Page 90 of It Happened on the Lake

Once more, he considered ditching the others, climbing onto his bike and feigning getting sick or something, anything to avoid getting caught and having to suffer through his old man’s wrath.

Then he heard it. Over the roar of the creek, he heard the rumble of an engine—a large truck from the sounds of it, on the road above and fast approaching the bridge.

Too late to back out now.

“Go!” Chase yelled loudly, his voice reverberating through the culvert. “Go, go, go!”

Rand sprang into action, clambering up the rocky bank and reaching the road just as two headlights cut through the darkness, the pickup rattling across the span, headlights burning through the darkness, illuminating the road.

“Fire!” Chase yelled.

Rand reached into his pocket and loaded up. He hurled the first egg just as the front wheels of a red and white pickup reached the edge of the bridge.Splat!His egg landed on the Ford’s windshield. Its shell, yolk, and clear goo splattered.

He fired two more, zinging them in rapid succession, eggs smashing on the hood and windshield, the wipers smearing the egg gunk over the glass.

With a squeal of tires, the truck skidded to a stop.

“Hey!” the driver, a big burly man shouted, opening the door, the interior light flooding the area.

From the other side of the road, a bevy of eggs assaulted the truck.

Splat! Splat! Splat!

“You fucking kids!”

The driver leaped from the cab, his bald head shining under the dome light. He reached back inside.

To the gun rack mounted across the back of the cab.

To the rifle with its scope resting in the rack.

Holy shit!

Rand didn’t wait. He just started running. No prank was worth being shot at! He sped through the trees lining the side of the road, then vaulted across a low fence. He cut through a leaf-strewn backyard, tripping over the edge of a sandbox. Catching himself, hearing the bark from a dog inside the house, he slipped through a side gate just as he caught a glimpse of the bald guy leaping over the fence.

Crap.

Scrambling to his feet, he beelined for the empty lot and forest beyond.

There was a trail that cut through these woods, a shortcut back to his house.

His heart was thumping as he glanced back. Seeing no one. But hearing heavy, fast-moving footsteps closing the distance between them.

Oh. Please.

“You!” a deep, male voice bellowed, seeming to ricochet off the thick trunks of the Douglas firs and vine maples.

Crap!

“You stop, you little fucker!”

No way.

He rounded a final corner and nearly tripped over his bike where he’d left it propped against the trunk of a gigantic fir tree, their meeting spot. He heard his friends running through the forest, rushing footsteps, all three of them trying to get away from the bald man.

Rand grabbed the handlebars of his Schwinn. With a running start, he flung his leg over the seat and started pedaling along the trail that ran in a zigzag pattern along the edge of the access road.

Faster and faster.

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