The Alex Crow by Andrew Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

Depending on how long I’d actually been inside that refrigerator, there were probably dozens of videos that had already been posted on the internet assigning blame to any imaginable party. And everyone knows whichever video scores the largest number of hits would be the one that tells the true story, right?
    So I went with Thaddeus.
    We rode in the open back of a dusty troop carrier with nine other soldiers. Our truck drove in a convoy of military vehicles, some of which towed weapons that looked like missile launchers. Although there was a metal frame to support a canvas covering for our truck’s bed, there was no tent, so we all sat there exposed to the heat, dust, and sun. The men were so tired they slept in the rattling bed, slumped over wherever they fit. The soldiers lay atop coiled serpents of ammunition—bands of oily bullets as long as my forearm. The men were uninterested in me, or how I’d come to be there dressed as I was.
    But Thaddeus was nice to me. He’d told me that he had two sons at home, and he promised me that everything would work out for me now that I was safe and away from the village. He shared his water and food with me.
    In the afternoon we rode through another small city. I did not know the place; I had never been there. But when the convoy drove down the main avenue, the people lined the street and crowded the balconies above to watch us. It was so quiet, or maybe it was just that any sound the people may have been making was drowned out by the clank and roar of our convoy.
    Young men followed along on motorbikes and scooters, or they ran like snakes along the crowded sidewalks, as though it were a sort of festive parade, and this was the best thing that had happened in memory.
    From time to time jets flew by, low in the sky overhead. We could hear the explosions from the missiles they fired miles ahead of us, beyond flat farmland and low mountains.
    That night we slept outside on a dirt road that ran through a sesame field.
    I woke sometime in the darkest part of the night. There was no moon, only stars. I didn’t know it, but Thaddeus had been sitting next to me, watching me as I slept. He’d given me a blanket to lie on, and it was so warm that I was damp with sweat.
    â€œAre you all right?” Thaddeus asked.
    â€œYes. It’s hot, and I’m not very tired.”
    â€œCan I tell you something?” he said.
    â€œSure.”
    â€œIt’s not a good thing,” Thaddeus said, “but I feel I need to tell somebody. And I think you’re the person to say it to.”
    â€œWhy me?”
    Thaddeus shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the white suit.”
    â€œIt’s not as white as it was when I put it on,” I said.
    â€œNo matter,” Thaddeus said.
    He scooted toward my blanket and leaned close, so he could whisper. “When I was a boy—I was—how old are you?”
    â€œFourteen.”
    â€œYou’re fourteen?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI thought you were just a baby.”
    â€œMaybe it’s the white suit,” I said.
    Thaddeus nodded. “When I was nine years old, my mother became very sick with cancer. She was dying. It was terribly slow and ugly to witness. My father never talked to me about it. Not one time did he ask me how I was feeling, or what I was thinking about. Do you know?”
    â€œI think so.”
    â€œI was so angry about everything, but my father never spoke to me about it.”
    â€œIt must have been sad. I don’t have any parents, and now my aunt and my uncle—”
    â€œYes. Maybe that’s why I need to say this.” Thaddeus leaned toward my shoulder. His breath was hot as he whispered. “We had a small dog then. His name was Pipo.”
    â€œThat’s a good name.”
    â€œI was so mad about everything. Outside our house, there were fields of wheat growing. One morning, I took Pipo into the field and dug a deep hole.