“This is exactly why I invented the darn thing!” Dr. Pretorius continues. “You kids are geniuses! So—any ideas how we’re gonna blow this joint?” Her eyes are darting everywhere, as if she’s hoping to see a sign saying ESCAPE ROUTE—THIS WAY.

Ramzy and I look at each other and then at Dr. Pretorius, who has forced herself out of her wheelchair with a walking stick and is standing at the big windows that reach the floor. Ramzy speaks first, in a voice that sounds like an apology.

“Well,” he starts, “we thought we were doing pretty well to get here with a vehicle, and—”

“You got wheels? Swell! What now? I tell you one thing: wheelin’ me past that Nurse Jesmond ain’t gonna happen without him noticing. He’s got a streak of mean, I tell ya. Then you gotta looong walk to the exit, and your friend Jackson ain’t gonna help none either.”

I look out the big window, across the parking lot to the road in the distance. The summer sky is darkening. “Is that the main road out there? The one Clem is on?” I ask no one in particular, and no one answers. I take out my phone and call him.

“Clem. Drive past the hospital and tell us if you see flashing lights in a ground-floor window.”

Ramzy is by the light switch and hits it repeatedly to turn it on and off. “Keep going, Ramzy. Clem, can you see it? Well, drive faster…OK, OK, sorry…Can you see it now? Great! Pull up and honk your horn when you’re there. This is your one-minute warning.”

There’s an agonizing wait of a few minutes while Clem gets into position. Then we hear it: a long, rasping paaaarp-paaaarp of the campervan’s old horn coming across the parking lot and through the thick glass windows. Meanwhile, Dr. Pretorius has struggled into a pair of jeans and a sweater from her yellow bag, and thrown her beach robe over her shoulders. She’s still barefoot and, exhausted by the effort of getting back into her wheelchair, gives in to a violent bout of coughing.

There’s a curtain to push aside to access the handle to the outside door—and that’s when we all see it. A notice on the glass that has been hidden.

THIS DOOR IS ALARMED

OPEN ONLY IN THE CASE OF AN EMERGENCY

We stop. We look at one another again; then Dr. Pretorius says, “Well, if this ain’t an emergency, I don’t know what is. Besides, what are they gonna do? We’re leaving a hospital, not robbing a bank! Ha! We’ll be long gone before anything happens.”

“But, Dr. Pretorius, what if…” I begin, but her hand is already on the handle.

“Too darn late!” With a hard tug, she yanks the handle down and pushes the door wide open. She flops back down in the wheelchair as the alarm starts screaming a rhythmic whoop-whoop-whoop.

“Let’s go!” she yells. We help push the wheelchair over the ledge, and she’s off at full speed, which turns out to be only a brisk walking pace. “Faster!” she cries. “Push me! Yee-haw!”

Ramzy and I each take one of the wheelchair handle and tip the chair back on to its big rear wheels, causing Dr. Pretorius to yelp in surprise. Then we run with it as fast as we can, across the lawn, down over the curb, onto the pavement of the parking lot, in between parked cars, while the alarm wails in our ears. We hear behind us: “Hey!”

Jackson is standing in the doorway, and beside him is Jesmond. Now Jackson’s pretty old, and he won’t be able to catch us. But Jesmond? He’s lean and tall and young and he’s already started to sprint across the lawn.

Jesmond is gaining on us, definitely. After all, two kids and an old lady in a wheelchair are no match for a lithe young man who is practically leaping over the cars in his enthusiasm to stop us.

Ahead is the campervan, pulled up at the side of the road, its side door open. Also ahead, in front of the campervan, is a low wall. It’s only about twenty inches high, but it stands between us and our goal. There are only ten yards between the wall and the van, but it might as well be an ocean.

There’s no way we can get Dr. Pretorius and her wheelchair over that wall.

It’s all over before it’s even begun.