We have to move quickly because I agree with Lilly that the police are likely sending an officer to watch the house. Our window of opportunity is small and requires decisive action. After waiting another ten minutes I’m sure the police cars are gone, and we climb down the tree. What irritates me the most is that we’re running again. I want us to be pro-active rather than always reacting to circumstances, always finding ourselves on the back foot.
We tasted freedom for over two weeks before they found us. That’s by far the longest we ever escaped. It speaks volumes about our improving problem-solving skills. Another big plus is we now have a face for who our enemies are. We were right not to trust anybody. Even the police and the doctors are in on it. Our chances are slim if you ask me.
People always wonder why victims of abuse and people with mental issues don’t go to the authorities for help. I have a hypothetical answer, which I believe is true. But I don’t have scientific evidence to back it up. It involves a small number of corrupt police officers and a large number of mental health professionals married to their pet theory of psychopathology—of which there are hundreds—but ultimately leaving us at sea about whom to trust. No, our only chance is to clear our name ourselves.
Take the red-haired policewoman, who planted the gun in our house. Who would believe us if we said she did that? Nobody. As soon as you end up with a mental health label, you are a second-class citizen.
Back on terra firma, my first port of call is to get Prince. I’m shocked to see the rope we tied him up with is still hanging on the water pipe—but without the dog. The police took Prince and we didn’t notice it. I’m not big on feelings, but I can’t ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach turning into a sharp pain like from a kick in the belly. Inside, the kids are wailing and sobbing so much it affects the body and I struggle for breath.
“Ama, can you please put the little ones into lockdown? We need to make the best of the head start. There is no time to lose. If they come back with Prince, they’ll track us down immediately.”
I should have known Ama doesn’t need instructions as to how to do her job. She’s already herding the kids into their rooms. Not without giving me a disapproving grunt. It doesn’t take long and the kid’s tears that were running down my face stop. I insist they aren’t my tears. Men don’t cry.
“I saw in a movie once that people walked for miles in a riverbed to shake off their followers. Couldn’t we do that too?”
I try not to roll my eyes. We can always rely on Lilly to present us with some wisdom she gleaned from a motion picture. Usually, I don’t pay much attention to the hazards her heroes like Brad Pitt or Harrison Ford overcome, but today it might be helpful.
For our sake, I hope Prince can’t track us down if we wade through Flatbush Creek for a while. I despise the idea of wet boots and fear the stony riverbed will hamper our progress, but the benefits are hopefully worth it. I take the backpack we’ve hidden under a rotting tree trunk and run to the creek. Despite the rocks and the water, I’m making good progress.
I’m one hundred percent sure I’ll find the hut I saw on the old map I found in auntie Amanda’s bookshelf. I have a clear photograph of the map in my mind. After an hour I leave the riverbed and rest on a fallen trunk. A loud rustle nearby makes me flinch and jump up. It takes a few minutes until I’m satisfied that it must have been a wild pig or a similar size animal. I sit down again and get a nut-bar out of our rucksack. It’s good to replenish my energy and to stretch my legs. I can’t afford to tire because soon the terrain will become even more demanding and change from flat to hilly.
I swear if I get my hands on whoever gave our location away, I’ll… well, I wouldn’t do anything, but Amadeus would have a field day with them. We’ve been so careful. Come to think of it, how did the police know where to find us, if intruders ransacked Patrick’s office and his receptionist disappeared? Only Scottie, Patrick, Patrick’s receptionist, and Scottie’s friend Martin Harris know where we live.
After another five-and-a-half hour of jogging, walking, resting, jogging, walking, resting we reach Byron’s Hut. It’s a basic little hut with only four bunk beds and a long drop toilet behind the house. I don’t even look for a light switch. Out here, electricity only comes from the thunderbolts during bad weather and water comes from the little stream behind the hut. Back to basics is today’s motto. Not many people come here. That makes it an ideal place for us.
I don’t mind. None of us is pampered or requires luxury. Lizette might, but she won’t complain. She’s a good sport. Everyone is. I like our Tribe. I open the backpack and sort out the foodstuff—a two-pound block of cheddar, a loaf of sliced bread, peanut butter, strawberry jam, a salami, the two water bottles I emptied today, and the black notebook.
Lilly and I have to update what happened so everyone is in the picture. I also want to take a dip in the stream. I feel sweaty and dirty from hiking today. Most of all though, I’m starving. I leave peanut butter and jam for Maddie and take a thick slice off both the cheddar and the salami. It tastes delicious.
Luke: 3 December 2015, Early Evening, Byron’s Hut
We have to be even more careful than we
