By Joe R. Lansdale
Jack Catcher's mom and dad are dead--his mother died of a disorder and his dad of a damaged heart--and he desires to get out of Oklahoma, the place airborne dirt and dust storms have killed every thing eco-friendly and hopeful. So whilst former classmate Jane Lewis and her little brother, Tony, appear in his backyard with plans to thieve a lifeless neighbor's motor vehicle and make a holiday for Texas, Jack does not want a lot convincing to compliment them. yet a run-in with one of many era's such a lot infamous gangsters places a crimp in Jane's plan, and shortly the 3 young children are using the rails between hoboes, gangsters, and con males, racing to warn a carnival-wrestler-turned-bank-robber of the risk headed towards him quicker than a black snowfall at the prairie horizon. This highway journey experience is a colourful journey via Depression-era America.
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Extra info for All the Earth, Thrown to the Sky
Jane said, as if everything we had done was my idea, and I personally had thrown tacks in the road to blow out the tire. “I ain’t got no idea,” I said. We stood there for about fifteen minutes, trying to will the car back on the road so we could fix the tire, but that wasn’t getting anything done. I was thinking on an idea that might work, if I held my mouth just right and the ground didn’t shift. Most likely, it was an idea that would end up with me in the ditch, under the car, with the blown-out tire and wheel lying down on my chest.
A fella like that wasn’t going to offer us his car, but I figured what we was talking about, being orphans and all and wanting to get out of Oklahoma, was just a form of borrowing. A wide form of it, but I made the whole thing agreeable in my head nonetheless. At least for the moment. I had some bottles we could cork, and we went out to the barn and filled them, so as to try and have some water without dirt in it. Soon as we run the bottles full, we corked them and wrapped them in towels and put them in a flour sack.
When I was younger, a scorpion had stung me, and I didn’t like it a bit and didn’t want to repeat it. When I had killed all I could see, I went over and lay down on the bed where Mama had died. I could smell her on the mattress, the kind of sweet smell she had that didn’t have nothing to do with perfume, ’cause she didn’t have any except once a bit of lilac water and it was long gone. It was just Mama’s smell and it made me cry. I cried and cried and finally I went to sleep. Outside it was still dark and the sand still blew.