behind for the time it would take to check my phone for a signal.
Two more shots sailed into our makeshift shield.
“Are we there yet?” Derek asked, and then he screamed. “Shit! OW! Shit!”
“Oh my God, Derek? Are you shot?”
“Son of a—geez that hurt!”
“Almost there. Hang on!”
The tractor was two steps away. More shots zinged off an empty gas can.
Just as we circled around the machine, Derek screamed again and I heard a crunch.
“Are you hit again? What happened?”
“I wasn’t hit at all. I think I stepped on a nail back there, but that sack of monkey dung just shot my shades off my face!”
Oh no. I looked down. “And I just stepped on them. Damn, we needed those pictures!” I was pretty sure any evidence left on that car would be gone if we ever got out of here alive.
“Forget the pictures! You owe me two hundred fifty bucks, man.”
At that moment, Liberty swooped down, screaming. She soared back up, took a longing look at Derek, and flapped majestically toward the path we had just taken.
“I think she’s trying to buy us some time. Come on!” I said.
Derek scooped up what was left of his spy shades and shoved them into his shirt pocket. I checked my phone again. Still no signal, which didn’t really surprise me.
We were in the middle of nowhere.
I quickly scanned the junkyard. The snowmobile, I noticed, had a smashed front end. In fact, most of the cars around were badly injured in one capacity or another. The tractor, however, seemed in tip-top shape.
“Derek, maybe we can climb in the cab.”
“And then what? That’s probably not bulletproof glass, Lucy,” he said in a Hispanic accent.
Right.
“Maybe there’s a weapon inside. Farmers carry shotguns, right? Give me a boost.”
I slipped my foot into his clasped hands and he hoisted me onto the bulging tire. I squealed like a little girl. “Derek, keys! There are keys in the ignition with an eagle key ring. This must be Scoog’s.”
“Great. You know how to drive one of these things?”
“How hard can it be?”
“You realize it’s an all-glass cab, a one-seater, and probably goes about ten miles an hour, right?”
“If you have a better idea, Negative Nancy, I’m all ears.”
He didn’t.
The nail in Derek’s foot banished any argument about who would drive, so I climbed in and he followed. Then I fired the beast up.
Or tried to.
The engine didn’t turn over.
Tried again. Nothing.
“Stop that! You need to put your foot on the clutch or you’ll flood the engine,” Derek said. “You do know how to drive stick, right?”
“Cinnamon taught me awhile ago. I think I remember.”
Shoot. I didn’t realize it was a manual transmission. There was a long lever that looked like a parking brake. I released that and Derek nearly sailed through the windshield.
“Sorry.”
He glared at me.
“I’ll get it.” It wasn’t like I spent my weekends tilling the fields or attending tractor pulls, although considering how most of my weekends turned out, I may give it a try next time.
A bullet hit something in the back of the machine just as I pushed in the clutch. I stepped on the gas and the tractor jerked forward, then lunged back a few times before I finally found the balance. When I turned the key one last time, the engine rumbled to life.
I bobbed and weaved as I shifted the four-wheeled monstrosity into its highest gear. I figured it was harder to hit a moving target. Derek was scrunched against the door like one of those suction-cup car ornaments.
“Keep an eye on that phone and call Leo as soon as you get a signal.”
“Gee, and I was just going to ride it out and see what happens,” Derek said sarcastically. “I’m in pain here! I plan to call the po-po, the fire department, an ambulance, and the National Guard! Then I’m calling the closest nuthouse to have you evaluated.”
“Oh please, it’s not like you got shot,” I said, glancing at his foot. It was gushing blood. One nail could
Two more shots sailed into our makeshift shield.
“Are we there yet?” Derek asked, and then he screamed. “Shit! OW! Shit!”
“Oh my God, Derek? Are you shot?”
“Son of a—geez that hurt!”
“Almost there. Hang on!”
The tractor was two steps away. More shots zinged off an empty gas can.
Just as we circled around the machine, Derek screamed again and I heard a crunch.
“Are you hit again? What happened?”
“I wasn’t hit at all. I think I stepped on a nail back there, but that sack of monkey dung just shot my shades off my face!”
Oh no. I looked down. “And I just stepped on them. Damn, we needed those pictures!” I was pretty sure any evidence left on that car would be gone if we ever got out of here alive.
“Forget the pictures! You owe me two hundred fifty bucks, man.”
At that moment, Liberty swooped down, screaming. She soared back up, took a longing look at Derek, and flapped majestically toward the path we had just taken.
“I think she’s trying to buy us some time. Come on!” I said.
Derek scooped up what was left of his spy shades and shoved them into his shirt pocket. I checked my phone again. Still no signal, which didn’t really surprise me.
We were in the middle of nowhere.
I quickly scanned the junkyard. The snowmobile, I noticed, had a smashed front end. In fact, most of the cars around were badly injured in one capacity or another. The tractor, however, seemed in tip-top shape.
“Derek, maybe we can climb in the cab.”
“And then what? That’s probably not bulletproof glass, Lucy,” he said in a Hispanic accent.
Right.
“Maybe there’s a weapon inside. Farmers carry shotguns, right? Give me a boost.”
I slipped my foot into his clasped hands and he hoisted me onto the bulging tire. I squealed like a little girl. “Derek, keys! There are keys in the ignition with an eagle key ring. This must be Scoog’s.”
“Great. You know how to drive one of these things?”
“How hard can it be?”
“You realize it’s an all-glass cab, a one-seater, and probably goes about ten miles an hour, right?”
“If you have a better idea, Negative Nancy, I’m all ears.”
He didn’t.
The nail in Derek’s foot banished any argument about who would drive, so I climbed in and he followed. Then I fired the beast up.
Or tried to.
The engine didn’t turn over.
Tried again. Nothing.
“Stop that! You need to put your foot on the clutch or you’ll flood the engine,” Derek said. “You do know how to drive stick, right?”
“Cinnamon taught me awhile ago. I think I remember.”
Shoot. I didn’t realize it was a manual transmission. There was a long lever that looked like a parking brake. I released that and Derek nearly sailed through the windshield.
“Sorry.”
He glared at me.
“I’ll get it.” It wasn’t like I spent my weekends tilling the fields or attending tractor pulls, although considering how most of my weekends turned out, I may give it a try next time.
A bullet hit something in the back of the machine just as I pushed in the clutch. I stepped on the gas and the tractor jerked forward, then lunged back a few times before I finally found the balance. When I turned the key one last time, the engine rumbled to life.
I bobbed and weaved as I shifted the four-wheeled monstrosity into its highest gear. I figured it was harder to hit a moving target. Derek was scrunched against the door like one of those suction-cup car ornaments.
“Keep an eye on that phone and call Leo as soon as you get a signal.”
“Gee, and I was just going to ride it out and see what happens,” Derek said sarcastically. “I’m in pain here! I plan to call the po-po, the fire department, an ambulance, and the National Guard! Then I’m calling the closest nuthouse to have you evaluated.”
“Oh please, it’s not like you got shot,” I said, glancing at his foot. It was gushing blood. One nail could
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