A short walk later, I had nearly reached the old street, so worn and faded it almost looked white, and full of potholes, when the blue truck swerved in front of me, the passenger door just inches away from the tip of my nose. "Get in!" Billy shouted, shoving the door open as I lept out of the way. I leapt in, and by the time I had realized that perhaps I might not want to be in this truck, we were already a mile south. "What... was that?" I whispered, my voice barely escaping. "Thee, uh, the police caught up to me." Billy said through a sideways grin. "Had to run." My head shot in his direction. "We're running from the police?" He simply reached over, pulling my seatbelt across and clicking it in. "You're going to want that" He said as we hit 80. I had never held onto anything harder then I held onto that seat. My nails dug deep into the thin leather as Billy floored the gas, the sound of sirens never far behind. Several times, he turned so hard I was sure we would roll over, but somehow the rickety truck always survived. Finally, he plunged the truck straight into the forest, then stopped, turned everything off, and waited as the sirens shot past, and into the distance. "You can open your eyes now." He said in a softer voice. I hadn't even realized they were shut. "I... think my hands are stuck." I squeaked, as I tried, with little success to pull my fingers from the seat they had burrowed themselves into. [More writing coming soon!]
Next Chapter: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/973891103/ Previous Chapter: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/972461497 Start: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/972298252
