Page 80 of The Worst Possible Plan

Dottie squeaked. “He sees us!”

“No shit.”

“He definitely sees us! He looks upset!”

“I noticed that too.” I shoved the truck into gear. I also silently begged every mechanical component under the hood to please cooperate just this once.

Nothing happened.

“That’s not good.” I tried again. The truck lurched forward with all the grace of a confused rhinoceros. Then stalled. Silence. Absolute, soul-crushing silence. Even the birds seemed embarrassed for me.

Dottie slowly turned toward me. “You stalled the getaway vehicle.” She didn’t even sound angry. Just… disappointed in fate.

I frowned at her. “I can see that.” Believe me, if glaring at the transmission would’ve helped, we’d already be halfway to another state.

Dottie shook her head. “People are going to write books about this.” She stared straight ahead. “Very short books. But still.”

Behind us, the handler was getting closer. Very quickly. Arms pumping. Hat threatening to fall off. This was beginning to feel much less like an action movie and much more like one of those dreams where you try to run, but your legs refuse to cooperate.

I turned the key again. “Please… don’t do this. Come on.” I patted the dashboard, my hands trembling. “We’ve only just met. I’d really appreciate your support.”

The engine coughed. Growled. Then finally caught.

“Yes!”

The truck jerked forward. Hard enough that both Dottie and I bounced in our seats. Somewhere behind us something clanged loudly inside the trailer followed by what sounded suspiciously like an indignant alpaca.

The handler reached the driver’s door just as we rolled past him.

He slapped one hand against the side of the truck. “Hey! Get out of my truck!” His voice cracked somewhere between outrage and disbelief, which felt entirely reasonable under the circumstances.

The truck gathered speed. In the side mirror I watched him chase us for another twenty yards before common sense—or possibly a lack of cardiovascular enthusiasm—finally won. He became smaller and smaller in the mirror until he was just one very annoyed man standing in the middle of the parking lot waving both arms like he was directing aircraft.

He stopped and bent over, his hands on his knees but still yelling.

I couldn’t hear a word, which was probably for the best. I suspected none of it would’ve made me feel particularly encouraged about my current decision-making process.

Bandit let out an excited little bleat from inside the trailer. I knew it was him. Did he know what I was doing? Probably not. For all I knew, he thought this was the world’s most entertaining field trip.

“Do you think they know we’re rescuing them?” I asked. It seemed irrationally important somehow.

“I think they know we’re moving,” replied Dottie, her eyes wide.

“Close enough.”

We rolled onto Main Road. The giant livestock trailer bounced gently behind us as sleepy Maplewood Falls carried on with its ordinary morning. The absurdity of it all was almost impressive.

We passed Mrs. Henderson outside the pharmacy watering flowers.

She waved.

I waved back.

I felt proud. Stupid proud of myself for being brave enough to follow my gut. I hadn’t exactly thought this through. More specifically, I had no idea where I was going or what I was going to do when I got there. Still, a month ago, that Sophie would have never taken charge.

This one did.

Still, I was driving a stolen truck full of farm animals. This was rapidly becoming one of those days that would require several disclaimers before telling the story. Possibly a lawyer present.