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Grandpa and Frank


"Honestly, Joey, they're not going to shoot us, and besides there's no way they'd be looking for us yet. We've only been gone a few hours."
"That's another thing been bothering me. The way we been traveling, we ain't going to make it to Chicago before midnight. Your idea about roads following section lines and going straight was fine while we was in the flat, but we keep getting mixed up with creeks and hills. Now that the sun's not shining, I'm not sure what direction's what."
"Look, we know we have to cross the Illinois (River), so let's do that, then we can stop and figure things out. And quit yelling, you're gonna wake Grandpa."
A huge fork of lightning stabbed down at us, and before the light faded, a roll of thunder rattled the truck.
Joey's face was white. "Wow, that was a close one."
I just held my breath. The rain started coming down in sheets, and I didn't see how Joey could follow the road. . . .
"Jeez, I can't see a thing," Joey said. "If we go off in a ditch, we've had it. These bottom roads are built up high, so there's a big drop on both sides."
"Look out," I screamed. "There's a tree."
Joey slammed on the brakes and the truck slid sideways . . . The truck nosed over the edge of the road and came to rest with Grandpa's side buried in tree branches.
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