Wilder Boys: Chapters 5–9

As always, they bantered with Mr. Polanachek, the driver, and he wished them a good summer—but the events of the previous night were never far from their minds.

As he turned onto their block, Jake spotted two police cars and an ambulance parked outside their house, surrounded by a crowd of neighbors, policemen, and medical personnel.

But just then, the house door swung open. Two men wearing blue EMT uniforms came down the front steps. Between them, they carried a gurney.

Bull gave them a grim smile. “You say what you want. I’m goin’ to the hospital, but I’ll be back in a little while, and then we’re going to have a talk....”

With that, Bull walked to the ambulance and climbed in, fixing the boys with a cruel stare. Jake and Taylor silently looked on as one of the paramedics closed the rear doors and walked around to the front seat.

As soon as the ambulance drove out of sight, a small crowd of police and neighbors swirled around Jake and Taylor. Some, like Mrs. Sanchez, offered their condolences.

I don’t know if she’ll survive, he thought with a pang.

“There's nothing we can do for her,” he said to Taylor. “But one thing I know is she wouldn’t want Bull—or social services—to be in charge of us.”
Taylor just nodded, too shocked and bewildered to argue.

The phone was a disposable one with a fixed number of minutes on it.

Quicker than the big dog, Cody dodged to the side, nipped at the Doberman’s flank, and ran past him in the opposite direction.

The boys hurried away from the rail yards along a canal, where homeless people had set up shacks of cardboard, corrugated iron, plywood, and even canvas.

Some of the shacks were occupied, and a few of the grizzled faces nodded at the boys as they passed, but no one bothered them.

Jake slept fitfully, at one moment dreaming of his mom, then the dad he barely knew, and then the nightmarish image of Bull floated in front of him, taunting him.

“No-good trespassers!” the man bellowed.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” said Jake, panic making his voice waver. “We’ve got to be more careful from now on."

Taylor looked at Jake in alarm and curled his hand around Cody’s muzzle.

The bell rang, and the driver downshifted, the bus lurching to a halt.

They hurried over to the truck stop—a sprawling acre of pavement with more than two dozen gas pumps and a large central building.

With an annoyed grimace, the woman dumped the groceries into two plastic bags.

“And if he isn’t, you're going to try to make some trouble for him, right?” the truck driver—Sharon—answered. “I swear, since your divorce, you’ve been more ornery than a rabid possum.”

“And if he isn’t, you're going to try to make some trouble for him, right?” the truck driver—Sharon—answered. “I swear, since your divorce, you’ve been more ornery than a rabid possum.”

Cody in tow, they walked across the sea of asphalt until they came to a large eighteen-wheeler. “This is yours?” Taylor asked, awestruck.

Cody in tow, they walked across the sea of asphalt until they came to a large eighteen-wheeler. “This is yours?” Taylor asked, awestruck.

Jake let his brother do most of the talking, while he sat, riveted, by the ever-changing landscape.

Sharon stared hard at her coffee cup. "Yep. A buncha times. The courts took my kids away and sent me to the state penitentiary for two years....”