PAGE 3/4 Name:

MISSING PERSON REPORTED BY Address: Contact Number:

(636) 900-8043

Summerland, Greg T.

4516 Executive Center Pkwy St. Charles, MO 63301

Reporting Persons Narrative The subject was last seen on June 22, 2001, at his
residence of 7 Elmwood Park, St. Charles, MO 63301. Subject left after a brief domestic argument at approximately 22:00 hours. Most likely traveling by foot, the subject is highly resourceful, with varying levels of military and tactical operations training. Approach with caution, and restrain if located. Subject was last seen wearing olive green cargo pants, tan crew neck shirt, black boots, and black bomber jacket: no distinguishing marks, or tattoos. Local intelligence believes that the boy is still in the vicinity and traveling with a young girl, eleven years old, with long blonde hair. The girl, Allison Arrowynn, responds to Alli (see attached for recent photos.) Local authorities and D.N.A. Agents want both subjects apprehended for information regarding the whereabouts of local terrorists. Contact authorities immediately if subject is located.

Reporting Officer:
Summerland, Greg T.

Date Reported:
June 24, 2001

Chapter 18 June 24th, 2001 Allison finished off the last of the Pops cereal, making sure that every last ounce of honey and cinnamon was scrapped from the bowl and onto her spoon. She crunched, while Marshal ratcheted the support ropes tighter around their motorcycle sitting atop the two A-frames. They didnt have a choice. Theyd have to use Bills bike as their new frame. Surprisingly, Marshal was more upset about tearing apart Bills motorcycle than Allison. It would be less than the perfect frame, Marshal had grumbled. Tuff, was all Allison could offer. As Marshal began loosening the bolts of the rear tire, Allison thought this would be the perfect time to ask, do you feel like a motorcycle? What? Marshal asked without looking up. Allison swallowed, and asked again without a mouth full of cereal, do you think of yourself as a motorcycle, like a bunch of little pieces you have to put together? I heard you, he said straining while removing the shocks, I just dont get what youre asking. You know; you have all those badges. Do you think if you get enough badges youll be complete or whatever? Like if you have enough motorcycle parts, you have a whole motorcycle: if you have enough people parts, you have a whole person, sort-a?

Marshal didnt know how to answer, and he hated questions without answers; it was the last thing he needed to add to the stack of questions he already had on his plate. So with his pry bar in hand, he continued to remove the tire. Whats your point? I mean whats the point of your question?

Lifting the frame up to allow Marshal to easily remove the tire, Allison knew exactly why she was asking, but answered with, just asking. Well, setting the tire on the ground under the bike, when you ask a question, the point is to get information. So what does it matter if I feel like a motorcycle? Allison shrugged and stepped around the bike to help remove the front tire, because, well, I just want to know what you think. Yeah, but why? Do you always answer a question with another question? Allison huffed out.

That got him. Marshal knew that if there were a mirror on hand, hed have seen someone elses reflection a few questions ago. He knew the frustration of not getting straight answers, exaggerated by the train whistle somewhere outside the barn. A Scout is Honest. I just dont know how to answer, Marshal sighed out at the floor. Oh. Well, how do you see yourself? With a mirror? Ha, but no. Like if I were to say Marshal is a what? Look we have a lot of work he caught himself, I dont know; Im twelve, Im a man, Im a Scout Im simple. How do you see yourself? Allison started pacing toward the western wall and back to the bike; what about on the inside? She didnt expect Marshal to be terribly helpful, but who else was there? On the inside? Allison could hear Marshals voice straining, frustrated, but still trying; I got my brain, and I got guts.

The girls eyes lit up; and heart? Marshal picked the pry bar back up and locked eyes with Allison. He quickly broke contact, but shrugged out a casual, well, yeah of course. Allison smiled softly and helped Marshal lift the tire up, and lower it to the ground. Her smile quickly faded. Maybe brains, and guts, and hearts were all common though? They were common; and they werent the missing piece Allison was looking for. There had to be something more on the inside. --Another night, and another scavenger hunt for a laundry list of things Marshal said they needed. The moon was obscured by fat storm clouds grazing about on the horizon again. The wind kept picking up and dying down in quick and elusive bursts. How much further, Allison asked as they hiked across the empty field. See those lights up ahead? Why cant we just break into Garner Properties again? Not worth the risk. Even if Tom didnt tell anyone we were there, it will look like were moving away from where we actually are if we borrow from somewhere else. How do you know? It was in a book I read. You really like to read, huh? Marshal turned and cracked a smile; its just something inside me I guess.

Making sure the coast was clear, the pair ran across Taussing Road towards an unlit all-weather-track. They crisscrossed through sprinklers and hurdled over puddles of

mud that checkered the field between the lanes. Swiftly, Marshal removed the tension wrench and metal pick from his cargo pants pocket and slid them into the side door of West Middle School. Allison stood by, watching Marshal, watching the field, and watching for whoever seemed to be after them. Do you think youd go back to school? What do you mean? Marshal stopped, looking up at Allison, I never really thought about it till now. I dont know, maybe. As Marshal returned to his work, Allison continued on while scanning the field; Ive just been thinking a lot about what comes after this. Comes after what? We build a jet, we find my mom, and we leave somewhere; what do we do when we get there? Its not like everything goes back to normal, right? Marshal heard the pop of the last cylinder and turned the lock; Ill let that be your job to figure out. Right now, Im just.

Allison followed Marshal down the empty hall. Her sneakers squeaked along the polished floor, and Marshals boots clomped as they came across a door marked Shop Class. Are you going to- Allison fell short, caught her breath and pretended nothing had even escaped her mouth. Am I going to what? Nothing. Marshal looked at Allison who immediately looked down to her shoes. You know, after all of this?

Allison pushed past Marshal and into the shop, looking down to the scrap of paper she was given earlier. What the hell was a 6 Plunge Saw anyway? Searching through the shelves, Allison stopped as she felt Marshals presence standing beside her. What? She asked, eyes still on the shelf. After all this, well still be a team, okay? Allison kept her eyes focused on the search and not on her ice water veins turning lukewarm. She nodded her head quickly; grabbing what the label on the side of the saw told her was exactly what shed been looking for. If only everything else was so easy to decipher. She was thankful Marshal didnt probe her response any further. A Scout is loyal. --Their packs were sufficiently full of whatever the hell it was they were supposed to get. Power cords, screws and nails, hammers and clamps; and as heavy as their backpacks got, it still didnt seem to be enough to escape. It felt like dead weight. On the other side of the road, Allison kept glancing over at the gas station. Her stomach turned. It knew breakfast would probably be just canned tuna, again. Hey, you wanna get something to eat, Allison asked.

Marshal looked back to the girl trying to smile. He didnt know for certain, but felt it would be too much of a risk. Still, he knew Allison was probably going to be sick of tuna. After all A Scout is courteous. Okay, but youll have to follow my lead.

They had set their packs down in the bushes on the other side of the Proucht Farm Road before they walked into the gas station parking lot. With every passing car over the 370 Freeway behind them, Marshals heart skipped a beat, increased in rate, and caused his iris to fully expanded. He took everything in with a hyper sense of awareness. Three lights were out in the lot, two telephones hung off their receivers, and only one other car sat at the pumps; rusted brown minivan, out-of-state-plates, dented fender. We have to hurry, Marshal said under his breath. You said act casual. You can be fast and casual. They pushed open the door, the bell jingling, and the hum of florescent lights buzzing at an unnaturally high decibel. Allison immediately went for the candy isle, grabbing a fist full of Starbursts. Marshal was more conservative: gallon of water, large bag of mixed unsalted nuts, and a box of Pops Cereal. The Scout was doing the math in his head, adding Allisons candy to the actual food he had gathered. He had just enough. A Scout is Thrifty. All the while, Marshal kept a close eye on the owner of the Minivan deciding what beer would go best with his driving. The answer was none, but it seemed the bearded gentleman needed a bit longer to come to that conclusion. Allison came gliding up to him, and whispered, get milk this time. We dont have anything to keep it cold. Its cold enough outside. Lets go, Marshal said, swiftly walking towards the counter. Wait, one more-

Allison, Marshal said, the last syllable dropping down as his mother used to have to do with him. The bearded man had settled on Coors Light, and was exactly the same amount of steps away from the counter as Marshal. Taking half as many steps to close the gap, Marshal quickly put his items on the counter. There was an exchange of glances, the storeowner to Marshal, and Marshal to the bearded man. Im sorry, you can go first if you want? Oh, no thats just fine son, you go on ahead. Matter of fact, think Ill go ahead and try that Stella Rosa. Allison put her things on the counter as well; adding a newspaper, nail clippers, scissors, toilet paper, and a bar of soap. The shop owner had a low drawl to his voice, taking his time ringing up the items; you all just get back from camping? Well, were always camping, Marshal answered. The man behind the counter crinkled his forehead and turned over to the bearded man heading back over to the counter, and the beer too? Another exchange of looks: before the man with his beer could respond, Marshal jumped in, oh, thats okay Ill get these, placing a twenty on the counter. Nice boy, knowin how to handle his own money, the cashier grumbled out. Sure is. How old are you, son? Asked the bearded man. The cashier raised an eyebrow, curious why the man wouldnt know how old his own son was. Marshal grabbed the bags off the counter, and waited for his change. Deep breath, and an exaggerated sigh exhaled as Marshal turned to the bearded man with a smile: never to young to start being responsible. Come on Roxy, race you to the car.

Allison didnt miss a beat, I call shotgun, Austin. They kept up the act as they ran out the doors and into the parking lot. Playfully shoving their way towards the minivan parked all the way down by pump eight, pretending for a moment they were still children. Looking over her shoulder, Allison noted, he can still see us. Run to the front of the van, and wait. They both caught their breath, ducking down behind the front bumper. He raised an eye brow at Allison who was all smiles to ask her, whats so funny? She shook her long blonde mane, which meant, Ill tell you later. Back at the convenient store, a pair of worn cowboy boots lumbered out towards the minivan. Allisons eyes grew wide, what do we do now? Marshal motioned to the dumpster about twenty yards in front of them, drawing a hook shape in the palm of his hand. Allison nodded and gathered the bags. They counted one, two andRunning while crouched over was difficult with grocery bags, but less so when adrenaline was pumping through their bodies like a stampede of wild horses. They put their backs up against the dumpster, panting, waiting for the sound of the minivan ignition. After a minute or two, they saw headlights shine past them. The light got closer, and closer. All of a sudden Marshal felt an extra rush of adrenaline, and warmth, and nerves that locked tight as Allison grabbed a hold of him, burying her head in his shoulder. The Scout didnt move a muscle. His eyes simply rolled side to side like a crocodile, watching the minivan pull out of the lot and head towards the freeway on ramp.

Allison kept holding onto Marshal: the boy still frozen. He couldnt move. It wasnt that her grip was terribly strong, or that he was terribly cold either. He couldnt explain, and he didnt have time to. The bells of the convenient store door jingled again. The cashier was outside. Allison, Marshal whispered. Roxy. Allison, we have to- I like Roxy. It sounds better. The cashier is outside, we have to move. Allison sighed and grabbed both her bags tightly; ready. Marshal slowly pushed his head out from behind the dumpster. The Cashier was just standing in the parking lot, scanning the pumps. Well wait till he goes back inside. Lets just run for it. Quiet. He might see us. Marshal peeked again. Apparently the clerks break had begun as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, smacking the bottom of the pack against his palm. Scanning from the cashier to the road, the air was suddenly sucked from Marshals lungs. Only a few yards away behind the convenient store, a patrol car came casually rolling up the drive, and into the gas station lot. Well have to crawl after all. On three, ready?

Allison looked out from behind the dumpster and gasped. Marshal put his hand to her mouth and raised both his eyebrows silently screaming; calm down. She placed her hand over his and nodded quickly. Marshal raised three fingers, then two one. They crawled through fifty yards of itchy, prickly, filthy tall grass to get to the edge of the road. As far away as they were, the street lamps lit up the road enough that they could still be seen. Theyd have to run after all. Theyd always have to run. But A Scout is brave. Marshal lifted his head to spot their backpacks on the other side of the road, and then back to the gas station. The patrol still idled, cashier and if he squinted the outlines of the cashier and officer continued to talk inside the store. Marshals head was then shoved down into the dirt. Headlights rolled over them, passing over the field, and headed towards the gas station. Looking over to Allison, her eyes wide, and hands shaking, pointed to the two other patrol cars. Tugging at Allisons arm, Marshal helped pull the girl up off the ground and they took off across the road. They grabbed their bags like falcons snatching prey from the earth, and kept running into the darkness. In the distance, Marshal thought he heard a dog barking, howling, probably one of many K-9 units that would soon follow after. They were coming to the baseball fields, the sprinklers swishing and spraying over dead grass and mud. Allison had sprinted ahead and kept dodging the water until Marshal cried out ; get wet! What? Allison shouted back. It might throw the dogs off our scent.

What? Allison screamed again, but Marshal didnt have enough air his lungs to offer an extended explanation. Instead, he took Allison by the hand and pulled her into an on coming arc of water. She yelped, but kept holding onto Marshals hand, tugging him into the water with her. They kept moving, pulling and drawing each other into the shifting, spraying water, trampling through the mud. Head into the ravine, Marshal ordered as they slipped hand in hand down the grassy slope into the drainage ditch. They slopped through waist deep murky water. Allison was too cold and out of breath to scream. They kept moving, trying to wash themselves from whatever stigma theyd gained by simply existing, whatever warranted them to be hunted down. A Scout is Clean. After two miles of empty fields in soaking shoes, and socks, and pants, Marshal and Allison arrived back at the barn. Marshal removed the pad lock he had borrowed from the Shop Classroom and fastened it over the barn doors. What are you doing? Allison protested. Making a more convincing argument that no ones here. Well, we still need get inside though. Marshal led Allison around the side of the building to a water run off pipe. Using the rope in his bag, Marshal fastened one end to his belt, and threw the slack up and over a pipe jetting up from the roof. When the rope fell back to the ground, Marshal handed the end to Allison. Wear both backpacks so I dont pull you up into the air if I fall, okay?

Marshal scaled the side of the barn until he came to a window by the loft. Holding onto the top of the roof, Marshal kicked the window in on itself and slipped inside. He fastened his end of the rope to the railing he had fixed earlier that morning, and shouted down to Allison, Come on up. What about the bags? Tie the end of the rope around the bags, and well pull em up after.

Allison kept looking straight up with her soggy shoes planted on the side of the building. In the distance, frustrated howling floated over the early morning air along with the persistent train whistle, and rolling thunder. Maybe they would be safe here for a few more days, or a few hours? She was exhausted, and was ready to be done with running. It took all she had to take Marshals hand as he helped her in. The question of whether either them was fast enough to outrun their pursuers was exceptionally taxing to Allisons brain, guts, and especially her heart. Do you think we lost them? For now, hopefully. This wasnt exactly part of the novel. What happened in the book? Well, this guy Luke gets sent to prison, and time after time the warden keeps trying to break his spirit. Eventually he escapes after he learns that his mom died. So, he got free? Well, the warden shoots him in the neck, but the end was really good. He gets shot in the neck. Yeah, but its about resurrection. You know, nothing ever really ends.