Running Out of Time (9 page)

Hello?" the voice on the other end said again. Jessie was too startled to speak, but all her fear and exhaustion melted. She even forgot Ray and Tol. The strange phone-thing had actually worked! She'd reached Mr. Neeley! Now, finally, she could get help for Katie and the others!

Then, because Jessie remembered how briefly everyone else had stayed on the phone, she began talking fast.

"My name's Jessie Keyser," she said. "I'm from Clifton— remember, you were against it? You were right about it being bad—now lots of children have diphtheria, and Mr. Clifton and his men won't get any medicine for them, and they're going to die if they don't get help."

"What?" Mr. Neeley asked.

Jessie repeated her explanation more slowly. It was strange talking into the clublike phone, but she reminded herself

someone was listening. She finished with: "So will you help? Ma said you would. That's why she gave me your number—"

"What did your mother say I would do?" Mr. Neeley asked.

Jessie strained to remember.

"She said you'd call something—a stick—no, a board. A board of health? Then she said you'd call a news conference." "Ah."

There was a pause, as though Mr. Neeley was thinking. Jessie was afraid he would say, "No, that won't work. There's nothing I can do." Jessie gulped. If Mr. Neeley didn't help, who would?

Then she heard, "Of course I'll help." The phone voice was crackly, but it couldn't have made Jessie happier.

"Oh, thank you!" she said.

"But this is atrocious," Mr. Neeley continued. "Simply atrocious, if you're right. Are you sure it's diphtheria? Are you sure there's no medicine?"

"That's what Ma said."

Another pause. "You're outside Clifton now?"

Jessie nodded, then remembered he couldn't see her.

"Yes. I've walked forever, because you didn't answer the first time I called, and then I couldn't find another phone—"

"Uh-huh. Who knows you escaped? That is—are you safe?"

"I don't know," Jessie said, remembering Ray and Tol. "There were two boys. . . ." She described what had happened. It didn't seem as scary now—as long as they didn't come back. "Do you think they work for Mr. Clifton?"

"Oh no," Mr. Neeley said, sounding surprised. "They couldn't."

"Are you sure?" Jessie asked.

"Yes." Mr. Neeley's voice was smooth again. "You'll have to take my word for it, because you're not used to things outside Clifton. They sound like ordinary hooligans. Has anyone else tried to stop you?"

Jessie didn't like it when adults told her she'd have to take their word for something. But this was Mr. Neeley, who was going to help. . . . She told him about the strange man who knocked her down at the Stopping Point, and about the camera back at Clifton that maybe caught a glimpse of her leaving.

"But no one captured me, so I guess none of Clifton's men know where I am," Jessie said.

"All right," Mr. Neeley said. "But I'm coming to pick you up immediately. Where are you?"

Jessie told him. "It's fifteen miles from Indianapolis. Get help for Katie and the others. That's more important."

Mr. Neeley laughed, almost merrily.

"I'll make a call or two before I come. And I can still be there in about a half hour," he said. "I take it you don't know how fast cars go."

"I've seen a lot of them," Jessie said defensively. "And I was in a truck."

"Oh," Mr. Neeley said. "Well. All right, then, now you'll get a chance to ride in a car, too. Look for a white-haired man in a black Cadillac—that's a big car. I'll be there as soon as I can. Good-bye."

The phone clicked and then Jessie heard a buzzing again, like when she'd first picked up the phone.

"Mr. Neeley?" Jessie asked. "Are you still there?"

No one answered. Jessie sighed. She'd never figure out these phones. But who cared? Jessie grinned as she put the phone back in its cradle. She'd reached Mr. Neeley! He was going to help!

But—Jessie's grin faded for a minute. Why hadn't Mr. Neeley asked her to describe herself? How was he so sure she'd be able to recognize him?

Jessie squinted, thinking hard, but after a minute she shrugged. She didn't see any other thirteen-year-old girls alone at the KFC. Probably Mr. Neeley knew that. She could go ahead and rejoice.

Jessie went back into the restaurant and celebrated by asking the woman at the counter for some chicken and potatoes and lemonade. It cost more than three dollars—an incredible sum—but Jessie didn't care.

"You look happier," the woman said, putting Jessie's food on a tray.

"Yes," Jessie said. "Everything's going to be okay."

She ate at one of the tables by a window, and divided her time between watching for Mr. Neeley and looking around at the other diners. She had barely finished her food when she saw a black car pull up outside the KFC. A white-haired man got out and looked around impatiently. He was tall and thin, and wore a white shirt. Though she knew it was probably silly, Jessie was relieved that he didn't have a cloth strip hanging from his neck like the strange man at the Stopping Point.

Jessie rushed for the door, then slowed down outside. She suddenly felt shy. Up close, Mr. Neeley had small, squinty eyes. But he smiled when she stepped up and asked, "Mr. Neeley?"

"You must be Jessie," he said, and walked around the car to open the door for her. "Get in—we can talk on the way to my place."

Jessie slid in onto seats that seemed to be made of leather. Mr. Neeley's car was even more luxurious than the Sewards' best carriage.

"Ready?" Mr. Neeley said as he got in the other side.

"Yes," Jessie said. "This car. It's so, so—nice."

"Thank you," Mr. Neeley said. "It's the newest model."

Jessie almost giggled at how polite they were being. It was especially strange when Jessie really felt like throwing her arms around Mr. Neeley and hugging him and yelling out, "Thank you, thank you, thank you for helping!"

"Did you call the board of health? And the news conference?" she asked eagerly as Mr. Neeley turned a key by the steering wheel.

"I did call the health department. But I don't think I'll have to call a news conference at all, because the people I talked to were going to take medicine to Clifton immediately. I'll just make a few follow-up calls later."

"Will my sister and the others be okay?" Jessie asked. Mr. Neeley winced, and Jessie decided maybe some people still thought "okay" was a bad word in the 1990s. She tried again: "Will they be all right?"

"Yes, yes. Trust me. I'm taking care of everything."

Jessie still felt a little worried—she probably would until she saw Katie and the others all healthy again. But she didn't want Mr. Neeley to think she didn't believe him. So she just nodded and sat silently as the car began to move. She heard a slight humming and felt a slight vibration under her feet,

but it was nothing like the racket in the bread truck. Soon they were gliding on the big road, 37. It felt like they were hardly moving at all.

"How fast are we going?" Jessie asked.

"Fifty-five. That is—if we travel at this speed for a full hour, we'll have gone fifty-five miles."

Jessie gasped. It didn't seem possible. But then she thought of something—

"If we can go that fast, could you just take me back to Clifton?" Jessie asked. "I miss Ma and Pa, and I want to see Katie, and—"

It struck her as sad, suddenly, that Mr. Neeley didn't know Jessie's family. If Jessie mentioned Katie to any of her neighbors, they'd know exactly who she meant. But Mr. Neeley, as much as he was helping, had never met anyone Jessie knew.

"You want to go back to Clifton?" Mr. Neeley sounded shocked, maybe because he opposed the place. "I don't think that's a good idea. I didn't want to scare you, but Clifton's men could still make trouble for you. You're safe with me, though. I'll take you back when it's safe there, too."

"Oh," Jessie said weakly.

"Now, why don't you tell me how you escaped from Clifton?" Mr. Neeley said. "You were smart to find a way out."

"Ma did that, not me," Jessie said. She told him about the King of the Mountain rock. It reminded her how puzzled and worried Ma had been sending Jessie on her journey.

"There was one thing Ma couldn't figure out—can you tell me why Clifton became so dangerous?" Jessie asked. "Maybe I just don't understand tourist sites well enough. . . . Ma said

Clifton's men wanted everything to be authentic for the tourists—but I saw the tourists, and I don't think they wanted children to die. Mrs. Spurning, the guide, said modern medical care was available in Clifton, and no one got upset. Except me, because I knew it wasn't true—"

Jessie thought her question was getting confusing, so she looked at Mr. Neeley to see if he understood. His brow was crinkled. He looked—angry. But maybe Jessie just couldn't see very well because it was dark in the car.

Mr. Neeley was quiet for a long time, then he said, "That's a hard question. I can't answer it."

Jessie frowned, disappointed. Then she decided she shouldn't expect Mr. Neeley to solve everything.

In the silence between them, Mr. Neeley turned a knob near the steering wheel. Suddenly music surrounded Jessie. She jerked her head around looking for all the fiddles, flutes, trumpets, and drums.

Mr. Neeley laughed at her reaction.

"I take it this is your first exposure to radio," he said. "The radio—this box in my dashboard—picks up sound waves broadcast by radio stations. I change the channel to get different stations."

He turned another knob, and someone said, "—the weather tonight will be—" Another turn, and different music thrummed out, loud and raucous. Mr. Neeley switched back to the flowing fiddles.

The idea of a radio was so outlandish, Jessie almost thought Mr. Neeley was playing a prank on her.

"Actually," she said, "I guess I heard a radio once before."

"Really?" Mr. Neeley said. "Where?"

"In the bread truck." She described what she had heard, and decided maybe it had been a radio. Radio wasn't any more preposterous than the miracle lights she'd seen under Clifton, or the cars that moved without horses, or the strange cold that surrounded the bottles at the Stopping Point.

"Oh." Mr. Neeley paused. "And how did you get into this bread truck?"

Jessie explained.

"Everything outside Clifton must seem odd to you," Mr. Neeley said. "What was it like living there? Did you really believe you were living in 1840?"

"Yes, of course. Everyone did. Well, I guess not the grown-ups, but they acted like it."

Then Mr. Neeley asked a lot of questions about Clifton, even more than he'd asked about the diphtheria. At first, Jessie thought that was strange, but then she changed her mind. He knew what diphtheria was, but he'd never been to Clifton. So Jessie described the Keyser cabin, with the picture of Andrew Jackson on the wall. She described the school, where Mr. Smythe ruled with an iron fist—"or a big switch, whichever he feels more like using that day." She started talking about her family, Ma and Pa, Hannah, Andrew, Nathan, Bartholomew, and Katie. But a tide of homesickness overcame her, and she almost began crying right there in front of Mr. Neeley. This was the first time she'd been away from her family—and what a strange way to leave—but still, Jessie Keyser didn't cry in front of strangers.

"Did your ma tell your brothers and sisters what year it really is?" Mr. Neeley asked. "And do you think they've told the other children in the village?"

"Can we talk about this later?" Jessie asked, squeezing the words past the lump of tears in her throat.

Mr. Neeley looked over at her, and said in a kinder tone, "Sure. I forgot how tired you must be. When we get to my home, you can sleep, and I'll make some more calls, and then we'll talk about all this in the morning."

Jessie closed her eyes then, until she heard Mr. Neeley say, "This is Indianapolis."

She looked out at the biggest, brightest, most incredible place she'd ever seen. The lights, even outdoors, were so brilliant, Jessie couldn't see a single star because of the glow. And some of the buildings were swallowed in the clouds—"skyscrapers," Mr. Neeley explained, and Jessie remembered Ray using that word. Mr. Neeley pointed out the various landmarks—including the ornate state capitol—and Jessie gawked at the rows and rows of buildings. It looked like Indianapolis had done quite well for itself, after all. Several miles from what Mr. Neeley called the "downtown," there were still lots of houses and other buildings crammed in together.

It all made Jessie feel unbelievably small. But she couldn't stop looking around in awe. Even if just one person lived in every building—Jessie hadn't known there were so many people in the whole world.

Finally Mr. Neeley turned into an area where all the buildings looked alike, brown brick and tan wood.

"This is my apartment complex," he said, and then explained what an apartment was. "I live right there."

He pointed to a door that looked like every other door in the place. Jessie wondered how he could tell the difference.

But she thought it might be rude to ask. She followed him in the door, up some stairs, and through another door.

They entered a luxurious room with a floor covering that was plush and soft. Jessie had never seen anything like it. There were also huge sofas, soft and cream colored, big enough for two or three people to sit on at once. The sofas were even nicer than Dr. Fister's back in Clifton, and nothing at all like the Keysets' wooden chairs. After Jessie marveled over the sofas, Mr. Neeley showed her the TV, which was like a radio but showed pictures, too.

"That's unbelievable," Jessie said. "Are you sure it's not magic?"

Secretly, though, she was trying to figure out why Mr. Neeley's apartment didn't feel very friendly. It felt, Jessie thought, like no one really lived there.

"Do you live all by yourself?" Jessie asked.

"Yes," Mr. Neeley said, and Jessie decided that explained it. She'd never met anyone who lived alone. It seemed sad.

"This will be your bedroom," Mr. Neeley said, leading her through a wooden door into another room. "Here's your bed. Why don't you use the bathroom, and I'll get you a bedtime drink."