Heart thumping in my ears, I sneaked into the hall on my tiptoes, then crossed to Bobby’s room.

His door creaked when I opened it, but only one squeak, and no one called out. I eased the door shut and listened again.

Okay . . . Okay, you can do this, Eden. You have to do this.

Bobby snored softly in his bed, mouth ajar, neck stretched at an odd angle. I bent over and gently tapped his shoulder.

He snored on, lost in his dreams. So I shook him and this time his eyes snapped wide.

“Sh . . .” I held a finger to my mouth.

“Eden?”

He’d said it aloud, albeit in a soft voice. I clamped my hand over his mouth, twisting toward the closed door. No sign he’d been heard.

I spun back to Bobby. “Sh, sh, sh . . . Don’t say anything.”

His round eyes stared up at me, but he remained silent.

“Come with me outside,” I whispered. “But don’t make any sound, okay?”

“Outside?”

“Yes.”

“We’re going outside?”

“Yes. But we have to sneak out or the alligators will hear us coming.”

“We’re going to hunt alligators?” His eyes brightened.

“Sh . . . You have to whisper. It’s a special mission. Just come with me. Walk on your tiptoes, okay?”

He jerked up enthusiastically—this was Bobby’s way, throwing himself into any adventure with all of his heart.

“Sh . . . Slowly, Bobby. We can’t make a sound.”

He looked at the door, the floor, then up into my eyes. “I can walk like a ghost,” he said.

“Good. Like a ghost. Come on.”

I crossed to the door, eased it ever so slowly open, poked my head out into the hall, and, seeing no one, waved Bobby forward.

He crept past me, walking on his tiptoes, bent over and intent. Glanced back at me once out in the hall. I nodded and motioned him on. Then followed him out into the living room, to the front door, where I stopped him.

We were making it! There was no sound, no sign at all that Kathryn had woken up.

But it was there that the first hitch presented itself. Next to the door, the nail from which Wyatt’s truck keys typically hung was bare. My heart lurched.

I spun toward the kitchen counter. Nothing. The table, the coffee table—there was no sign of the keys that I could see by the dim moonlight. And I didn’t dare turn on any lights.

My pulse was racing and I couldn’t think straight. I’d been sure that Kathryn wouldn’t feel the need to hide the keys—I didn’t know how to drive. Maybe Wyatt had inadvertently left them somewhere else. Or maybe Kathryn had thought ahead of me.

“Do you need a gun?” Bobby whispered, leaning close.

“No. I need the keys to Wyatt’s truck.”

He looked around. “Wyatt’s going with—”

I put a finger on his lips and hushed him, hopes dashed. “We have to find the keys!”

The thought of remaining in that house even one more minute was too much for me to bear. I had to get out.

I pulled Bobby forward, carefully unlocked and opened the front door, and quietly stepped out onto the front porch. Bobby followed me, down the steps and out onto the driveway. We were out.

But we didn’t have the keys.

“Is Wyatt hunting alligators too?” Bobby said.

“Sh! No one can hear us.”

“Sorry, Eden.”

“No . . . No, Wyatt’s not coming. We have to go into town.”

“Into town?” His eyes were as round as the moon. “How are we going into town?”

“With the truck.”

“You know how to drive the truck?”

“No. But you do, Bobby.”

Bobby had bragged on numerous occasions that Wyatt was giving him lessons on how to drive. I knew that these lessons consisted of nothing more than talking as they drove around, but that was far more instruction than I had. Our trip to sign the papers at the lawyer’s office had been my first drive in any vehicle since coming.

“I do?” Bobby said.

“I’ve never watched Wyatt, but you have. You’re going to tell me how.”

“I am?”

“Yes. But we need the keys.”

“I don’t have the keys.”

My mind raced. Where could he have put the keys? In the bedroom? If so, I would be hard pressed to get to them. Maybe he had an extra one somewhere.

“Does he keep a key in the truck?”

Bobby looked in the direction of the old truck, fifty yards from us, near the shack. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“How about in the shed? Or in the still house?”

He shrugged, doing that flicking thing he did with his thumb and forefinger. “We can ask Wyatt,” he said.

“No. Wyatt can’t know.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is a surprise.”

My mind was racing. Trying to drive the truck was going to be hard enough, but walking out would be nearly impossible. The dogs would give us away or attack us. If Kathryn discovered me now things would get even worse.

“We have to find the keys!” I snapped, now near a panic.

A plop at my feet startled and I spun, immediately thinking: frog or snake. But it wasn’t a reptile. It was Wyatt’s truck keys. Right there, on the ground a yard from me. How . . .

I spun back to the porch and saw how. Wyatt stood on the porch, watching us. A chill washed over me. We were caught! At any moment Kathryn would fill the open doorway behind him, wearing a scowl.

Only then did I realize that Wyatt didn’t appear to be upset. He stared at me, wearing a sad face, arms loose at his sides. For several long seconds, neither of us moved.

He wasn’t trying to stop me. And he’d just thrown us the keys.

With a single nod, he suddenly turned, stepped back into the house, and closed the door behind him.

I stared up at the porch, stunned by what I’d just seen. He was helping me. In his own way, he was telling me to leave. He didn’t have the courage to actually drive me away and he had to get back to bed before Kathryn woke up, but he was doing his best to help me, even if it meant that everything might go badly for him. At least this way, he could say I must have found the keys and gone on my own. That would be harder if he got caught helping us.

Either way he was helping me and that froze me up. How could I do this to Wyatt? If I went to the police, they might send him to prison—that’s what Mother had said.

Run, Eden. Run now!

I bent down, scooped up the keys, and ran. “Hurry!” I whispered.

Bobby tore after me, stumbling with an uneasy gait.

I reached the truck, threw the door open and jumped into the front seat, with Bobby panting by my left side, staring in through the open door. Now what?

“Get in, Bobby! The other side.”

I glanced back at the house as he hurried around the front of the truck. The porch was empty. But if Kathryn had woken, she would be out any moment.

Bobby slid into the front seat next to me.

I searched eagerly for the key hole in the darkness. “Where does it go?”

“There!” Bobby pointed a stubby finger at the column under the steering wheel.

Now . . . I wasn’t totally clueless as to how vehicles worked, naturally. I had six months of memory before being taken by Wyatt—but I was too young and too busy learning other things to have paid much attention to the precise mechanics of driving. And trucks weren’t the same as cars.

But I had some general ideas. Like inserting a key and twisting it to start the engine.

So that’s what I did.

The motor cranked and the truck lurched forward and I let out a little yelp.

“You have to push the clutch in,” Bobby said excitedly, pointing to the floor.

I stared at the three pedals at my feet, all within fairly easy reach.

“The clutch? Which one?”

“That one,” he fairly yelled.

“Not so loud, Bobby!” I whispered.

“Sorry. That one.”

I put my left foot on “that one” and pressed it to the floor.

“Now start it?”

“Yes.”

This time the engine cranked over a couple times and rumbled to life. Beside me, Bobby beamed, as if he himself had brought the truck to life. Ahead of me, the gravel driveway stretched into the night like a long gray snake.