Page 93 of It Happened on the Lake

The guy jerked as an egg caught him between the shoulders.

“What the fuck?” He whipped around, his fingers still gripping Rand’s collar.

Crack!Another speeding egg hit him square in the face.

He yelped, stung, his grip around Rand’s jacket loosening.

Splat!Another egg to his head, the gooey mass sliding down over his nose.

“You sick little fucks!” he roared as more raw eggs pelted him and his grip loosened.

Chase yelled, “Run!”

It was all the urging Rand needed. He wiggled away from the guy who was roaring his outrage.

“Oh no, you don’t! Come back here, you little shit!”

He lunged for Rand and tripped.

Rand ran, snagged the handlebars of his bike again, flew onto the seat. He hit the pedals. Hard. And took off. Not looking back. Adrenaline firing his blood, clearing his mind.

He sped crazily along the path, his heart pumping so hard he thought it might leap from his chest. Again, in his peripheral vision in the watery light, he caught sight of a shadow moving through the trees.

He didn’t slow.

Just kept riding as if his life depended upon it.

Because it did.

Skidding around corners, flying over rises, splashing through puddles, and bouncing over rocks and roots, he rode.

As freaked out as he was, he had a prick of conscience that told him he should go back and make sure Chase and Evan were okay. He didn’t. He knew enough about the other boys to feel that they were safe. Evan could talk his way out of anything, and Chase never stuck his neck out far enough that he was in danger of losing his head.

Except that if Chase’s dad ever found out . . . that would be bad. Then Chase would be a dead man. Tom Hunt was of the “spare the rod, spoil the child” mentality.

He saw the road through the trees. Blue light filtering through the branches. Right past the hairpin curve of the trail.

Pulse pounding through his brain, he hit the curve, put down one leg and skidded his bike around the tight corner, then headed to the berm, faster and faster where the trees gave way to pavement.

Fortunately, there wasn’t any traffic at the moment.

No headlights cut through the night.

At the berm, he lifted his handlebars and shifted his weight as he’d done a thousand times before.

His bike soared over the berm.

Then landed with a bone-jarring jolt against the cracked pavement of the street.

One more corner to Trail’s End, the street where he lived. Leaning hard, he again skid-turned, not far from the swim park where the lake glistened between the trees.

He was almost home!

But he heard the rumble of an engine behind him.

No!

Shit, shit, shit!

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