Billy wasn’t the type to panic—at least not until the llamas showed up again.
Last time, they’d escaped from Old Man Perkins’ farm and wandered straight through the middle of town, spitting at car windows and knocking over recycling bins like they owned the place. Everyone remembered “The Great Llama Parade of ’22.”
So when the ground started rumbling that Saturday morning, and the faint sound of humming grew louder, Billy froze.
“Hey Billy!” someone shouted from down the street. “The llamas are back!”
Billy turned the corner and there they were—twenty of them, marching in perfect formation like they’d been training all winter. The leader, a particularly smug-looking llama with a crooked ear, locked eyes with Billy.
Billy swallowed. He knew this wasn’t random. The llamas had a plan.
“Not again,” Billy muttered, backing away slowly.
The llamas took another synchronized step forward.