• 46



    “My quest…,” you hesitate for just a second or two before divulging those words that feel almost sacred to you, “My quest is Lost Dakota.”

    “Datz what we thought! And now to thicken the plot!”

    A state trooper’s car lights suddenly show up in your mirrors followed by the whoop of the siren. Your instincts tell you to bolt. And you do – right through the ultimately flimsy gate barrier in typical Hollywood fashion. The details of the pursuit are nothing remarkable – the cop drives fast, you drive a little faster and a little more disorderly.

    When you get a rush of adrenaline, sometimes your tonsils go into a slight vibratory mode that tickles your throat, almost like a sixth sense warning you of danger. Only this tonsil-sense doesn’t do a good job in signaling for the wide-load semi-trailer carrying a ranch-style home directly ahead of you in the right lane. You don’t know if it’s the force of the brake when you slam on the pedal or if it’s from hitting the side of the house, but you’re quite certain that you fly right through your windshield and magnificently crash and tumble straight into one of the bedroom windows. You’re bleeding in a number of places, but somehow you seem to be alright.

    “Am I being protected…or maybe I’m being…tested?”

    You peer out the window to see if the cop is still following, but as far you can still see and hear, there’s no sign of him.


    Go to page 88.


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