He started the DeLorean up and lifted it smoothly from the ground. He had cleared the billboard in a matter of seconds.
But somebody was coming down the road, on the other side! It was a pickup truck. The truck screeched to a halt as soon as the driver spotted the flying car.
Doc realised that truck looked awfully familiar, what with the repainted sign on the door and all, even before Old Man Peabody jumped out brandishing his shotgun.
Doc decided it was time to get out of here. He started to perform the sort of thing they always called ‘evasive manoeuvres' as Peabody aimed and fired.
Doc threw the DeLorean into a mini-nosedive, so it swooped almost to the ground, and then began climbing again, right into the real estate pennants hanging from the Lyons Gate sign! He heard cloth rip as the pennants got caught on the underside of the DeLorean. Oh, well, Doc thought, it wasn’t the end of the world if he dragged a few cloth flags along with him. Just so long as he got out of here as quickly as possible! He blasted toward town, streaming a row of multi-coloured pennants behind him.
‘Come back here, you space varmint!’ Old Man Peabody called after him.
But then the DeLorean - even carefully flown at under eighty-eight miles per hour - was gone.
* * *
Biff groaned. He was coming around. Lester was glad he waited. When Biff woke up, Lester would tell him all about that other guy and what he did. Yeah, Lester would!
Biff opened his eyes and rubbed his jaw. He sat up, and blinked like he was having trouble remembering where he was.
He reached back to hike up his pants, then frowned and felt along his back.
‘What the hell?’ Biff muttered. He looked down at the lawn, like he was missing something.
Lester knew it. He just knew it!
‘He stole your wallet, didn’t he?’ Lester asked, trying not to spit despite his excitement.
‘Huh?’ Biff replied.
‘That kid took something off you while you were laying there!’ Lester exclaimed, almost clapping his hands that he might actually be right for a change. ‘I knew it was your wallet!’
Biff scowled at Lester.
‘What kid?’ Biff demanded. ‘Who?’
‘A little guy in a leather jacket,’ Lester replied. ‘I don’t know his name.’ He backed up a little, despite himself. Biff wouldn’t hurt him, would he? Lester was helping him!
‘Where did he go?’ Biff asked darkly.
Oh, good. Biff wasn’t going to beat up Lester. He was going to beat up the other guy. He pointed at the back door of the gym. ‘That way.’
Biff pushed Lester out of the way, and lumbered toward the gym. Lester grinned. He had done a good thing. Now maybe Biff and his boys wouldn’t beat him up again for two weeks, maybe three!
Biff growled as he flung the fire door aside. Boy, Lester thought, he wouldn’t want Biff beating him up when he was angry.
That could get really serious!
This plan had made a lot more sense when he had been on the ground.
Marty looked at the catwalk in front of him. Actually, you couldn’t even call it a catwalk. It was really only a pair of long bars that they had hung the lights from - two bars that stretched high across the stage. And those bars were covered with a thick layer of dust. They looked like they hadn’t been touched in years!
But there wasn't time for another plan. The other Marty was half-way through his guitar solo! He had to get over to the other side of the stage, before his other self got demolished by Biffs gang!
The bars swung sickeningly back and forth as Marty grabbed them. No time for another plan, he told himself again, and quickly hoisted himself onto the bars, so that he had a hand and foot on each of them. Now, he reasoned, all he had to do was crawl across.
The right bar swung away from him. Marty felt his right foot slip free and fall through space, straight toward his guitar-playing double! He twisted wildly back toward his left and, somehow, managed to regain his balance without losing his grip.
He crawled across the rest of the twin bars slowly, carefully, reaching out one hand, then one foot, then the other hand and foot, until he finally made it to the other side of the stage, where he could get a firm grip on an iron support pole. But he’d made it to the sa ndbags, too - fifteen or twenty of them, all tied together in one. big bundle. And there, almost directly underneath him. were the three hoods.