User blog:Aravis Tarkheena/LMBWFF Part 8

Eight is a lucky number. So I figured I'd have some fun with Part 8 and write what I wanted, which meant writing this part about Guac, because so far it's been the most fun writing about him. Or should I say her? If you find any inaccuracies in my writing about automotive affairs and terminology, please tell me so I can fix them, because I personally know nothing about them, so writing this chapter was kind of interesting in a difficult way. Also, I sort of change the POV back and forth (from third person omniscient to first person) without telling, but hopefully you can tell when. It's for effect. We all like effects. c:

PART 8

Guacamilla had found her target: a cluttered and dingy backyard surrounded by a chain-link fence backed onto a shabby street. The backyard looked like it had been turned into a shady sort of place for uncertified auto repairs. Beside 5 or 6 haphazardly parked cars in various stages of repair, a large rusted steel storage shed stood in a dilapidated corner, with a pile of red and yellow jerrycans stacked beside the slightly-ajar door. A red can would be gasoline, yellow meant diesel, but either would do.

The girl made a hasty wish that one of them would be filled, took a quick look about her, and stole over to the fence. It was no taller than Guacamilla's head, so it was a mere matter of a moment to pull herself up and over, accidentally skin her knee on the fencetop, and drop lightly to the ground on the other side. Her knee would start to bleed and probably get a nasty bruise later, but she ignored it and stole over to the shed.

A minute later she muttered a word that would have gotten her kicked from chat. All the cans were empty; she'd have to formulate another plan. She slipped inside the storage shed. It was dimly lit by an orange beam of late sunlight shining in the barely-open door, and Guacamilla was assaulted with the smell of WD-40, cold coffee, gasoline, sawdust, and rust. She pushed the door open further to let more light in. The shed was a mess; tools were strewn across the filthy concrete floor, the shelves were stacked with empty cans and bottles, cobwebs decorated the ceiling and corners, and all in all, it looked as if a blanket of grime had settled across it. Even the air was filled with dancing dirt particles that spun and swirled with every disturbance.

The only clean things in the place quickly caught Guacamilla's eyes, because compared to everything else, they positively sparkled: the car keys, neatly labeled and arranged on a rack. An idea formed in the girl's head. A getaway car AND the fuel she needed... but the fuel would be in the car. What a tidy package! The plan was set. She quickly found a length of rubber piping, swiped a fuel can, and lurked in the shed doorway, picking her ride. One car was definitely too smashed-up, another was missing 3 of its tires and was resting on blocks, the next looked fine but was parked behind all the others, and the van looked like it was beyond her driving ability.

That left one: a Delorean DMC-12. It had a dent in the panel behind the driver door, and the right side of the back bumper had also come to grief, probably in a minor collision. Guacamilla turned back into the shed and found the record book stashed underneath a pile of suspicious-smelling bottles. She turned the pages until she came to what she was looking for... "minor bodywork repairs." That was all that was entered on the Delorean's page. So the car worked fine. The sun had almost set but no lights in the house were on. Hal and Sadie must be wondering why she was taking so long. Maybe it had been a bad idea to leave them... but it was too late to think about that. Guacamilla grabbed the sports car's key and skittered over to it, intent on unnoticed escape. She unlocked it and dumped the rubber pipe and gas can on the passenger seat, then skulked over to the fence and dragged the gate open. It made an unpleasant creak, but otherwise cooperated.

Guacamilla took a last look around. There was still no one in sight. This whole escapade had gone uncannily well so far; she barely dared hope that everything else would go on so smoothly. Likely some mistake would be made, everything would come crashing down around her ears, and the plan would turn into a huge fiasco. Well, she'd get out of here as soon as possible so that wouldn't happen. She returned to the car, pulled the gull-wing door shut after her, and reached for the seatbelt, then remembered that there wasn't a seatbelt. This was getting ridiculously fun.

Key in the ignition. Turn the key. Good, the tank is 3/4 full. Engine starts, turn the lights on. Uh oh, bad idea. A light in the house flickered on, a shout rang out, people appeared. "What the brick was I thinking," Guacamilla muttered with a few more words that would typically have resulted in a ban this time. Lights off now. Disengage the parking break. Wrestle the car into gear. Forget this cool monologue. Cut and run.

She stepped on the gas and spun out of the yard, tires spitting gravel. Steadily ignoring the growing clamour behind, she sped down the road, squinting in the darkness. She'd only turn the headlights on when she'd lost her tail.

Guacamilla remembered the way back to the alley, but she wasn't about to head straight to it, that would be- ugh, there were headlights coming from behind. It was full dark now; if she stayed in the shadows and broke enough laws, she'd probably lose her pursuers. She ignored a stop sign and skidded around a corner, praying to all the deities she never believed in that she wouldn't kill herself. Or anyone else. Scrap, the headlights followed.

More speed. Head downtown where there's more traffic to lose yourself in. Coast right through this red light and hope the tail would have more sense than to follow. Oops, they don't. If they get caught, I don't care. If I get caught, I don't care either. I'm the wrong person. I'm in the wrong place. I'm in the wrong time, for bricks' sake. But I've got the right car.

Oh yeah, here's that traffic I wanted. Why did I ever think it was a good idea? Oh my goodness, I almost hit that kid on a bike. Now an illegal left turn, they'll definitely follow me through this. Wouldn't it be lovely if they got in an accident? No such hope, they're probably a better driver than me.

Another quick turn. I really should get away from all this light downtown. They're only getting closer. I'll have to time this right... a bit more speed... an amber light at the intersection... oh brick, there's a cop! Maybe a bit less speed. More control now, timing is everything... There's one car between him and me. I'll make sure it stays there. Now... through. Check in the mirror, the light is red. I'm through. He's not. Mission accomplished.

Guacamilla didn't lift her foot from the gas pedal; she still needed to put as much distance between her and her tail as possible. And the car needed to be disguised somehow if she wanted to keep it. And she definitely wanted to keep it. Some paint would do the trick, but she wan't going to steal anything else tonight. She'd just get back to the alley, deal with Rep, and jump the next fence when it came.