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“Well, I’d love to hear your suggestions,” he barked.
I didn’t have any. Except …
“Slow down,” I demanded.
“Not a chance.”
“Kyle, Fort Tuthill is up ahead. Take the turnoff on the left.” It was marked with tall signs screaming ARTS & MUSIC FESTIVAL. Perfect.
There was another line of traffic coming our way. We didn’t have much time.
“I don’t see how this is a good idea. We—”
“Just do it. Now!”
The razor-sharp veering of the car made the tires whine again. We caught the outer edge of the turnoff onto the asphalt, sputtered a bit, then Kyle corrected our overshooting the corner and put us securely in one lane. Not ours, but we were the only ones on the road, so I didn’t mention the issue.
Heart still pounding, I said, “All these campgrounds … we have to be able to hide the car somewhere. Sooner rather than later, because at the end of this path is a wide-open clearing into the fairgrounds and parking lot. We’ll be screwed if we dead-end in plain sight.”
To our current advantage, the tall, full ponderosas offered a bit of coverage and, were we to drive into the forest, we’d be beautifully concealed.
“That looks like a decent spot,” Kyle murmured as he surveyed the south-end thicket. He peeled off a
nd we bounced our way along underbrush and dirt, dodging fallen trees and crunching limbs beneath us. The scrapes of branches against the sides and roof of the car made me cringe. Not to mention the lava rocks we drove over. Dane would have a conniption when he learned we’d destroyed his expensive ride. Though for a good cause, so … I tried not to think about how I was going to break this to him.
“Here’s a nice little cave.” Kyle slid the McLaren to a stop, nestled in a collection of downed trunks and piled-up limbs, as though the Forest Service had started cleanup work for a seasonal controlled burn.
Kyle had to climb over the stick shift and follow me out on the passenger’s side, since the protective shell was so slim, the car barely fit. We dragged a few more branches with layers of pine needles over the back of the Mercedes for added camouflage.
Then he took my hand and helped me through the rugged terrain as we made our way to the grounds.
We stuck to the boundary of the woods while assessing the situation. The helicopter hovered over the parking lot to the north. Ahead of us were the outbuildings for arts and crafts, vendor tents, and the grandstand with a stage. Music from a Country and Western band blared from the sound system.
“Now or never,” Kyle said, because the helicopter started to move toward us, the guys inside obviously convinced we’d never made it to the parking lot.
We raced toward the picnic tables around the food court area. Kyle tossed the keys to the McLaren, with its flashy emblem on the ring, in a metal trash barrel. Then we disappeared under a vendor tent. He peered around one side of it before tugging my hand again and leading me to another tent, this one selling straw cowboy hats.
“Put your hair up,” he said as he selected a hat for me and placed it on my head. He chose one for himself, then added aviator glasses, though the sun was setting.
He whipped out his credit card from his jeans pocket and then we hit another tent and slipped on Western shirts over the clothes we wore.
“Your evil dudes in the Camaro might stake this place out,” he told me.
“My evil dudes?”
He slid his sunglasses down his nose and glared at me.
“Okay, right. My evil dudes.”
This was all a little too edge-of-the-seat for me. I still couldn’t catch a solid breath.
“So now what?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
We left the vendors and walked cautiously to the grandstand. Couples two-stepped in front of the stage and kids danced in conglomerations. Others sat in the bleachers to watch and listen. Plenty of people milled about. We could get lost in this crowd, but how would we sneak out?
“Are we going to steal a car?” I asked. “Just so you know, I’m really not comfortable with that.”
