run away from pirates
A fist fight seems to be the perfect opportunity to make a break for it. While most of the rascals are busy yelling and cheering, you scramble on your hands and knees through some weeds and into the area where all their trucks and motorcycles are parked. By keeping low, and staying in between vehicles, you manage to put some distance between you and the jamboree. All is going well, until a hand shoots out from behind a truck and clamps over your mouth. You fight back but a voice hisses in your ear:
“Quiet! Cut it out! It’s me! Ouch! Stop biting, dang it!”
IT’S CLARICE!!!
She lets you go and you wiggle around to see her. She looks rough-- a new cut under one eye, several ripening bruises, and her clothes are much dirtier and more raggedy than you remember. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days.
“I’ve been tracking you and these losers since the fight.” She whispers “On foot. My boots are killing me! And I’m really starting to hate these clowns.”
Her voice is grim, but she is grinning, clearly happy to see you.
“Well come on,” you say “let’s run for it, while they are all busy!”
“Run for it?! No, I think I’m done running for a while. Follow me.”
Just a couple yards away is parked the biggest truck in the parking area. Not a pickup truck or van-- this is a full-sized over the road cargo hauler. It takes up more space than over a dozen pirate motorcycles. And the owner just happened to leave the keys dangling from the ignition.
As Clarice fires up the giant engine, you do look out duty through the window. A couple or pirates glance your way, but none of them seem to think there is anything strange about somebody switching parking spaces in the middle of the day. That is, until one angry looking fellow comes racing out of the crowd, shaking his fist and yelling frantically:
"My TRUCK! That's MY truck! Get back here you!!"
You smile and give him a big friendly wave. You also wave to a handful of the Road Pie Rats you happen to notice. It takes them half a second to recognize you and start pointing and shouting, but by now the huge vehicle's motor is roaring far too loudly for you to hear anything they say. The Road Pie Rats run for their motorcycles, presumably to join the chase, but Clarice, whistling and gaining momentum all the time cheerfully steers right into their row of parked bikes-- all conveniently marked out for her by their distinctive black flags. They make a satisfying crunching noise beneath the truck's wheels, and Clarice lets out a hoot of triumph, banging on the steering wheel.
"THAT'S WHAT YOU GET SUCKERS!" she howls.
That bit of revenge done, she turns the big wheel towards the highway, unfortunately clipping half a dozen more bikes, and a white van on her way. A series of crashing collisions follow as the bikes collapse into their neighbors like dominoes. You get one priceless, precious look at the crowd of pirates staring stunned and forlorn at the remains of their precious rides. You find yourself joining your aunt in her cackling victory howl.
As the pirates disappear behind you in a cloud of dust and diesel smoke, and after the two of you get your breath back, your aunt says:
"Man, I am starving! Did you save any of that barbecue for me?"
“Quiet! Cut it out! It’s me! Ouch! Stop biting, dang it!”
IT’S CLARICE!!!
She lets you go and you wiggle around to see her. She looks rough-- a new cut under one eye, several ripening bruises, and her clothes are much dirtier and more raggedy than you remember. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days.
“I’ve been tracking you and these losers since the fight.” She whispers “On foot. My boots are killing me! And I’m really starting to hate these clowns.”
Her voice is grim, but she is grinning, clearly happy to see you.
“Well come on,” you say “let’s run for it, while they are all busy!”
“Run for it?! No, I think I’m done running for a while. Follow me.”
Just a couple yards away is parked the biggest truck in the parking area. Not a pickup truck or van-- this is a full-sized over the road cargo hauler. It takes up more space than over a dozen pirate motorcycles. And the owner just happened to leave the keys dangling from the ignition.
As Clarice fires up the giant engine, you do look out duty through the window. A couple or pirates glance your way, but none of them seem to think there is anything strange about somebody switching parking spaces in the middle of the day. That is, until one angry looking fellow comes racing out of the crowd, shaking his fist and yelling frantically:
"My TRUCK! That's MY truck! Get back here you!!"
You smile and give him a big friendly wave. You also wave to a handful of the Road Pie Rats you happen to notice. It takes them half a second to recognize you and start pointing and shouting, but by now the huge vehicle's motor is roaring far too loudly for you to hear anything they say. The Road Pie Rats run for their motorcycles, presumably to join the chase, but Clarice, whistling and gaining momentum all the time cheerfully steers right into their row of parked bikes-- all conveniently marked out for her by their distinctive black flags. They make a satisfying crunching noise beneath the truck's wheels, and Clarice lets out a hoot of triumph, banging on the steering wheel.
"THAT'S WHAT YOU GET SUCKERS!" she howls.
That bit of revenge done, she turns the big wheel towards the highway, unfortunately clipping half a dozen more bikes, and a white van on her way. A series of crashing collisions follow as the bikes collapse into their neighbors like dominoes. You get one priceless, precious look at the crowd of pirates staring stunned and forlorn at the remains of their precious rides. You find yourself joining your aunt in her cackling victory howl.
As the pirates disappear behind you in a cloud of dust and diesel smoke, and after the two of you get your breath back, your aunt says:
"Man, I am starving! Did you save any of that barbecue for me?"
THE END
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