Time after time Jimmy drew diagrams in the dirt. Were they accurate? He scrubbed them out and pounded his fist on the concrete. Happy Birthday, he thought sarcastically. With that, he pushed himself to his feet and started running again. He had to find a way out of town—a station, a boat, a bicycle even. Anything.
The one thing on his side was that there was hardly anybody about. He imagined that in the summer the town must be busy, but it was too early in the year for beach lovers.
With sirens still tearing at his ears, he wormed his way through the town. At last he glimpsed the sleek silver body of a bus. The last passengers were climbing aboard, then the engine spluttered into life in a cloud of dust.
Jimmy dived to the ground. He rolled over three times, so quickly that at any one moment he couldn’t tell whether he was facing the sky or the road. He caught the exhaust of the bus to stop himself abruptly. The fumes stung the roof of his mouth and the metal was growing hotter by the second, but Jimmy clung on. Eventually, he manoeuvred himself into a fairly stable position beneath the bus.
The noise and the heat drowned out the rest of the world. He was going to make it out of Port O’Connor. But Jimmy knew his struggle for survival was just beginning.
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