The Worst Night Ever

by Dave Barry

  Victor, Taylor, Matt, and I were watching all this from the middle of the street, a dozen or so yards behind the trucks. Victor was the first one to react.

  “Come on,” he said. He started running toward the trees on the property across from the Bevin house. The rest of us followed. When we reached the trees, we were all breathing pretty hard. Taylor took off her horse head and Victor took off his Vader mask. I stepped out of my horse butt. Underneath I had on shorts and sneakers. We stood in the shadows and watched what was happening back on the street.

  The trucks had stopped near a streetlight, so we could see them pretty well. There were four guys, two from each truck, all four wearing hazmat suits. They had flashlights and were at the back of the second truck, looking at the blown tire. They said some bad words and some other stuff I couldn’t hear much of, except it was pretty clear they thought we were just random Halloween kids being vandals. That was good. At least they didn’t know we knew what was in the trucks. They huddled together and talked for a minute or so. Then they went to the back of the truck. They looked around to see if anybody was there, then raised the cargo door.

  A flashlight beam lit up the inside. Practically the first thing it hit was the head of the Komodo dragon, pressed against the side of a big wire cage.

  “Holy crap,” said Taylor. “You weren’t kidding.”

  “No,” I said.

  One of the men climbed up into the back of the truck, shining his flashlight around. We could see that there were other cages in there. The guy found what he was looking for, attached to the wall next to a fire extinguisher: a long, black metal thing. He handed it down to one of the other men.

  “That’s a jack,” said Victor. “They’re gonna change the tire.”

  “How long will that take?” I asked.

  “Ten or fifteen minutes, if they know what they’re doing. Then they’ll be on their way again.”

  The men were putting the jack under the truck.

  “I screwed everything up,” said Matt. “By peeing.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I screwed up, too.”

  “We all did,” said Victor.

  “Except me,” said Taylor.

  “The question is,” said Victor, “what do we do now? We still need to stop them.”

  “Maybe we could get those two road stars that Taylor had,” said Matt. “They went into the grass over there.” He pointed toward the grass on the side of the street near where the trucks had stopped the first time. It was about halfway between where we were hiding and where the trucks were parked now.

  “I don’t know,” said Victor. “Even if we can get them without being seen, those guys are going to be looking out for us now.”

  Two of the men had jacked up the truck and were taking off the wheel. The other two were standing by, looking around. A group of four trick-or-treaters walked past. The two lookouts drifted in their direction, giving them the eyeball. The trick-or-treaters steered clear of the truck.

  “See?” said Victor. “They’re not letting anybody get close.”

  The men had the wheel off. They started lowering the spare wheel from a space under the truck. Some more trick-or-treaters came by, and again the two lookouts made sure they didn’t get close.

  “We’re running out of time,” said Victor. “We need an idea.”

  Some more trick-or-treaters were coming toward the trucks.

  “Okay,” I said. “When those kids get near, and the two guys move toward them to scare them off, I’ll try to get the road stars.”

  “Then what?” said Victor.

  “I don’t know, but at least we’ll have the road stars.”

  Victor nodded.

  The trick-or-treaters were getting close. The lookouts started walking their way.

  “Go,” said Victor.

  I sprinted toward the patch of grass where I’d seen the road stars go flying when Taylor got knocked down. Ahead of me I could see the rear truck and two guys changing the tire. They were busy with that and not looking my way. Past them I could see the two lookouts heading toward the trick-or-treaters. So far, so good.

  I reached the patch of grass and started looking around frantically. The problem was, it was dark, so I had to lean over and feel the ground with my hands, which was not efficient. I looked up: the trick-or-treaters were veering away from the trucks. The lookouts were turning back toward where I was. One of them beamed his flashlight in my direction. I dropped to my stomach and pressed myself into the grass.

  Somehow, I managed not to scream when my right hand came down on the sharp upturned point of a road star.

  So at least I found one. That was the good news. Unfortunately, there was also bad news. For one thing, my hand really hurt and was bleeding. For another thing, the two men had the new wheel on the truck and were tightening it. The two lookouts were drifting in my direction, shining their flashlights around. Like maybe one of them had seen me. I pressed myself harder into the grass as the lookouts drifted closer. I realized they were definitely going to see me in another few seconds. I got ready to get up and run.

  “Hey! Let’s go!”

  The lookouts stopped. The tire-changers had finished and were lowering the jack. The lookouts turned around and headed back toward them. Now all four of them were gathered around the back of the second truck.

  Which meant nobody was watching the front truck.

  Without thinking about it, I stood up. I had a clear path in front of me, and the four guys were not looking my way. All I had to do was get to the front truck, put the road star under the front tire, and keep going. I saw that I definitely was going to make it. I started running.

  Then I stepped on the second road star.

  This time, I screamed. I couldn’t help myself. It went through my sneaker and into my right foot, and it really, seriously hurt. I fell forward onto the street, and the road star I’d been holding flew out of my hands, tumbling toward the front truck. All four hazmat suits were running my way, shouting. I rolled onto my back in the road, moaning. I could feel my right sneaker getting wet with blood. The hazmat men gathered around me, looking really mad. I looked up and saw that one of them—the big one who grabbed me by the arm before—was holding the road star I dropped in the street. He pulled it back, like he was going to throw it at me. I held up my hands to block it. Blood from the cut on my hand dripped down my face.

  One of the other guys grabbed the big guy’s arm and said, “He’s messed up enough already.”

  “Good,” said the big guy.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move behind the men. I turned my head a little to see better. It was Taylor, in her jeans and hoodie, sprinting toward the second truck. What was she doing?

  “What do we do about him?” said one of the men, I guess meaning about the fact that I was bleeding.

  Taylor was at the back of the second truck.

  “Leave him,” said the first guy. “He got what he deserved. We need to get down there.”

  The others nodded. The men turned away from me, toward the trucks.

  Taylor was gone.

  I watched as two of the men went to the first truck and got in. The other two went around behind the second truck, out of my sight. I heard a bang sound, which I guessed was them shutting the cargo door. Then they got into the truck cab. Both engines started. The truck behind flashed its lights, they started moving, and a few seconds later were down the street and gone.

  I didn’t see Taylor. I figured she must have run around behind the trucks and into the yard on the other side.

  “Taylor?” I said. “Taylor?” I stood up, which was not easy. My right foot felt like it was on fire.

  “TAYLOR?” I yelled.

  “Wyatt!”

  The voice wasn’t Taylor’s. It was Matt’s. He and Victor were running toward me from the trees.

  “Are you okay?” said Matt.

  “Where’s Taylor?” I said.

  “You didn’t see?” said Victor.
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  “No! Where is she?”

  “Wyatt,” said Victor. “Taylor’s on the truck.”

  “What?” I said. “How did she get on the truck?”

  “She just jumped on!” said Matt. “Just before those guys started walking toward the back of the truck, she jumped into the back and hid behind one of the crates. The guys didn’t even look in there. They just closed the door and took off.”

  “But why was she even near the truck?”

  “I don’t know,” said Victor. “When you fell down, she said, ‘We have to do something!’ I said, ‘Like what?’ And she just said, ‘We have to stop them!’ and took off running toward the truck. I have no idea what she thought she was going to do.”

  “She probably didn’t have any idea, either,” I said.

  “Wyatt,” said Matt, “you’re bleeding a lot.”

  I looked down at my right hand, which was covered with blood. The streetlight made it look almost black. My right sneaker, which used to be mostly white, was now mostly black. I could feel the blood squishing around down there. I also had blood on my face and all over my shirt.

  “You look really messed up,” said Matt.

  “You need to see a doctor,” said Victor.

  I shook my head. “Not now. We need to catch up to those guys.”

  “Wyatt,” said Matt. “Victor’s right. You need to go to—”

  “Just shut up about the doctor, okay?” I shouted. “My sister’s in trouble, bad trouble, and it’s my fault. If something happens to her…” I had to stop there, because the next thing out of my mouth was going to be a pathetic sob. I bent over and took a few deep breaths, then said, “I’m sorry.” I’m not sure who I was saying it to. Matt, I guess, because I yelled at him. But also to Taylor, and my parents, and the world in general. I was just sorry.

  “It’s okay,” said Matt.

  I said, “Let’s go.”

  “Go where?” said Victor.

  I pointed down the street, where the trucks had gone.

  “On foot?” said Victor.

  “If we have to,” I said. I was feeling pretty desperate, but I figured if I got going instead of standing around, maybe something would happen. So I started walking.

  And guess what? Something did happen.

  I fell down.

  My right foot just wouldn’t take any weight. I barely got my hands out fast enough to keep my face from smashing into the street.

  “Wyatt!” said Matt. “You okay?”

  “No,” I said. I didn’t look up, because I was crying. I was now officially the most pathetic loser on the planet. I couldn’t even try to help my sister, let alone all the people at the zoo party, which was about to be swarming with Killer Kritters on the wrong side of the cage.

  No, instead of doing something, I was going to be lying on my face crying like a baby.

  “Wyatt,” said Victor. “You need to get up.”

  “Why?” I said. “What’s the point?”

  “The point is, you’re in the street, and somebody’s coming.”

  I looked up. At the end of the street, a single headlight was heading toward us.

  “It’s a motorcycle,” said Matt.

  “The police maybe?” said Victor.

  With Victor’s help, I stood up and managed to hop to the side of the street. The light came closer, and we could see it wasn’t a police motorcycle. It was a motor scooter, a Vespa. Then it got near the streetlight and we could see who was driving it.

  “That’s weird,” said Victor.

  The driver was Chewbacca.

  “Is that supposed to be a gorilla?” said Matt.

  “No,” said Victor. “That’s Chewbacca. From Star Wars.”

  “Oh yeah,” said Matt. “The Whoopie.”

  “It’s Wookiee,” said Victor.

  “Really? I always thought it was Whoopie.”

  “Shut up, Matt,” I said as the Wookiee veered our way.

  He stopped the scooter right next to us.

  “Wyatt?” he said.

  “Who’re you?” I said.

  “Sorry.” He turned off the scooter, then took off his Wookiee head, underneath which was Jon. “It’s me.” He looked at my face and shirt. “Man, you’re a mess. What happened?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” I said. “We need to catch the trucks.”

  “What? They’re gone?”

  “They just left.”

  Jon said a bad word. “I was heading for the zoo when I got your text that the trucks were here.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “They were here. We tried to stop them. It didn’t work.”

  Jon said another bad word.

  “It’s worse than that,” I said. “My sister’s in one of the trucks.”

  “What? With the animals?”

  “Yes. I’ll explain later. We need to go now. I’ll ride on the back.” I made a one-foot hop toward the scooter.

  He held up his hand. “You can’t go.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re hurt, Wyatt. You need to see a doctor.”

  “I will later.”

  He shook his head. “You’re covered with blood. There’s police at the security gate, at the zoo, all over. That’s why I had to get this stupid costume, so they won’t recognize me. But if I ride past with a bloody kid on the back of the scooter, they’re gonna stop me and make me take off the head. Then I’ll be arrested.” He looked at Matt and Victor. “You’re his friends?”

  They nodded.

  “Get him to a doctor, okay?”

  They nodded again.

  “I gotta get down to the zoo,” he said. He pressed the ignition button and started the scooter. “I should have gone there in the first place.”

  “Wait!” I said. “You have to take me. That’s my sister they have, and it’s my fault. Please.”

  “I told you, Wyatt. When the cops see you—”

  “What if they can’t see me?” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  So I told him.

  Three minutes later, the Vespa buzzed out through the Bay Estates security gate, past the police officers.

  Chewbacca was driving the scooter. Sitting behind him, holding on as best it could, was the front half of a horse.

  The officers looked at the scooter, then at each other. Then they shrugged. Another Halloween night in Miami.

  “Hang on!” shouted Jon, for maybe the fifteenth time.

  We were on South Dixie Highway, which is a big six-lane road that always has a lot of traffic. Jon was swerving the scooter left and right, and I was trying to hang on. My right hand still hurt, and my right foot felt like somebody was stabbing it with a screwdriver. I couldn’t see very well because I had to look out through the horse’s mouth. But I could see that Jon was weaving between cars, ignoring the lane markers. He was also ignoring red lights, blasting right through them. A couple of times we almost got nailed by cars coming from the side. A lot of people were honking at us.

  So it was not what I would call a comfortable ride. But we were going faster than the rest of the traffic. Which meant we had to be catching up with the trucks. I hoped.

  “Hang on!”

  We made a hard right turn. I heard a long honk right next to us.

  “Sorry!” shouted Jon, to the honker. To me he shouted, “We’re on 152nd Street. We’re almost to the zoo.” After a few more swerves he yelled, “I see them!”

  “The trucks?”

  “Yes!” More swerving. “Hang on! We’re gonna pass them.”

  I saw the Gomez Party Rental trucks to our left. I looked at the second one, thinking, Taylor’s in there. As we went by I leaned the horse head down to the right so Jon’s body blocked it, in case the men in the trucks might recognize it. A couple of seconds later we were past the trucks. Jon blasted through another red light, so now we were way in front of them. I sat up and saw the zoo sign ahead on the left. Jon swerved toward it in front of a bunch of honking cars coming the other way.
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  “What are we doing?” I shouted.

  “We’re going to where the Killer Kritter party is. We have to tell people to get out of there. We have a little time. The trucks have to go past the zoo and drive around the back.”

  We turned into the zoo driveway, which was long and had lines of palm trees on both sides. We got to some parking lots that looked pretty full. We zipped past those and onto a walkway leading to the main entrance. There was a ticket booth to the right. Past that was a big archway leading into the zoo, where some employees were standing around. Jon aimed straight for the archway, not slowing down. When the employees saw him coming they started shouting and waving their arms. Jon kept coming, holding the horn button down so it went beeeeeeeeeeeeep. The zoo employees jumped out of the way, still shouting as we blasted past them.

  We were inside the zoo now, on a wide, straight walkway. Jon kept the horn beeping. People in Halloween costumes scurried out of our way. At the end of the walkway we reached the perimeter path that goes around the whole zoo, past all the exhibits. Jon made a scary sharp right turn onto that, still beeping, still yelling at me to hang on, still swerving like a maniac. I was starting to feel sick. I wanted to take the stupid horse head off but was too afraid to let go. I heard screams and shouts and caught glimpses of people in costumes dodging out of our way. I saw a sign that said INDIAN ELEPHANT, but I didn’t see an actual elephant, which was pretty much the only thing that could have made the situation worse.

  We kept going. And going. And going. The swerving was making me feel so sick I almost forgot about the road star stabbing my foot. I was pretty sure I was going to barf inside the horse head. Then, suddenly, Jon skidded the scooter to a stop, turned off the engine, and got off. I pulled off the horse head, finally, and saw that we were at the edge of a huge crowd of people in costumes. We had reached the party. Up ahead was a banner that said KILLER KRITTERS hanging over a bunch of cages, with people swarming all around. Next to that was a lit-up stage with a DJ on it, shouting into a microphone.