Page 55 of The Wilder Widows

“Isn’t it that way?” Sylvie asked, pointing down the street.

“It is. But we’re making a quick stop.”

“For what? Breakfast?” Doris asked. “I don’t think I can eat. I’ll toss my cookies if I try to run with something in my stomach. I don’t think I’ve run since gym class in high school.”

The scooter rental place came into sight, and I smiled and turned back toward them, opening my arms to showcase the colorful scooters lined up behind me. “I told you I would come up with a solution, ladies. And here it is. None of us are in any condition to run, so I rented scooters!”

“What?” Alice stepped around me and cringed at the small orange scooter with the basket in front. “A scooter?”

“So smart!” Sylvie smiled and walked over to the pink one.

Crossing her arms, Alice shook her head. “I’m not riding a scooter.”

“Alice, you’re limping. And you’re in high heels. You need a scooter,” I said.

Shaking her head harder, she scoffed. “These aren’t even cute, chic travel scooters! These are mobility scooters! Old people scooters! I don’t do tater tots, and I don’t do old people scooters. I’ll run.”

With a shrug, I shook my head. “Suit yourself. But I’m riding this bad boy.” I patted the orange one, and Doris stepped up to the turquoise one.

“I’ve never ridden a scooter.” Doris climbed on hers, taking a look around.

“I know. It’s why I didn’t rent the regular two-wheel kind. These sweet rides have three wheels, so we don’t need to worry about tipping over and getting trampled. More stable.” Pride swelled in me because I’d even thought that part through.

“I’m all about the scooter.” Sylvie climbed into the seat and put her feet up on the floor in front of her. “I was not looking forward to running. How fast does this bad boy go?”

“Ten miles per hour, baby.” I slid a hand along the sleek orange lines of my scooter.

“And how fast do bulls run?” Doris asked.

With a snort, Alice answered. “A hell of a lot faster than that.”

“We’ll be fine,” I argued. “We just need to stay out of their way, not outrun them. No one outruns them.”

“I’m scared.” Doris pushed out her lower lip.

“Me too,” I admitted. “But I made a promise to my friends. Even if you all decide to back out, I need to do this.”

“We’re with you, Marge. You made a pact with them, and the Wilder Widows made a pact with you.” Sylvie smiled.

“Do people die during this thing?” Alice asked.

“Rarely. Some gorings most years, but there are ambulances all along the route, so we’ll be fine.”

“Just remember... the good picture.” Alice pointed at each one of us, making sure her point hit home.

“I paid for these when I went out this morning. Keys are in the ignition. Just turn it on. Right handle is gas, left handle is brake.”

“When the bulls come, just keep squeezing the right.” Sylvie laughed while she fired up her engine. It whirred to life, and she squeezed the right handle, creeping forward with much less thrust than she seemed to anticipate. “Okay, they are slow to get going. We need a good head start before the bulls reach us!”

I turned my key, and the scooter vibrated beneath me. “Follow me, ladies. We’re going to see the bulls before we run. Want a lift, Alice?”

Turning up her nose, she sauntered away down the street, and I laughed before zipping past her. We filed down the streets of Pamplona on our scooters with Alice trailing behind until we found the pen the bulls were being kept in. A small crowd gathered around them, staring at the animals before they began their famous run through the city.

We parked our scooters and climbed off, joining Alice along the wooden fence.

“They’re huge!” Sylvie said, stumbling to a stop at my side. “We’re running with those?”

“It’s only the black ones you really need to worry about.” I pointed at the six black, muscular bulls who huddled together in the back. “The brown and white ones are just steers. They train them to run this route, so they help keep the black ones, the fighting bulls, on course.”