###
Slowly,
he rose up high enough to peer over the top of the seat. And then
dove back down to the floor, just escaping a second hail of bullets
fired into the limousine.
“Driver!” he said. “Put the peddle to the meddle! Get us out of here!”
“I can hardly see where I’m going,” the driver said, “with the windshield all shot-up! So, OKAY!”
The engine roared as he turned up the heat.
The limo blew through one intersection and then another, the traffic swerving to get out of the way.
“I better see if he’s still back there,” Ritchie said. He popped his head up, and immediately ducked back down, again narrowly avoiding Rustler gunfire. “Yeah … he’s still back there.”
“Well, why don’t you do something!” the mayor said.
“Okay!” Ritchie said. “Driver! Do something!”
“What should I do?”
“I don’t know—lose the cowboy! Make a sharp turn or something!”
“Okay … HOLD ON!”
The tires screeched as the driver threw the limo onto a side street.
“I might have made a bad choice,” he said. “This alley’s barely wide enough to—”
The side of the building they were racing past took the driver’s side mirror clean off.
“—fit the car through.”
“That should help,” Ritchie said.
“Uh-oh,” the driver said.
They smashed through a pile of garbage.
Ritchie stole another look out the back, and watched The Rustler and Shooter power through all the flying refuse.
“That stinks,” he said. “And they’re still back there.”
“Hey Ritchie!” the driver said. “What the …”
Ragnar the Red had appeared ahead of them in the alleyway. And he was taking home run, war hammer practice swings.
“STOP!” hollered Ritchie.
“I CAN’T!” the driver hollered back, as he stood on the brakes. “NOT IN TIME!”
“Driver!” he said. “Put the peddle to the meddle! Get us out of here!”
“I can hardly see where I’m going,” the driver said, “with the windshield all shot-up! So, OKAY!”
The engine roared as he turned up the heat.
The limo blew through one intersection and then another, the traffic swerving to get out of the way.
“I better see if he’s still back there,” Ritchie said. He popped his head up, and immediately ducked back down, again narrowly avoiding Rustler gunfire. “Yeah … he’s still back there.”
“Well, why don’t you do something!” the mayor said.
“Okay!” Ritchie said. “Driver! Do something!”
“What should I do?”
“I don’t know—lose the cowboy! Make a sharp turn or something!”
“Okay … HOLD ON!”
The tires screeched as the driver threw the limo onto a side street.
“I might have made a bad choice,” he said. “This alley’s barely wide enough to—”
The side of the building they were racing past took the driver’s side mirror clean off.
“—fit the car through.”
“That should help,” Ritchie said.
“Uh-oh,” the driver said.
They smashed through a pile of garbage.
Ritchie stole another look out the back, and watched The Rustler and Shooter power through all the flying refuse.
“That stinks,” he said. “And they’re still back there.”
“Hey Ritchie!” the driver said. “What the …”
Ragnar the Red had appeared ahead of them in the alleyway. And he was taking home run, war hammer practice swings.
“STOP!” hollered Ritchie.
“I CAN’T!” the driver hollered back, as he stood on the brakes. “NOT IN TIME!”
###
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