“Too bad we couldn’t get more,” Fang said, counting the money.
“Let’s go back to the gas station and buy a bunch of food,” Nudge urged.
I shook my head. “People there may have already seen us. We’ve got to get out of here.”
While we’d hidden in the woods, a red van had pulled up behind one of the stores. A young guy had unloaded some stuff from the back of it, then headed inside. Before the door swung shut, we saw him punch a time card.
So he was at work for at least a couple hours, till his first break.
And there was his van, just sitting there.
Fang and I looked at each other.
“Money from a jerk is one thing,” I said. “A car from just a guy is something else.”
“We’d only need to borrow it for a few hours,” Fang said. “We could leave him some money as a rental fee.”
“Are we stealing that car?” the Gasman asked. “Let’s.”
I frowned. “No. We’re sort of thinking about borrowing it.” On the one hand, I really didn’t want to become a teenage criminal. On the other hand, every minute that ticked by was another minute closer to Angel’s being the number one dissection lesson for a bunch of rabid geneticists.
“That’s like Grand Theft Auto,” the Gasman said helpfully. “I saw it on TV. It’s popular with kids.”
“Better ‘borrow’ it soon,” advised Iggy. “I hear a chopper.”
I made an executive decision. And yeah, I know—my karma’s going to come back and get me, too.
In movies, people always “borrow” cars by yanking some wires out from under the dash and connecting them. But the real way it works involves a screwdriver and the starter thingy, under the hood. My personal ethics prevent me from giving you more information. That’d be just what I need: a rash of car thefts across America, committed by dedicated readers.
I don’t think so.
Anyway, I did the engine thing while Iggy sat in the driver’s seat, pressing the gas. The motor grumbled into life, I slammed the hood, and we jumped into the van. My heart was pounding at about two hundred beats a minute.
Then I just stared at the controls.
“Oh, my God,” said Fang. “None of us has ever driven.”
It wasn’t like him to have missed this important detail.
“I’ve seen people drive on TV,” I said, trying to sound confident. “How hard could it be?” I knew about the whole neutral, park, drive thing, so I put it into D.
“Okay, guys,” I said. “Here goes nothing.”
55
You might not know this, but cars have a separate parking brake, not just the foot pedal one. That brake is often not immediately obvious to the naked eye.
Attempting to drive a car before you find and release the parking brake is like trying to drag a Saint Bernard into a bathtub. But enough on that.
“Okay, okay, we’re doing okay,” I said twenty minutes later, after I finally found and released the parking brake. I felt like I was at the helm of a huge, clumsy runaway elephant.
I was sweating and about to jump out of my skin with anxiety about driving, but I tried to look way confident and calm. “I mean, it’s not as good as flying, but it beats the heck out of walking!”
I smiled bravely over at Fang to see him giving me a steady look. “What?”
“Could you take it easy on the hairpin turns?” he said.
“I’m getting better,” I said. “I just had to practice.”