A Sticky Situation
Sally focused on two things as she crouched down behind the pallet of boxes. First, she wasn’t ready to die; second, she really needed to pee. “You’ve got to get us out of here,” she whispered through clenched teeth.
Her best friend, Pearl, licked her lips. “You could help, you know. I ain’t the only one hooked on true crime. Thought you’d have a plan by now.”
“When was I supposed to make a plan?” Sally asked, her knees crackling and dust tickling her nose. Sally had no idea where they were, and she could have kicked herself for not finishing her Spanish lessons before coming to Mexico. Now they were being chased, and Sally was about to wet her pants. This was precisely what her kids had worried would happen.
“Shhh. I hear somebody talkin’ outside. Come here,” Pearl said, motioning for Sally to move closer to the back wall behind another stack of boxes. “Scoot down lower. You teased your hair too high. It’s stickin’ up like a rooster and gonna get us killed.”
“I can’t scoot down that low. I won’t be able to get back up.”
“Just do what I’m doin’,” Pearl whispered.
“You’re a foot closer to the ground than I am,” Sally whispered back.
The door to the warehouse creaked, and a sliver of sunlight spread across the floor. Sally’s heart pounded in her ears. Pearl grabbed her hand and squeezed it so tight that her fingers went numb. What were they going to do? Maybe the warehouse had been a dumb idea, but it seemed like the best option after escaping the back of the van.
“Hello. Anybody in here?”
Sally’s stomach dropped. She knew that voice.
“Oh, my stars,” Pearl whispered and rolled her eyes.
Sally turned to look behind them. Spotting a door in the corner, she whispered, “We’re going to have to make a run for it.”
“I can hear you talking. You’re not that quiet, you know,” the voice called out.
Sally strained to pinpoint where the voice was in the warehouse. If they wanted to get to the door, they would have to cross a wide opening between the stacks of boxes. If they ran, they could reach it. But if the door was locked, they were sunk.
Maybe they should give up. They could talk it out. Sally locked her knees together and bit her lip. Who was she kidding? That person couldn’t be reasoned with.
“You can come out. It’s okay. This was all just a misunderstanding.” The voice was farther away than it had been before.
Sally perked up. Now was their chance. She squeezed Pearl’s hand and pointed to the door. Pearl gave her a quick nod. Sally leaned close to Pearl’s ear and whispered, “Let’s go. On the count of three.”
“Come on, girls, let’s grab a drink and talk it out.”
Sally put up her fingers.
One.
Two.
Three.
Sally took a deep breath and ran, pulling Pearl along after her. They crossed between two pallets of boxes before there was a sharp call from the other side of the building. “Hey!”
“Crap,” Pearl panted as they ran.
“Keep moving,” Sally said without looking back.
“If I have a heart attack, I’m gonna kill you.”
A loud crack rang out, and glass rained from a window above. They both shrieked, Sally’s ears ringing. “What was that?” she asked.
“Gunshot.”
Sally’s steps faltered, but Pearl grabbed her elbow and pulled her along. A gunshot? Sally had never heard a gunshot in real life.
“Faster,” Pearl cried. They were twenty feet from the door.
Another gunshot hit a stack of boxes next to them.
Hold on. How did two small-town seniors get themselves into this situation? Maybe we should start at the end.
