19. Sophie
SOPHIE
Did you ever get a crazy idea that you knew was one, dangerous, two, stupid, and three, would probably land you in jail… but decided to do it anyway?
I was having one of those.
I watched as the handler took Bandit, the last animal, and loaded him in the trailer. He closed the door and locked it, just as his phone rang. With the phone to his ear, he walked away. I caught the words “be there in two hours.”
“This is the worst day of my life,” Dottie was saying, big tears flowing down her face. “This is wrong.”
I couldn’t keep staring at her. If I did, I’d join her in the waterworks. But I couldn’t. Not when I had a plan.
“I have an idea,” I told her, rushing over to the front of the truck. I glanced back and saw the handler still on the phone, his back turned, completely oblivious. I opened the door and saw the keys in the ignition. “Perfect.” I looked over at Dottie. “You coming?”
Dottie’s mouth fell open. “What? You can’t. That’s stealing.”
“It’s called temporary stealing. Are you coming or not. Because I’m going with or without you.” Was I crazy to do this? I was just the right amount of crazy.
Because every time I thought of Bandit, Theo, Daisy, and even Mr. Still-Doesn’t-Have-a-Name, turn into meat? I’d do everything in my power to stop it.
You just watch me.
Dottie mumbled something as she ran around the truck’s other side and climbed into the front passenger seat.
I slid behind the steering wheel before my brain had an opportunity to file an official objection.
The seat smelled faintly of hay, coffee, and diesel.
I also caught an unmistakable hint of wet dog, even though I was fairly certain no dogs had actually been transported in here.
Livestock trucks developed their own ecosystem.
Perfect.
Exactly the scent profile of several future felony charges.
I grabbed the wheel. “Okay…” My heart was beating somewhere around hummingbird speed. “I’ve never stolen a truck before.” Which felt like the sort of sentence that should automatically trigger an intervention. Or at least a strongly worded letter from my future self.
Dottie slammed her door. “I don’t think that’s something you should be saying out loud.” She fastened her seat belt with surprising efficiency for someone voluntarily participating in grand theft livestock.
“I’ve also never kidnapped livestock.” I looked toward the trailer in the side mirror. “But it’s more of a rescue. We’re animal activists. Temporary animal activists.”
“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” said Dottie.
“Me too.” Because so far, I was just making it up as I went.
She nodded. “At least we’re self-aware.” She folded both hands in her lap.
I looked at the gearshift. “You know…” It suddenly seemed alarmingly large. Why did truck gearshifts always look like they belonged in heavy machinery instead of ordinary transportation?
“What?”
“I really hope driving a livestock truck isn’t that much different from driving Sarah’s Jetta.” Sarah’s Jetta had cup holders. This thing looked like it could tow a small moon.
Dottie’s eyes grew wider. “You’ve never driven a truck before?”
I snorted. “Me? Yes. Of course.” Total lie.
“This thing weighs about twelve elephants.” She glanced out the windshield. “Possibly thirteen if you count the trailer.”
“I know.”
“And there’s live cargo.”
“I know.” Which made me feel even more responsible. Great. Now I wasn’t just committing a crime. I was committing a crime with passengers.
“And neither of us has a plan,” added Dottie, red blotches spreading across her face.
“I…” I paused. “Have the beginning of one.” Very beginning. Like page one. Possibly just the title.
She looked at me. “What is it?”
I turned the key. The diesel engine roared to life. I looked at her and said, “We drive.”
Dottie stared at me. “That’s not a plan.”
I pursed my lips. “It’s Phase One.” Every excellent disaster started with a first step. I was choosing to believe this worked the same way.
I glanced through my window and saw the loud diesel rumble finally caught the handler’s attention as he turned around. His expression slowly transformed from mild confusion to absolute horror. You could practically watch the realization travel across his face one horrifying thought at a time.
“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled, his face turning red. “Get the fuck out of my truck!” One hand flew into the air while the other still held his phone halfway to his ear. This wasn’t part of his usual morning.
“Well, that’s our cue.” I smiled weakly through the window. Then I waved. Why? I had absolutely no idea.
He shouted something I couldn’t hear and started sprinting toward us, phone still clutched in one hand and baseball cap bouncing on his head. The man moved surprisingly well for someone with such a generous middle.
Dottie squeaked. “He sees us!”
“No shit.”
“He definitely sees us! He looks upset!”
“I noticed that too.” I shoved the truck into gear. I also silently begged every mechanical component under the hood to please cooperate just this once.
Nothing happened.
“That’s not good.” I tried again. The truck lurched forward with all the grace of a confused rhinoceros. Then stalled. Silence. Absolute, soul-crushing silence. Even the birds seemed embarrassed for me.
Dottie slowly turned toward me. “You stalled the getaway vehicle.” She didn’t even sound angry. Just… disappointed in fate.
I frowned at her. “I can see that.” Believe me, if glaring at the transmission would’ve helped, we’d already be halfway to another state.
Dottie shook her head. “People are going to write books about this.” She stared straight ahead. “Very short books. But still.”
Behind us, the handler was getting closer. Very quickly. Arms pumping. Hat threatening to fall off. This was beginning to feel much less like an action movie and much more like one of those dreams where you try to run, but your legs refuse to cooperate.
I turned the key again. “Please… don’t do this. Come on.” I patted the dashboard, my hands trembling. “We’ve only just met. I’d really appreciate your support.”
The engine coughed. Growled. Then finally caught.
“Yes!”
The truck jerked forward. Hard enough that both Dottie and I bounced in our seats. Somewhere behind us something clanged loudly inside the trailer followed by what sounded suspiciously like an indignant alpaca.
The handler reached the driver’s door just as we rolled past him.
He slapped one hand against the side of the truck. “Hey! Get out of my truck!” His voice cracked somewhere between outrage and disbelief, which felt entirely reasonable under the circumstances.
The truck gathered speed. In the side mirror I watched him chase us for another twenty yards before common sense—or possibly a lack of cardiovascular enthusiasm—finally won.
He became smaller and smaller in the mirror until he was just one very annoyed man standing in the middle of the parking lot waving both arms like he was directing aircraft.
He stopped and bent over, his hands on his knees but still yelling.
I couldn’t hear a word, which was probably for the best. I suspected none of it would’ve made me feel particularly encouraged about my current decision-making process.
Bandit let out an excited little bleat from inside the trailer. I knew it was him. Did he know what I was doing? Probably not. For all I knew, he thought this was the world’s most entertaining field trip.
“Do you think they know we’re rescuing them?” I asked. It seemed irrationally important somehow.
“I think they know we’re moving,” replied Dottie, her eyes wide.
“Close enough.”
We rolled onto Main Road. The giant livestock trailer bounced gently behind us as sleepy Maplewood Falls carried on with its ordinary morning. The absurdity of it all was almost impressive.
We passed Mrs. Henderson outside the pharmacy watering flowers.
She waved.
I waved back.
I felt proud. Stupid proud of myself for being brave enough to follow my gut. I hadn’t exactly thought this through. More specifically, I had no idea where I was going or what I was going to do when I got there. Still, a month ago, that Sophie would have never taken charge.
This one did.
Still, I was driving a stolen truck full of farm animals. This was rapidly becoming one of those days that would require several disclaimers before telling the story. Possibly a lawyer present.
My hands tightened around the steering wheel. “So…”
Dottie said carefully. “So… where exactly are we going?”
I stared through the windshield, thought about it, thought a little harder, and then sighed. “I have absolutely no idea.”
“You don’t?”
“Nope.” I shifted into the next gear. “But I do know one thing.”
“What’s that?”
I glanced in the rearview mirror toward the trailer carrying Bandit, Theo, Daisy, and the donkey. “Anywhere is better than here.”
Neither of us said the obvious thing. Neither of us had the faintest idea what happened next.
But I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t let these animals, my friends, end up at some auction. They deserved better. They deserved grass. Ear scratches. Ridiculously affectionate alpaca hugs. They deserved people who thought of them as someone instead of something.
And then a thought occurred to me. I was having a lot of those today. Which, historically speaking, was rarely an encouraging sign. My best ideas generally arrived with the same energy as What if I cut my own bangs? They always sounded reasonable for the first seven seconds.
“Dr. Keller,” I said out loud. “Margot’s new boyfriend. The vet. Maybe he can take them?” It was a long shot, but I was going with it. Veterinarians liked animals. This seemed like a solid foundation for a plan. Better than my previous strategy of steal first, think later.
“I think you might be onto something,” said Dottie.
She clutched the dashboard with one hand while the other still held a half-open bag of homemade grass cookies she’d somehow remembered to bring during the commission of a felony.
“Even if he can’t, he might know of a farm nearby that can take them. ”