Re-Introducing Sonny Mitchell in the Sequel to The Little Bastards
By Jim Lindsay
started to get lively with sirens blaring and flashing lights, as police cars appeared in front of a store on 1st street. They had arrived from every direction to what looked like a jewelry
heist. Joe, Miles and I had just left the scene on bicycles pedaling like crazy north over the highway bridge where we dropped off on a trail that led to the darkness of the golf course, just
as headlights from two cruisers popped over the crown on the bridge behind us. Through the brush I could see they had stopped on the high point of the bridge and thrown on their spotlights. We
raced across the fairways one after another, following the river until we reached the trestle that led to the safety of our side of town. We ditched the bikes and scaled the timbers to the
rails and began our sprint for our side of the river. We were on a dead ass run halfway across the bridge when the searchlights caught us. "Hit the dirt!" I yelled as I tackled Miles crashing
our bodies into Joe who went down in front of us.
I froze with my face in the treated wood of the ties sucking in the smell of creosote. Beams of light bounced around us,
ricocheting off the support timbers and over the rails. They had us pinned down and we couldn’t move. It was only about a hundred yards of open territory between us and safety but in our
predicament it might as well have been 10 miles. With the breeze out of the west came buzz and static spilling bits and pieces of conversation from the source of the lights, the police hunting
us from the other bridge. Eerie red shadows flashed across the river at us given off by the rotating gumballs on top of the cop cars on Water Street.
Suddenly I felt a
vibration under me, then a ringing sound came through the rails. Son of a bitch a train’s coming! I had to think fast. If we got up and ran it would give us away and we’d go to reform school.
If we stayed hunkered down we might live through it and keep our freedom.
"We’re going to die." moaned Miles. I could hear him crying.
"Shut up!" yelled
Joe. "I'd rather die than go back to that court house."
"If they catch us," I yelled back, "we’re going somewhere besides the courthouse and it won’t be as nice! I still had
Miles by his ankles. "Get hold of Joe’s feet." I said "We’re going to ride this out."
The bridge began to shudder under me and the train got louder charging toward us. Miles
was blubbering and threatening to jump and run. I had a death grip on him and he was clamming onto Joe.
And then it was on us.
The engine came first making
a crashing booming sound like rolling thunder. Then the wind with it carried an ear splitting howling sound drowning out the horrendous racket of the diesel engine as the barrage of train cars
came roaring over us with their steel wheels grinding on the rails. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was throwing me around like a doll. I was sure the throbbing was going to
heave me into the rolling steel above me tearing me to shreds.
Don't Miss The Little Bastards
, Jim Lindsay's first book in the