Listening for the police, he gathered his belongings as quickly as he could. Shame made his hands tremble. It wasn’t at all like it was in the movies, and Clark couldn’t get the sound out of his head.
He’d had run-ins with the law in the past, of course. Setting fires was frowned on, even if the fires were accidental, and no one had believed him.
No one had ever believed him, and they weren’t going to believe him about this. For all he knew, this could be something worse than a few broken ribs. A punctured lung, a blood clot…anything could go wrong, and if it did, it would all be laid at his feet.
At the very least, his time at this foster home was done. At the most, he’d be tried as an adult and spend years in jail.
He packed faster. In jail, it would only be a matter of time before they discovered just how different he was. His father had warned him before he died about being dissected like a frog. What use were human rights if you weren’t even human?
The last of his possessions fit in his school backpack; it was a depressingly small amount, but he’d learned to pack light over the last five years. You never knew when something would happen and you’d have to leave yet another foster family.
It was better to never get attached. He should have learned by now, but he’d let his guard down here of all places. These were good people, and he’d let himself relax.
He zipped the backpack and looked around the spare room to see if there was anything he’d missed.
This was the first room he’d had to himself in five years, instead of having to share with others, and Clark was surprised at the pang of regret as he looked over the small room. He’d miss this place, these people. They’d treated him like a human being, which was more than he could say of most.
Shouldering his backpack, he glanced outside. A Wichita police cruiser was pulling up to the front of the house, and while its lights were not running, Clark stiffened. The familiar Child protective services sedan was pulling up behind.
This incident wouldn’t just get Clark incarcerated. It would trigger an investigation of the Goodman family. Clark felt another wave of shame and guilt wash over him.
The thought of turning himself in flashed through his mind, but it was overcome by the thought of being dissected. While it was reasonable that he should pay for his crime, it wasn’t fair for him to have to give up his entire life.
Clark turned and stepped out onto the landing. He could hear the door to the police cruiser open even as he took the stairs downwards two at a time.
He had been faster than a normal person even at ten; by the time the two policemen had reached the front door, he was already through the gate leading into the alley.
***************
He had to get out of the city. Even with his abilities, he doubted he could outrun a police cruiser, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to outrun a police helicopter. While Wichita had more than a quarter million people, it wouldn’t be hard to find a fifteen year old during the school day. Despite his experiences in the foster care system, Clark didn’t know all that much about being homeless.
It’d be easy for the police to find him at a homeless shelter, or a bread line. Clark hadn’t exactly made friends in his previous foster placements, and even if he had, those were the first places the police would look.
He had to go where no one knew him.
He couldn’t go back to Smallville. He hadn’t been there in five years, but it was a small town. People would remember him, and it would only be a matter of time before someone called Child Protective services. It wouldn’t be long after that before the police showed up.
He’d have to go to a large city, where homelessness was common, and no one cared about people on the streets. Once he was a little older, he’d be able to get work and start a life for himself on his own. Assuming no one had died, the statute of limitations would pass in a few years and he’d be able to stop looking over his shoulder.
In the meantime, he had to keep his head low.
Thirty dollars wasn’t going to get him far. The police would be looking at the bus lines anyway, even if he’d been able to afford a bus ticket.
It occurred to him to wonder if he was exaggerating the extent of the manhunt that would be after him. In his mind every police cruiser out there would be looking for him, but perhaps he was exaggerating. Maybe the injuries were lighter than he’d thought and no one would recognize him.
He paused for a moment; he wasn’t sure how far he’d run, but the sounds of dogs barking in the distance behind him, upset by the sounds of his passage through the alley was a sign that he had to get out of residential areas.
Gasping for breath, he shook his head. He couldn’t afford to believe the best case scenario. If he stayed in town, he’d never be able to relax again, and if he was wrong, he’d be easy to catch.
Hitching a ride in town would get him caught. He didn’t have the money for a bus. He felt trapped. It wasn’t like he could run hundreds of miles without being caught sooner or later.
In the distance he heard the low, mournful sound of a train whistle, and he started. He turned his head, and for the first time this evening, he found himself relaxing.
**************
It was odd, but he felt even more exposed here than he had back home. At least in the residential districts he could have made an excuse; his house was around the corner, or he was going to visit a friend.
Here, though, was a neighborhood where no one had an excuse to be out after dark. In many ways it looked like a place where no one had been in a long time. The buildings were old and weren’t well maintained. Pain was faded and the street lights weren’t well maintained. There were large swathes of darkness which could hold anything.
It wasn’t just the police Clark had to worry about anymore, and he felt himself tensing. The thought of confronting someone, anyone was terrifying.
He’d already hurt one person tonight; the thought of hurting anyone else was overwhelming.
Luckily, he could hear the sounds of the train engines in the distance. They wouldn’t have been audible to anyone with normal human hearing, but they were only three blocks away, and to him, they were as clear as though he’d been standing next to him.
He almost didn’t hear the three men coming up the alley; he was so relieved to hear the trains. He pulled back into the darkness, his heart pounding as they carried something under a tarp to a waiting pickup truck.
Clark froze and almost didn’t breathe as one of the men opened the cab of the vehicle. The additional light from the cab might make it easier for the men to see him.
He stepped backward and stumbled on a can.
One of the men looked up sharply. “Did you hear something, Marco?”
The second man peered out into the darkness, blinking. The light had apparently ruined his night vision though, and Clark remained completely still until the man finally turned away.
Clark could tell from their body language that they weren’t supposed to be here. His conscience pricked at him; his parents would have been ashamed of him for letting criminals get away. In Smallville, neighbors helped neighbors, even if that wasn’t true in the rest of the world.
There wasn’t anything he could do about it; he didn’t dare risk confronting them. Letting a thief get away was better than hurting or even killing one.
Still…
Clark stared at the tires of the pickup, and a moment later the first tire blew. A moment after that, the second tire blew as well. It was likely that the men only had one spare, so Clark felt safe with the idea they weren’t going anywhere for a while.
By the time they had all pulled out of the truck, he was already lo0ng gone.
***********
It was an open, empty flatcar, and the wind whipped past Clark at sixty miles an hour. He huddled on the cold floor of the car, and he knew that he’d have been in serious trouble if he’d been merely human. The night was already cold, and with the wind pulling away any heat that he generated, even he found himself shivering a little.
Some of it wasn’t physical. Clark stared sightlessly out into the darkness, the lights of one community off into the darkness to the right.
Clark’s geography wasn’t the best, but he suspected that he was seeing the lights of Smallville off in the distance. He’d been so numb when he left that he hadn’t really appreciated everything he’d lost.
It wasn’t just his parents; Smallville was a community, a place where people cared about and took care of each other.
Foster care was a just a place where children went to be warehoused until they turned eighteen. If they were lucky they found moments of affection, but more often not.
Clark couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him in an affectionate way. Even the Goodman family, as wonderful as they had been had been careful to avoid casual touch. Too many of their charges had issues with being touched. Too many had been abused in ways that didn’t go away.
He didn't know where he was going, and he didn't really care. Huddling in the dark, he felt truly lost. He was fifteen years old, but it felt like his life was already over.
The wind took his tears as quickly as they were formed.
