Roland did some stretching. The last twenty-four hours had been so relaxed that he was afraid of being rusty. If he couldn’t count on his speed if he was pinched, then he would blame himself forever.
He wasn’t the smartest, he wasn’t the most handsome, he wasn’t the nicest, but he was without a doubt the sharpest and most resourceful. And he claimed it loud and clear.
Erma piled up their possessions―their meagre possessions―in the two biggest bags. She stuffed the utilities―knives, tissues, towels―in the bags and securely strapped them to her little brother. The idea: they would post her and Adam near the sunflower field, near the edge of a small pine wood that would allow them to hide from a possible pursuer. If Roland alerted them screaming, it would mean that the farmer had caught him
