Running Scared Read Online Free PDF Page A

wildly at the cave ceiling as if he could punch it with his fists. Although Jack didn’t understand Spanish, there was one word he could make out—“no.” Whatever the man was saying, Consuela was arguing against.
    For some reason, Sam had shrunk to the end of the bench, pressing himself close to Jack as though he were trying to get as far away as possible from Consuela.
    â€œHey, move over,” Jack told him. “You’re crowding me.”
    Sam moved about an inch, then slid down on the bench until his chin almost touched the tabletop. What is with this kid? Jack wondered impatiently. He was about to ask when Consuela tapped the face of her wristwatch, apparently telling the Hispanic couple that she had to go, because at the same time she got up and gestured to the kids. She looked regretfully at her uneaten chicken strips, then took them over to the trash bin with all the rest of the debris from the table, saying, “We have to move or you’ll miss the tour. The last one of the day will start in ten minutes.”
    â€œYou know, if we miss it, we don’t have to tour Left Hand Tunnel,” Ashley suggested. “We could just walk through the Big Room. That’s a self-guided tour, isn’t it?”
    â€œNuh-uh!” Sam insisted. “L-Left Hand Tunnel.”
    â€œWhy?” Ashley demanded. “That’s all you’ve talked about ever since we got here. What is so important about Left Hand Tunnel?”
    â€œB-because.” Sam took a deep breath and managed to get the whole sentence out without stammering. “It’s about people like me.”
    â€œYou mean stutterers?” Ashley asked uncertainly.
    â€œNo.” Sam looked disdainful as he raised his hand and wiggled his fingers. “L-l-lefties. Southpaws.” He pretended to throw an imaginary baseball with his left hand.
    Consuela, Jack, and Ashley were so surprised that for a moment none of them could think of anything to say. Then Consuela murmured, “That’s a great reason to visit Left Hand Tunnel. I’ll go check with the ranger.”
    Should Jack explain to Sam that the tunnel wasn’t named for left-handed people? Or just let him go on thinking that it had been? Sometimes Sam seemed a whole lot younger than his eight years. Like now, when once more he kept clinging to Jack’s arm.
    â€œHey, what’s with you?” Jack asked him. “Why are you hanging on me like a leech? Are you afraid of this place because it’s dark?”
    Sam shook his head, and motioned for Jack to lean down so he could whisper. When Jack did, Sam muttered, “She’s on d-d-drugs.”
    â€œYour mother?” Jack answered. “Yes, I know that, and I’m sorry.”
    But Sammy shook his head. “No. C-C-C—” Unable to finish the word, he just pointed to Consuela’s retreating figure.
    â€œConsuela?” Jack exclaimed. “Don’t be crazy.”
    â€œI saw!” Sam insisted. Finding it easier to pantomime than speak, he went through the motions of injecting his arm with a needle, then pointed again to Consuela.
    â€œWhat’s he saying?” Ashley asked.
    â€œHe’s trying to tell us he saw Consuela shooting up with heroin or something.”
    â€œOh, Sammy, that’s insane,” Ashley declared, also bending down to his eye level. “Consuela’s a nice lady with a grandson about your age. She’s no druggie. I’m sure it must be hard on you to know that your mother takes drugs, but you can’t go around thinking that every other woman you meet does the same thing. Consuela’s really sweet. Didn’t you notice how nice she was to those Hispanic people who wouldn’t even let her eat her lunch?”
    â€œShe did it b-b-before that. When you were getting the s-s-stuff. I saw!”
    â€œWell, I didn’t see anything.” Jack said.
    â€œNeither did I. You’re just plain wrong,