Sanderson pulled out his gear and sorted through until he had everything packed the way that he wanted. And did it several times until he was satisfied. His cell phone had GPS and he asked Matt and Jake to hold out each of theirs while he twinned them together. That way each could pinpoint the other’s location. The phone was a satellite and he showed them the nifty hand-held crank that could provide enough power to a dead battery– enough for a five-minute Emergency call.
He carried fishing lures and a handful of twined fishing line in an Emergency pack. It also contained a piece of iron, a striker stone, waterproof matches and a compass. He pulled up on his cell the site for the area’s topographical map of the county showing the trails, swamps, mines and heights of the ridges and valleys. A glowing red dot indicated that they were in Oneonta, New York at the start of the Trail leading to and skirting the campus of Morrisville State college.
“No one’s going with you?” Matt asked.
“I can travel faster on my own. Any more people would just screw up the sign left by the boy. You said that he’s on a horse, correct? Hoof-prints.” He pointed to the circular depressions in the mud. “Unshod, large stride but not a large hoof.”
“The horse dealer said it was a Thoroughbred stud. A rogue that was being sent to the killers.”
Sanderson’s eyebrows rose. “And this kid managed to snatch it and ride it? What is he some kind of horse whisperer?”
“He’s riding? Not on foot?” Eachann questioned.
“No footprints next to the horse. Can’t tell by the depth of the prints if the rider is too light. We’re talking ten, eleven-years-old? He can’t weigh more than 45-50 pounds. Not enough to show.”
He didn’t say goodbye as he took off, but he did call over his shoulder. “I’ll let you know if and when I reach a road where you can catch up.” He disappeared into the trees.
*****
The sign read MOHAWK VALLEY MALL. It was 12 miles outside of Albany and best of all, surrounded by woods. There were a lot of dirt bike trails right up to where the parking lot started, and I’d never seen a mall as big as that one. The stores back home could have fit into one fourth of the place.
Bally and I skirted the area until we found a spot where I could tie him close enough for a quick escape but not so far that I couldn’t find him. Or someone else could. I tied him to a young maple, and he began to strip it of leaves, crunching away.
“I’m sorry you haven’t been able to graze, Bally,” I said. I patted his neck. “Maybe I can find a feed store, get you some oats or something.”
We hadn’t run into any more corn fields and even though he grazed at night, he needed more calories than what he could get out of the grass. I walked off and looked back. No one could see him unless they fell over him. I was willing to bet that he wouldn’t be as gentle with strangers than with me if they did find him.
From the trees to the front entrance was a good hike. The mall was huge with J.C. Penny’s, Macy’s, Sears, Men's Warehouse. Each large store made one of the four corners of an ‘X’ with a bunch of smaller stores in the arms.
I was afraid to use the credit card in too many places – a flurry of odd purchases would trigger an alert. I couldn’t take cash out unless I knew the pin number, the old people hadn’t left it out in a convenient spot for me to find. I figured I could hit a camping place for gear, dehydrated food and camping clothes. A tent, sleeping bag and cooking pans. A canteen and water purification tablets. I was pretty sure that there wouldn’t be a saddle shop inside the mall, and it would look funny if I had to carry a saddle through the parking lot. I had looked for a truck pulling a horse trailer but there hadn’t been one.
I found the food court and splurged on pizza slices and a Pepsi. The lady behind the counter took the card from me without batting an eye but she did ask where mom was. I pointed vaguely to a woman busy with two screaming toddlers throwing tantrums (and food) at a nearby table.
The card went through with no problems and I sat down near the screaming kids. Tuning out the noise, I devoured the first piece of cheese and savored the second of pepperoni. For the first time in a week, I was full, not thirsty, warm, not scared or pressed for time. I wasn’t cold, but it was soon apparent that I was too dirty and stinky even for a kid. Too many disapproving frowns from adults were directed my way.
I finished my lunch, threw away my paper plate and paper napkin in the trash and carried my Pepsi with me. I went looking for the outdoor sports store.
I prowled the aisles and the clerk followed me around, thinking that I was there just to look or maybe he thought I was shoplifting. He was a thin teenager but fit, dressed in Dockers and a nice Henley in blue. He wore Merrill’s on his feet. Dark hair, blue eyes and friendly even though he knew I was not a customer.
“Hey, dude. Where’s your Mom?”
“Victoria’s Secret,” I said, rolling my eyes. “She chased me out.”
“No kidding,” he laughed. “You just looking?”
“No. I need some stuff. My Dad is taking me camping…once he gets home, so Mom sent me here to get the stuff.” I named the items I wanted, and he didn’t move.
“How are you paying for it?”
“She gave me Dad’s credit card. American Express Platinum.” I showed him the plastic and he started to gather the items I had named.
“Righteous, dude. Top of the line stuff?”
“Lightest you can get. I have to carry it all myself.”
The sleeping bag was the most expensive, the pop-up dome tent almost as high but the moisture-wicking shirts, pants, jacket and socks added up to the highest total cost. I also added underwear, a canvas belt, boots and a backpack with a soft frame. He packed it all for me and frowned as he lifted it.
“You’re ten? Eleven and 50 lbs? You think you can carry thirty?”
“Dunno. Let me try.” He held to for me, so I could slide my arms through the straps and I nearly toppled over backward. I managed to walk as long as I leaned forward. As long as I didn’t stop, I could do it and besides, I only had to make it back to Ballycor. The card went through, the total made my eyes widen.
“Dude, your Dad is going scream at your Mom, Victoria Secret or not,” he laughed. “Don’t be bringing this back for a return refund.”
I scribbled the name on the slip and stared at the receipt. Between the camp store and my lunch, I had charged over eleven hundred bucks.
“Thanks,” I said and staggered out the door into the open aisles. Shoppers passed me in both directions, not as many as I would have expected but I guess more people shopped on line now than in malls.
“Say,” I said. Paused. “You know where I could find a feed store?”
“Like horse and cow feed? No. Maybe ask at the Western Wear Shop. Down that way.” He pointed toward Macy’s.
“Thanks.” I wanted to get a cell phone but was afraid that I could be tracked on one of the pre-paid ones. I bought a hand-held battery radio instead. It promised to pick up police, fire and weather alerts, too. That way I could keep up with the hunt for me and hear the cop comments on whether they were close to spotting me.
I managed to snag a shopping cart out in the parking lot. By contorting myself, I was able to slip the straps off and dump the backpack into the metal cart. Pushing the load was much easier than trying to carry it, especially when I reached the dirt trails. They were rocky and wide enough for the cart and it was only when I went off-trail that I had to abandon the cart and carry the heavy load to Ballycor.
It took me awhile to figure out the easiest and most balanced way to tie it on him. Without a saddle, it wasn’t easy and tended to slip down his neck and side to dangle near his legs. It irritated him, and he tried to strike at it, nearly knocking me on my butt. Once I was on his back, I could hold it in place but after a few minutes, my arms got tired and cramped on me.
Frustrated, I nearly cried and wound up putting it back on me, but that poked him in the back. He didn’t like it one bit and humped a few times, nearly bucking me into the dirt. I compromised by bending the aluminum frame in half and laying it over his withers, using the sleeping bag to cushion the boniest part of his spine. He responded by not bucking me off or trying to bite me.
Sure, that it was going to stay in place and me with it, I laid the reins against the side of his neck and started him walking on the nearest trail.
There was one main path that had seen more travel than others, well-worn with both tire marks and footprints. It seemed to be heading in the same direction that I wanted so we followed.
To my utter surprise, we weren’t alone. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a small figure of a young kid standing at the junction of two paths, wearing what looked to be a new suit. But not one from my generation, it looked old. Maybe from the 1800’s and I knew who he was. I didn’t have to stop Ballycor, he did that on his own, his ears pointed straight at the kid.
“Crispin,” I said. I was afraid. He did not look as he had before – he now looked sick. Deathly sick, unhealthy. His face was gray, dark bruises under his eyes and circling his neck.
“Cris,” he said to me. He raised a hand to stroke the stallion’s neck. “Don’t go that way.”
I turned Bally around. “Which way, then?”
“Follow me,” he said. We did. Through the woods and off-trail. We stayed off any defined paths, he took us through the thickest part of the forest until I was totally lost and the only guess I had as to our direction was the moss on the trees. We were heading South, southwest. As we walked, he told me of the last moments of his life and the story of his death. He told me of the parts that he had not written in his journal – because he had been murdered. He told me how and that his Dad had killed himself rather than live out the remainder of his life without his son.
“He shot himself?” I pulled Ballycor to a halt in my distress. “Oh, Crispin! I’m so sorry. Do you see him? Now? I mean, is he a ghost? Like you?”
Crispin shook his head in sorrow. “Suicides cannot ascend nor can those of us who are murdered and bound to this earth as spirits see them. I haven’t seen my Dad since he killed himself, back in 1833.”
“That sucks. How do we get your…spirit to go to heaven?”
“You would do that for me?” he asked. He seemed like the kid he had been and not a spirit that had been around for two-hundred years.
“Sure. Just tell me what I gotta do,” I answered him.
“Bring my murderer to justice.”
I stared at him. “But he died two-hundred years ago!”
“That’s why it’s not so easy, why I’ve been stuck here all this time.” He started walking again and I nudged Bally after him.
“Where are we headed?”
“There’s a riding stable about ten miles from here. A group of people are traveling cross-country by horseback and Wagon Train in a re-enactment. You’ll be able to blend in, stable Ballycor, feed him and yourself as well as find a safe, warm place to sleep.
“In the morning, you can ride out with them, travel as far as Maryland.”
“Won’t these people recognize me as a stranger?” I asked.
“No. Local people join the train for a token set of miles through their home towns. You’ll just be another horse and rider. You will have to keep the stallion quiet – no one will allow a stud on the trip so if they find out, they’ll throw you off the train.”
“He’ll behave,” I promised.
“I’ll help you, too. Keep other people away from you. One thing – dogs don’t like me. They can sense me, and it scares them. Spooks some horses, too,” he added.
“Any people ever see you? Besides me. Like mediums?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I really haven’t been too far from where my journal was hidden. I didn’t haunt where I was killed, just the attic of the Hall and the stairwells. No one ever saw me. A few sensed me, a few were scared but you were the first child to see me. I’ve never been seen by an adult.”
“Why? Because we have the same name? I’m not related to you?”
He shook his head. “I think…because you’re me. Born again to relive my life and make things right for me and my Dad.”
“I hate my Dad,” I spat.
“I think all of us have been born many times before and we need to make things right,” he said softly. “I’ve seen a man following you. He cares deeply about you. I’ve seen the other man and he reminds me of the one who wanted me dead. He’s looking for you. He is dark-haired with dark eyes and he rides in a white wagon that runs without horses. He wears a badge, too.”
“My Dad,” I whispered. “And those wagons are called cars. Trucks. My Dad has a pickup truck. You won’t let him find me? He beat mom and me. We ran away from him, on the bus when it crashed. Because of him, mom died.”
“If you don’t break the circle, it will just keep happening. Through every lifetime we live and die, Cris.”
I set my lips, faced forward and ignored him until we had ridden the ten miles. I found the equestrian center on a back road that was covered with trucks and trailers, people walking and horses of every color, breed and sex. The wagons had been parked, the horses unhitched, stabled and fed. We were shown a box stall and a place to lay my sleeping bag before I was called for supper.