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There were clearly people at the Chevron station. A slight breeze carried a torn Doritos bag down the highway toward them, a red and gold tumbleweed.
As the golf cart approached, one kid, then another, stepped out into the road. Cookie was the first. The second kid Sam didn’t recognize.
“T’sup, Cookie,” Sam called out as they drew within twenty yards.
“T’sup, Sam?” Cookie replied.
“Looking for Astrid’s little brother, man.”
“Hold up,” Cookie said. He was carrying a metal baseball bat. The other kid beside him had a croquet mallet with green stripes.
“Nah, man, we’re on a mission, we’ll catch you later,” Sam said. He waved, and Edilio kept his foot on the pedal. They were within a couple of feet and would soon be past.
“Stop them,” a voice yelled from the Chevron station. Howard was running and behind him, Orc. Cookie stepped in front of the cart.
“Don’t stop,” Sam hissed.
“Man, look out,” Edilio warned Cookie.
Cookie jumped aside at the last second. The other kid swung his mallet hard. The wood shaft hit the steel pole that supported the cart’s awning. The mallet head snapped off and narrowly missed Quinn’s head.
Then they were past and Quinn yelled back, “Hey, you almost knocked my head in, jerkwad.”
They were maybe thirty feet on and pulling away when Orc yelled, “Catch them, you morons.”
Cookie was a big kid, not fast. But the other kid, the one holding the broken mallet, was smaller and quicker. He broke into a sprint. Howard and Orc were farther back, running full out, but Orc was heavy and slow and Howard pulled away from him.
The kid with the mallet caught up to them. “You better stop,” he said, panting, running alongside.
“I don’t think so,” Sam said.
“Dude, I’ll stab you with this stick,” the kid threatened, but he was panting harder. He made a weak stab with the shattered end of the mallet.
Sam caught it and twisted it out of his hands. The kid tripped and sprawled. Sam tossed the stick aside contemptuously.
Howard was almost in range, coming up directly behind the cart. Astrid and Quinn watched calmly as Howard pumped hard, skinny arms windmilling. He threw a glance back and realized Orc wasn’t going to catch up.
“Howard, what do you think you’re doing, man?” Quinn asked in a perfectly reasonable voice. “You’re like a dog chasing a truck. What are you going to do if you catch us?”
Howard got the point and slowed down.
Edilio said, “It’s a low-speed chase, man. Maybe we’ll be on the news.”
That got a nervous laugh.
Five minutes later, no one was laughing. “There’s a truck coming up fast,” Astrid said. “We need to pull over.”
“They won’t run us down,” Quinn said. “Even Orc’s not that crazy.”
“They may or may not want to run us down,” Astrid said, “but that’s a fourteen-year-old driving a Hummer. You really want to be on the road?”
Quinn nodded. “We’re in for a pounding.”
TEN
274 HOURS, 27 MINUTES
THE HUMMER WEAVED back and forth across the road, but there was no way to pretend it wasn’t going to catch them.
