Unstoppable Read Free Page B

snake.
    Harrison’s new status seemed to include sitting up front in the truck. He leaned his head against the glass without feeling the bumps and bangs, even as they climbed the hole-filled driveway to the farm.
    Mr. Constable slowed down by the barn. “Chores.”
    â€œWhat about school?” Harrison asked.
    â€œYou’re excused for court.”
    â€œBut we’re done.”
    Mr. Constable reached across the seat and grabbed a handful of Harrison’s trimmed hair at the back of his head, twisting it until his head thumped sideways against the dashboard. Mr. Constable moved his face close, also tilting it so they both looked at the world in the same knocked-over way. “You’re done givin’ me lip, you understand?”
    Harrison nodded his head.
    â€œSay it.”
    â€œI understand.”
    â€œI understand, sir.”
    â€œI understand . . . sir.”
    Mr. Constable turned him free. Harrison spilled from the truck, tripped, and fell to the ground.
    â€œChores.” Mr. Constable reached across the seat and yanked the door shut. Harrison sat dusting himself off as the truck pulled away toward the house.
    He didn’t know all the reasons why Mr. Constable wanted to adopt him, but he knew without a doubt that it would somehow end in the Constables getting more money from some charity or government program. He knew all the kids on the farm had started out as foster kids, only to be adopted by the Constables for some unspoken reason. While they didn’t seem to mind, Harrison had never—and would never—stop thinking of Melinda Johnson as his one and only true mother. He would no more think of himself as Harrison Constable than he would as Mud Johnson, let alone Mud Constable.
    Cyrus’s switch whistled through the air and snapped against the barn door. “I heard ‘chores’ mentioned. I’m busy with the vet. I need hay for the calves and I need it now.”
    Without speaking, Harrison got to his feet and headed for the hay barn. He loaded several bales onto a wheelbarrow and bounced it across the barnyard to where the veal calves sat tied to the little plastic capsules that kept them out of the rain. With a pitchfork, he broke down the bales and scattered hay at the feet of each calf.
    Finished, he put the pitchfork over his shoulder and headed for the noise in the milk barn. When he arrived, he saw Cyrus and the vet down in the parlor working on a cow whose head had been clamped down between some bars. The cow was having a calf, but something had gone wrong and the men shouted and hurried back and forth. Mr. Constable stood at the railing above, looking down with a stem of grass in his teeth. He turned and scowled at Harrison.
    â€œI said ‘chores.’”
    â€œI finished feeding the calves.” Harrison couldn’t help but notice the cow’s violent kick and the vet’s quick movement to dodge it.
    â€œNo, you’re lying again.”
    Harrison’s face felt hot. “I’m not lying. I finished.”
    Mr. Constable pointed behind Harrison at the box stalls where they kept sick animals. “Them two sick calves ain’t fed yet. Lying again. I said I won’t have it, and I won’t.”
    Mr. Constable started to loosen his belt.
    â€œNo.” Harrison shook his head.
    â€œNo? I’ll show you, no.”
    â€œ You lied!” Harrison surprised himself as the shout rose above the braying cow and the excited men, who both looked up from the parlor. “You said for me to call you ‘Papa.’ That’s a lie !”
    Mr. Constable’s belt whipped out at him—not the leather part, but the buckle itself, a treat only for the most special occasions. When it licked Harrison’s forehead, blood spurted from his skin and one eye went dark.
    Harrison wasn’t exactly sure what happened after that. He knew he used the pitchfork, and he heard Mr. Constable scream in pain