𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

43. shitting a brick.

F O R T Y - T H R E E
shitting a brick.

The Twinkie slowly ambles across the soft Earth, and eventually we get to where we almost went astray earlier.

"Aw crap, the tide," John B huffs as we all look through the cracked windscreen.

Dirty water laps across what was not so long ago a road, the smell of the rising tide stinks up the car that already permanently reeks of stale weed.

"This doesn't look good," I mumble under my breath while Kie asks, "How deep is that?"

John B sighs before answering, "I dunno. The road's gone," He says, sounding annoyed at the whole idea.

My head begins thumping painfully; just when I was heading in the direction of being able to make my mid-afternoon nap on time, this happens. Wonderful. Is there a long way we can go? Maybe one where I get to keep the window open? Is that too much for a girl to ask for?

JJ scratches the back of his neck with a tense expression, "The tide rose faster than I thought it would," my dear boyfriend states the obvious.

He is really pissing me off in the last ten seconds.

"Just a little bit," John B agrees.

"Uh, John B, how high are the spark plugs?" JJ asks. It's a stupid question from him, there's no way he doesn't know. JJ knows cars like I know naps and medical dramas. The only reason he's asking is because he wants John B to lie to him.

"They're good. We're fine," John B brushes off the question.

I am about to scream.

"How high are they?" Pope presses the issue.

"Oh, um..." John B trails off and looks outside his window toward the back of the van, "Uh, just above the tail light." He answers.

"Okay, so that's what, three feet?" Pope puts two and one together.

"That's three feet. Yeah," JJ agrees.

I press the heel of my hands in the ditch of my eyes, stars dance across my blank vision.

Why couldn't that Minion fucker have stolen the moon, who needs tides?

"That water can't be three feet deep." Kie points out. However, I am suspicious. It's sounding a whole lot like wishful thinking to me.

This entire conversation screams of desperation.

"But since when does anything go right for us," I grumble bitterly. "There's probably a thirty foot sink hole right smack bang in the middle."

JJ looks back at me with a raised brow, "Mabel, we're good. It's all good. She'll make it," he assures. I want to yank his ear.

"Ladies and gentlemen, fasten your seat belts. Hold on to something. We're going into hyperdrive," John B commentates, disrupting my violent thoughts. "Three, two, one." He counts down before pressing the accelerator, nothing happens for a second while the car is stuck in the slick mud, then it gains traction and begins rolling picking up speed with each passing millisecond.

I grab the back of John B's headrest, getting ready for the inevitable disaster.

"Faster! Faster!" JJ encourages from the passenger seat.

My heart is in my fucking throat. The Twinkie doesn't do speed, honestly, the car does absolutely nothing right.

We so nearly make it. We were so, so, so very close, but right at the last second, after we got past a majority of the water John B hits something in the murky depths and veers off the course and we are so very fucked.