Page 91 of It Happened on the Lake

The world was spinning by, branches slapping at his face.

Where were his friends?

They had been close—

“Stop!” The man yelled, his low voice booming.

Oh God, how close was he?

Close enough to aim and shoot?

Already in third gear, Rand pedaled as if his life depended on it.

He didn’t know where his friends were.

Didn’t care.

He just had to get away from the bald guy with the gun.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

What had he been thinking, letting Chase talk him into this crazy-ass scheme. So it was Halloween. So what?

He sped across fallen limbs, dirt clods, and dips in the path, each bump jarring him, yet he was able to keep his three-speed on the familiar trail.

The night was dark, but this section of woods that stretched between the lake and the road above had a bit of illumination as street lamps offered feeble blue light, just enough so that he could see the path ahead, where it cut through the thickets, where it was crossed by other trails.

Rand heard the sounds of branches snapping, footsteps running, and his friends’ voices.

Nearby.

Somewhere in the surrounding trees.

Chase yelled, “Go, go,go!”

Rand went.

More shouts.

But no shots.

Yet.

He prayed they hadn’t been caught. Oh, Geez, what if they had? His heart was pounding like crazy, his blood pumping wildly, his thoughts spinning as fast as the wheels on his Schwinn. Evan wouldn’t be in trouble. He never was. A rich kid whose parents thought he could do no wrong—“the little prince,” as Rand’s mom called him—always skated when it came to punishment. But Chase? And him? Sons of cops? Holy shit, they’d be skinned alive.

And he couldn’t be found with the eggs.

No.

So riding with one hand, pedaling like crazy, keeping his balance, he emptied his pockets. He flung eggs into the underbrush, hearing them crack and splat as he strained to listen for the sound of his friends on their bikes. Where were they? Why hadn’t they caught up with him?

As he hurled the last egg into a clump of ferns, he saw movement on the trail in front of him. Something big and black. A dog? A deer? Or a man crouching and waiting?

The path curved.

His front tire hit a rock.

The bike shuddered, tire slipping.

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