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our goggles and hid in the shadows along the side of the road. Sweat poured down our faces and the salty sting of my perspiration burned my eyes. My body odor had a whole new scent of ferociousness. Fear. Even Snaggletooth knew something was up and he howled at the full moon above. I put my hand over his mouth to silence him. Not that it would have mattered.
    Ever felt like you wanted to do something, but you didn’t have the courage to do it? You know, like you were paralyzed, and you couldn’t move because you were so scared? Well, that was exactly what I was going through. And Freddie, he had this twisted look on his face like someone had sucker-punched him in the stomach—with a sledgehammer.
    The Hummer sped by us going at least a hundred miles an hour. Small pebbles shot out from under the tires, ricocheting everywhere. The Hummer spun out on the gravel road about fifty yards away from us and stopped.
    The high beams of the truck were aimed straight at us.
    We’d been spotted.
    Yorgi’s voice crackled from a loud speaker. “You make this easy, Gator, or does Yorgi do this the hard way?”
    Snaggletooth cowered on the floor of the sidecar, his body shaking.
    I shuddered too. I don’t know what I ever did to bother Yorgi, but he hated my guts from the get-go. Every time I ran into him, he’d point to his glass eye with his index and forefinger, glaring, and then direct them back at me as if he was waiting for me to make a mistake so he could pummel me into a pile of mush. And now the opportunity had presented itself to him—served on a silver platter.
    “I think we should get out of here,” said Freddie, overstating the obvious. “That way looks good.” He pointed to a fork in the road just behind us.
    “Better than that way.” I glanced back at the clown-filled truck, momentarily hypnotized by a red light from the cabin. Caesar had actually worn his flashing red nose. What a loser. And then I noticed something even more peculiar. “Freddie, you aren’t wearing your glasses?” I questioned. “Don’t you need them to see?”
    “Oh, those things? I just wear them so I look older.”
    I jumped in the sidecar. “You’re cooler without them. Less of a nerd.”
    “Well,” said Freddie with a twisted smile. “This cool kid is ready to bolt.”
    Freddie nodded with newfound confidence, hopped on Cherry’s black leather seat, and we took off—full throttle—pedal to the metal. Looking extra gutsy, Freddie switched on the NOS, and, well, we flew.
    Note to self: when trying to escape evil clowns on a supersonic chopper in Florida in the summer, keep my mouth closed. We were covered in bug guts.
    I turned to check behind us, and there it was edging closer and closer—the Hummer. Yorgi turned on his Ukrainian rap music, the bass thumping louder and louder. Not only did I feel the pulsating music and the thrust of the engine rattling my bones, the heat of Yorgi’s hate seared into the back of my head.
    Then there was darkness.
    Silence.
    We’d escaped them.
    Or so I prayed.
    But killer clowns could be quite deceptive.
    The rumble from our own ride was so earsplitting I didn’t realize Yorgi had turned off the lights and music and cruised right along beside us. Until I looked to my right. Yorgi’s glass eye gave his position away, reflecting in a flash of lightning.
    Thunder rumbled.
    This wasn’t going to be good.
    Splatter. A drop of chubby rain fell onto my head, then another, then another. The smell of dirt permeated the air, reminding me nothing would please Yorgi more than digging a hole and burying me in it. I flinched with every thunderclap.
    Yorgi’s throaty voice boomed from his loud speaker. “Tonight you die, swamp creature!”
    A spike from Yorgi’s killer rims scraped against the sidecar and sent sparks flying everywhere, like fireworks. All I could hear was the sound of crunching metal, thunder, and the deafening roar of our engines. Remember how I’d laughed before? Well, I wasn’t