Stevens School Runaways - Part 5 (hist, tort, CBT, psych)
By Platypus (formerly Dark Man) 
plupy@surfbest.net

copyright 2005 by Platypus, all rights reserved 
(First published on Eunuch Archive)

* * * * *
This story is intended for ADULTS ONLY.  It contains
explicit depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If
you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such
material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not
read further, and do not save this story.
* * * * *

Two young runaways from a harsh but politically correct
reform school eventually get punished in a most severe way.


Stevens School Runaways - Part 5
"The Great Escape"

For about a fortnight, they became a threesome. Tom welcomed
the presence of Carter. "Look what's happening. We're more
accepted now – all the guys at least talk to us. Don't you
think Carter has something to do with the other kids
treating us like humans?" It was a night in late March; the
buds were starting to come out on the maples and oaks –
noticeably so on the nice days. Indoors at least the heat
wasn't turned on quite so high. It was lights out. Tom was
lying on his back talking.

"I don't know. I guess." A little older, a little wiser,
Rich couldn't help being suspicious of the interloper. "But
don't you think it strange that he always has to go in the
middle of conversations, that even you've caught him
snickering and shutting up when he's with his other friends
– like when we come near him it stops and he suddenly gets
serious? I know one thing. I don't think we should let him
in on it."

"I already have, stupid. He wants to go with us. It's all
set!"

"You're not serious! You freaking told him? Are you crazy?"

"Three's better than two anyway. He says he knows his way
around Perkins. He's wanted to break out of this hellhole
for the longest time, too. I think we actually need him."

"I don't believe I'm hearing this shit."

"Carter has this idea. He'd give the signal, and we take
off. Then we meet him in the woods. He's told me what to
look for when we run."

"I don't believe I'm hearing this."

"Oh, you worry too much. My feet are sore. Can you give me a
rub?"

"I'm – I'm – not in the mood tonight. Too tired."

"Suit yourself." But neither boy fell asleep too quickly.
After a while, Tom spoke again. "You still mad at me?"

"Naah. Go to sleep."

"We still escape together?"

"I guess. I just hope you know what you're doing. I don't
really want to get caught. I changed my mind about that
part."

"I know. Me too. But we'll make it. I know we will."

*

At around 4 p.m. on the afternoon of March 26, Tom, closely
followed by Rich, took off into the surrounding woods. Both
had been cued by a signal from the enigmatic Carter. They
met up in a grove of evergreens after running a full-out
sprint for about a third of a mile. Both boys were winded,
gasping for breath, but in a way, grateful for the
conditioning that Anton Reilly had put them through. "I used
to run like that and get a pain in my side," Rich said,
between breaths. "You think anybody's following us?"

"Not yet." Tom was listening, ear to the ground. "It's
quiet. I'll bet Carter was right. They probably don't even
know we're gone yet. They probably won't find out until
supper – that gives us almost two hours head start."

"Where is old Carter boy?"

"Don't you remember? He's taking the other way – on the
other side of the road. He's meeting us at the thirteen-mile
mark – near a giant boulder – like a cliff. He said we
couldn't miss it even if we tried."

"What time is this supposed to happen?"

"Around 6:30." Tom was wearing a watch that glowed in the
dark, but it wasn't dark yet.

"Days seem to be getting longer," Rich said as the boys
started moving again, half-walking, half-jogging, at a
pretty good pace. There seemed to be a path through the
melting snow.

"They should. It's spring," Tom said, smart-alecky. Tom
sounded like a smart aleck quite a bit lately, if you asked
Rich. But he couldn't just desert his friend.

"How will we know when we're getting close? When we've
reached the thirteen-mile mark?"

"Stupid. Carter gave me a pedometer too. I'm wearing it on a
chain under my shirt."

"We aren't supposed to have chains at Stevens. They think we
might decide to strangle ourselves – or each other. Carter
filch that out of Reilly's office too?"

"Yeah. That Carter's okay. Really kewl. Told you -- you've
been worrying for nothing. Hey --We've already gone 3.8
miles," Tom chortled while checking his handy gauge for a
quick read. "Kewl huh?" Both boys were appropriately dressed
for the weather, if not for hiking. Thin jackets were draped
over their school uniforms, but footwear? Unfortunately --
sneakers. It was a partly cloudy, seasonable early spring
day, trace of wind, maybe 50 degrees Fahrenheit. The footing
wasn't too bad either. Only a few hills so far, just little
ones. What snow on the path existed as slushy ice, slippery
but solid enough to maintain decent footing, although Rich
fell flat on his face once; Tom twice. The forest remained
eerily quiet – a few calls emanating like from an echo
chamber, sounding like crows or hawks, rustlings of
squirrels and small animals, nothing too threatening.

All this changed when it got dark. Precipitation started,
tiny perfectly round miniature snowballs that made a
swooshing sound on the forest floor – mostly decomposed
leaves – when they hit. Soft hail. "Hey it's raining," Tom
said.

"I don't think it is rain," answered Rich. But there wasn't
enough light by Tom's wristwatch to really tell what the
heck it was. All he knew was that it was dark, he couldn't
see the sky through the trees, and no stars either, and it
was cold. He was beginning to regret this whole idea. Friend
or no friend. "How far have we gone?"

"Ten and a half-miles," Tom said, "but we better make some
real good time again – it's past six."

"How much past?"

"Ten past."

"Jeez. Do we really need to meet Carter?"

"I told you fifty times. He knows his way around Perkins.
Without him, we'd get caught for sure."

Both boys began running, slipping and sliding in the near
total darkness, getting scratched on their wrists or hands
when branches or brambles got in their way. Their pace
became a mad rush, helter-skelter. It might have been fun, a
bit of an adventure, under different circumstances. Yet Tom
knew where he was going, uncannily perhaps, and Rich kept
pace.

"There, I think that's it – just ahead." It was more of a
shadow. Tom spotted different lines against a forest
silhouette full of amorphous shapes, the slight hint of an
incline. They reached the designated boulder from the rear
at precisely 6:32.

"No sign of Carter," Rich murmured.

"He'll be here!" Tom said, slightly annoyed.

A few moments later, they did hear something. Footsteps. The
beam of a powerful flashlight cut through the forest all
around them. "Carter!" Rich and Tom cried.

"Yeah, it's little old me – numb nuts!" He was laughing,
full of good cheer. They embraced like long lost brothers –
or maybe musketeers. Tom followed by Rich went off in
lockstep behind Carter, the party's newfound scout. The
short hike with the flashlight's beam shining led through
the woods for a moment, then straight to the Perkins road.

"Oh crap!" Rich said, "Why the fuck we going on the road.
That's right where they'd be looking." Suddenly the forest
lit up bright as day – high beams.

"Busted!" It was Mueller, and his vice-like fingers hooking
around their shirt collars. About six strong men suddenly
surrounded them. Two burly security guards armed to the hilt
resembled storm troopers or swat team guys out of America's
Most Wanted. Overwhelming force used to catch two kids, but
guess who was still laughing?

"You bastard!" Rich hissed to Carter.

"I trusted you!" Tom screamed in helpless rage. Carter
shrugged, smirked. "So? It's not my fault you guys are so
stupid."

That's when they both tried lunging at their treacherous
companion. No use. Several strong hands from behind stopped
their shoulders from making any headlong rush.

"C'mon you two! You're going BACK!" Mason was yelling at
them. It sounded like a jubilant yell, like he'd been
anticipating their punishment. He had. "Can't wait until
Friday night," he said softly, just loud enough for the
runaways to hear.

End of Part 5