They'd send us back! I'd be stuck with Jason and Tobias again--or worse, more high security! And they'd hide Henry away so deep I'd never find him again!

"Excuse me a minute," said the cop, reaching down to a device at his waist as it began to beep frenetically. He lifted it to his mouth and began talking into it, taking a few steps away from the truck and signaling something to the other officer.

Immediately, Henry turned the keys in the ignition, released the parking brake, and shoved on the gas. I was thrown back into my seat as the truck swerved out of the gas station and into traffic, terrified and exhilarated at once. I couldn't even breathe enough to speak, but Mac could. He burst into yelling as soon as we were off. "Damn! All right! My man, you show them! Yeah! Woo hoo! You go! We're flying!" The kid kept looking back over the seat, presumably to see if the police were after us, but as far as I could tell, they hadn't followed.

"Don't get too excited," said Henry sternly. "I'm sure they'll put out a call on us, now that we're speeding, too. Let's hope we can ditch this truck before they find us."

For the rest of the ride, all three of us were quiet. Even Mac sensed the gravity of our situation. It wasn't long, though, before the skyscrapers of the city met our eyes, sticking up off the ground like a giant toy model set. The traffic intensified as we shifted lanes and merged onto a different highway. The buildings drew closer and closer. No cops chased us. Nobody followed us that I could tell, which, from my perspective (and I was sure Henry's, as well) was pretty unbelievable. But none of us mentioned it, perhaps for fear of spoiling our luck. And then, suddenly, we were there, in the midst of the buildings, heading deeper and deeper into the thick mass of civilization. Mac and I gazed up out of the window, he leaning over me, trying to see the tops of the buildings. It was surprising how well Henry maneuvered through the streets. Cars were everywhere around us: honking cabs and buses, trucks of various kinds, aggravated drivers zipping in and around one another dangerously--Mac even pointed out a limousine that passed us by. People were everywhere. All kinds of people. All colors, ages, occupations, going to work or asking for money, shopping or delivering or eating or hanging out or sightseeing or just plain walking with purpose. I'd never seen so many people in one area—or maybe I had. I should say I couldn't remember seeing so many people in one area.

We drove past restaurants and enormous department stores, cafés with flower boxes and dogs and bike stands, convenience stores and no-end of office buildings, and too many newspaper stands and food vendors to count. We passed underneath tracks where trains rattled overhead, subway stations dipping underground, bridges crossing over a massive river. Through all of it, the sheer amount of people, of activity, overwhelmed me. What was even more impressive, though, was that Henry seemed to have a plan. He didn't ever second-guess his choices or consult me about mine, and after a while, I did begin to notice a pattern in his turns. It was as if he wanted to go as deep into the city as possible. If one street looked darker than another, he'd turn down it. If there were a choice between two streets, he'd take the one that was less populated and more run-down. He wanted to get us lost. He wanted to take us into the obscure parts of the city, and at least, after quite some time, he did at least pull into an alley that came to a dead-end. It was deserted save for a stray dog, and it was not exactly somewhere I wanted to get out and walk around. But Henry slowly drove all the way to the end, where a big metal bin was overflowing with garbage in front of a brick wall. He stopped the truck and ordered me and Mac to get out. I hadn't realized how quiet the kid had become until Henry spoke and his voice split the silence. Perhaps he'd started to get a bit scared.

"We'll leave the truck here," said Henry as he exited.

My feet hit the pavement, and then I helped Mac down. I heard Henry slam his door. The sound of it echoed against the ghostly buildings on either side of us. I didn't want to make so much noise, so I quietly pushed the passenger-side door closed. Even then, the click sent a chill up my spine. The air smelled moist and sour. The buildings were patched with boarded-up windows and had rickety iron staircases spidering up them, leading to doors that probably opened into empty hallways and dirty apartments.

We'd walked around to the back of the truck. Henry stood there, staring at the vehicle, maybe regretting having to leave it. "Let's go," he said at length.

He started down the alley, but I called out to him. "Henry, wait. What do we do about him?" I nodded my head, indicating Mac, who stood quietly behind me.

"Him?" asked Henry as if he'd forgotten Mac was even there. "Oh. He'll be fine on his own."

"What? He's eight! We can't leave an eight-year-old all alone, here."

"Nadia, we're in no place to take care of a kid."

I was discouraged by his obvious exasperation. "But--but this place looks dangerous. How would you feel if you were alone somewhere like this, eight years old?"

"For all we know, we were." He stared at me, and I stared at him, caught in a battle of wills. I was surprised at my backbone, especially because I didn't particularly care about Mac, but I felt sure that leaving a child in a place like this was somehow immoral. I swore that I saw bits of light sparkle behind Henry's clear eyes--or maybe those were mine reflected in his. Whatever the case, he ended up sighing, capitulating, but Mac had solved our problem for us; when we went to look for him, he was gone.