They drove an hour nonstop from the compound before turning down a side street, where they parked the Civic in the shadow of a building. It was raining hard. Shindo glanced at Shoko, who was on the verge of nodding off, then got out of the car.
Rummaging through the trunk, she found a black rubberized raincoat and a kit with tools for changing out a tire. Nothing else remotely useful.
“Let’s go. Here, put this on.”
The passenger door opened. Shindo helped Shoko cover up her negligee with the raincoat. A men’s size large, the black slicker almost reached the ground. It made Shoko look like a black teru teru bozu.
“This smells awful.”
“Too bad. We’re going.”
“What about the car?”
“We’re leaving it.”
She waved for Shoko to come on. They proceeded down the street. The keys were in the car. Within the hour, some local punks would probably steal it for a joyride, sending the white shirts on a wild goose chase. Nice. That bought some time. Though not enough.
“Ow.”
Shindo turned to see what happened. Shoko was standing on one foot. The other one, hovering above the street, was pink with blood.
“Hop on.”
Shindo crouched and reached behind her.
“Hop on . . . what?”
“Piggyback,” Shindo said, losing her patience. “Hurry up.”
The girl weighed next to nothing.
Bits of gravel cut into Shindo’s heels.
“Why did you bother bringing me?” asked Shoko.
“Ask me later. We need to find some shoes and clothes and keep moving.”
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know. Nowhere special. Where do you want to go?”
Her hands closed tighter around Shoko’s wrists.
“Hmm . . . I’m not sure.”
The rain pelted the raincoat with a sound like bouncing marbles.
Shindo walked on. Favoring the quiet roads. She stole a pair of sandals off a low balcony, then took a men’s T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants hanging outside an apartment. She let Shoko down and gave her everything in exchange for the slicker. Walking in the rain, they stood out plenty, but it was better than a negligee and a ragged suit.
“How about Nara, or maybe Kyoto?” Shindo said, a little further down the road. “I’ve always wanted to see both of them.”
“What do you think this is, a field trip?”
“How should I know? They never let me go on one of those. They said it was too dangerous to go that far without protection. I’ve never even been outside of Tokyo.”
Shindo wiped the raindrops from her face. There was a subway entrance up ahead. She had a little money in her wallet. If they ran out, she would have to shake somebody down. This was survival. She’d do anything to keep this girl alive.
“Alright then, let’s go. We’ll take a train to Kyoto first, eat us some yatsuhashi.”
“What flavor?”
“Cinnamon.”
“Yuck. I want matcha.”
“Fine. From there we can ride up to Nara, see the giant buddha. Then after that . . . uh, what else do you want to do?”
“I want new clothes.”
“Okay. Like what?”
“Blue jeans. And sneakers.”
The crowd slipped down into the subway like storm-water rushing down the drain. Shindo held Shoko’s hand.
Their first day on the run.
AT SIX O’CLOCK, an ear-splitting bell rang through the workshop. Shindo and the other workers left their stations and went outside, saying things like “There we go” or “Finally!” to no one in particular. Once her mask and hat were off, she felt a cooling breeze against her sweaty face. Her hands vibrated from the work, sewing aprons all day long in that cramped, muggy room.
