Escape of the Nerk Twins

Chapter I

I just realized that I don't own the Beatles! I kept running around telling people about my revelation. For some reason, they snorted incredulously and asked me if I had amnesia.

A/N: To my Beatles in a Beetle readers: welcome back! And to my new readers: welcome! Enjoy the ride :0)

A/N II:  The photo is of a 1954 Ford Anglia like John and Paul's.

A brisk wind whipped through the scraggly grasses of the Scottish highlands. Grey clouds hung moodily overhead, every now and then a lone beam of sunlight cascading down through a narrow gap. A grey strip of asphalt, barely wide enough to have two lanes, wended through the valleys and hills of the countryside.

A grumbling noise disrupted the quiet whistling of the wind, gathering slowly in intensity. Abrasive black rubber ground down the road, the agitated wind grew more frenzied, a beam of sunlight was cut off from the heavens, and a white bus appeared on the horizon. It sped along the road and zipped past the scraggly grass, eager to get someplace less desolate.

Inside the bus, a young man pensively watched the scenery fly past. Apparently oblivious to the hubbub surrounding him, he pushed his thick-framed black glasses up his nose. He stared at the brown grass and far-off clumps of evergreens, his expression indecipherable.

Everyone else in the bus seemed to be talking at once. Another young man with a softer face, sitting next to the one with the glasses, said loudly, "Come on, Eppy! We just want a little break to stretch our legs!" He made extremely convincing doe eyes across the bus, twisting around in his seat to look at someone else.

"What d'you think, John?" he asked, turning back to his bespectacled companion.

"What?" said John Lennon absentmindedly, turning to look at his friend, Paul McCartney.

"D'you want to stop at the next gas station?" asked Paul impatiently.

"Yeah, course I do!" replied John.

"We don't have the time . . . ." Brian Epstein, their manager, attempted valiantly from the back. Everyone else groaned. "Fine, alright. You can have a quick break," he relented, conceding to his inevitable defeat. "But we must meet up back at the bus after ten minutes."

The Beatles cheered. "Hooray for Brian!" yelled Ringo, sitting across the aisle from Paul.

Mal got up rather unsteadily and stumbled to the front of the bus, swaying from side to side with the vehicle. Conversation started up again as he asked the driver to pull over.

Soon, the bus was pulling off the narrow strip of asphalt into a weed-crusted parking lot. Across the parking lot stood a small, battered yellow building. A sign in the window proclaimed that it was open from eight in the morning to six in the evening.

"Is everyone getting off?" asked Brian. There was a general reply in the affirmative.

"I'll meet you back here at 4:10," said Brian. "Don't be late!"

The second the bus ground to a stop, everyone tumbled out the door. Mal and Neil made a beeline for the telephone booth on the right corner of the gas station. Brian, George, and Ringo all headed inside the slightly dilapidated but still rather cheerful building, leaving John and Paul standing aimlessly outside the bus.

"What now?" asked John.

"I dunno," replied Paul. "Guess we'll just stroll around for a bit."

The pair wandered across the parking lot toward the left corner of the gas station. Paul shivered as the breeze tugged at his suit and mussed his mop top.