Read Online The Blood Guard (The Blood Guard series) by Carter Roy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carter Roy
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sliding into the driver’s seat and snapping on the seat belt.
“First, you’re going to turn that key there. That starts the engine.”
“I said I haven’t driven before. I didn’t say I was stupid.”
“Then you put your foot on the brak e — t hat’s the wide center peda l — a nd you’re going to move the gearshif t — t his knob her e — f rom P to D . The D stands for drive . At that point, you’re good to go.”
The world through the dirty windshield was streaky and faraway. “I can’t really see.”
“What’s to see? It’s a truck-stop parking lot.” Nonetheless, Dawkins spat on the glass and rubbed it with the sleeve of his leather jacke t — s mearing the dirt but clearing some space on the glass.
“So then I give it a little gas?”
“You’re going to need to give it a lot of gas. Really stomp on the pedal. Just go for broke.”
“Key, brake, D , gas pedal. Got it.” I played through it in my head.
“Just aim straight ahead, past that line of cars at the gas pumps and right to the open road beyond. Trust me, before you even get close, I’ll have reached the SUV, taken out that bald number, and freed Greta. Then she and I will come fetch you.”
I shook my head. “That’s the stupides t — ”
He tossed the black leather satchel onto the seat beside me. “Don’t forget to bring that when you ditch the car. It’s got our stuff.” He cradled the mechanic’s creeper in his arms. “Remember, you’re the distraction. So honk the horn the entire time. Yell like a crazy person if you want! We want them looking at you , the idiot driving a car without tires. Not at me , the guy skating in from the loading dock.”
With that, he stooped over and dashed outside, back the way we’d come. From the angle the Cadillac was facing, I couldn’t really see the SUV, but that was probably for the best. I pulled the door shut, locked it, and turned the key in the ignition.
The car engine must have been bi g — r eally big. It made a world of noise.
I was so startled that it took me a few seconds to remember what I was doing.
As I shifted into drive, there was a pounding on the window: I screamed and let my foot up. The car rocked forward and the engine died.
Beside the driver’s side window was Albie. “You get out of that vehicle right now , young ma n — d o you hear me?” He jiggled the door handle.
I smiled, shrugged, and turned the ignition key again. This time I knew what to do: I kept my foot on the brake, shifted gears, then noticed Albie picking up the tire iron Dawkins had discarded. He raised it up like he was going to swing it right through the windshield.
I jammed my foot so hard against the gas pedal my leg went numb.
The front tires spun, throwing up a smoky cloud of burning rubber. For a moment, nothing happened. Then something seemed to catch, and the Cadillac leaped forward off the jacks.
I yelled in terrified surpris e — a nd a little bit of excitement, to be honest. I was driving!
Until, that is, the car’s back end crashed down on the pavement.
I hope I never find out what a car wreck sounds like, but I imagine it sounds a lot like the earsplitting screech the Caddy made as it flopped into the parking lot.
Albie slammed his fist against the roof and cried out, “Stop! Please, stop! You’re ruining a classic!”
But there was no going back. I punched the gas again.
The car barely moved.
I stood on the pedal with both feet to push it as hard as I could. The engine revved, whining louder and louder until finally the car began dragging itself forward. It was like a thousand metal fingernails scraping down hundreds of chalkboards.
It moved in jerks and spasms, like a dying animal. The back rims caught on something, the front tires spun and gray clouds of smoke obscured the windshield, then suddenly the car surged forward, fat showers of sparks fanning up behind me. After twenty feet of this, Albie gave up and watched, peeking between his
“First, you’re going to turn that key there. That starts the engine.”
“I said I haven’t driven before. I didn’t say I was stupid.”
“Then you put your foot on the brak e — t hat’s the wide center peda l — a nd you’re going to move the gearshif t — t his knob her e — f rom P to D . The D stands for drive . At that point, you’re good to go.”
The world through the dirty windshield was streaky and faraway. “I can’t really see.”
“What’s to see? It’s a truck-stop parking lot.” Nonetheless, Dawkins spat on the glass and rubbed it with the sleeve of his leather jacke t — s mearing the dirt but clearing some space on the glass.
“So then I give it a little gas?”
“You’re going to need to give it a lot of gas. Really stomp on the pedal. Just go for broke.”
“Key, brake, D , gas pedal. Got it.” I played through it in my head.
“Just aim straight ahead, past that line of cars at the gas pumps and right to the open road beyond. Trust me, before you even get close, I’ll have reached the SUV, taken out that bald number, and freed Greta. Then she and I will come fetch you.”
I shook my head. “That’s the stupides t — ”
He tossed the black leather satchel onto the seat beside me. “Don’t forget to bring that when you ditch the car. It’s got our stuff.” He cradled the mechanic’s creeper in his arms. “Remember, you’re the distraction. So honk the horn the entire time. Yell like a crazy person if you want! We want them looking at you , the idiot driving a car without tires. Not at me , the guy skating in from the loading dock.”
With that, he stooped over and dashed outside, back the way we’d come. From the angle the Cadillac was facing, I couldn’t really see the SUV, but that was probably for the best. I pulled the door shut, locked it, and turned the key in the ignition.
The car engine must have been bi g — r eally big. It made a world of noise.
I was so startled that it took me a few seconds to remember what I was doing.
As I shifted into drive, there was a pounding on the window: I screamed and let my foot up. The car rocked forward and the engine died.
Beside the driver’s side window was Albie. “You get out of that vehicle right now , young ma n — d o you hear me?” He jiggled the door handle.
I smiled, shrugged, and turned the ignition key again. This time I knew what to do: I kept my foot on the brake, shifted gears, then noticed Albie picking up the tire iron Dawkins had discarded. He raised it up like he was going to swing it right through the windshield.
I jammed my foot so hard against the gas pedal my leg went numb.
The front tires spun, throwing up a smoky cloud of burning rubber. For a moment, nothing happened. Then something seemed to catch, and the Cadillac leaped forward off the jacks.
I yelled in terrified surpris e — a nd a little bit of excitement, to be honest. I was driving!
Until, that is, the car’s back end crashed down on the pavement.
I hope I never find out what a car wreck sounds like, but I imagine it sounds a lot like the earsplitting screech the Caddy made as it flopped into the parking lot.
Albie slammed his fist against the roof and cried out, “Stop! Please, stop! You’re ruining a classic!”
But there was no going back. I punched the gas again.
The car barely moved.
I stood on the pedal with both feet to push it as hard as I could. The engine revved, whining louder and louder until finally the car began dragging itself forward. It was like a thousand metal fingernails scraping down hundreds of chalkboards.
It moved in jerks and spasms, like a dying animal. The back rims caught on something, the front tires spun and gray clouds of smoke obscured the windshield, then suddenly the car surged forward, fat showers of sparks fanning up behind me. After twenty feet of this, Albie gave up and watched, peeking between his
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