Tucker had finally gotten the ancient machine to start. It roared to life, belching black smoke and a single, forgotten squirrel that shot out like a fuzzy cannonball. The squirrel, understandably enraged, latched onto Chad’s hair.
It started small. Allison, trying to get a better view of the cabin, slipped on a wet rock and started tumbling toward the river. Dale, doing his best impression of a rescue swimmer, dove in and hauled her out. tucker and dale