Page 7 of Last Light

My stomach churns again. I ate those peaches too fast.

“Shit.” My exclamation is too loud, echoing out over the pasture of dead grass to my right and the half-denuded woodlands to my left.

If Travis were here, he could help me get to Fort Knox alive and deliver this message.

That’s my first thought.

I haven’t yet summoned the will to get moving when I hear an engine down the road. It’s getting louder, which means it’s approaching me.

I freeze.

I should move into the woods and hide there.

A car means a person, and a person means danger.

But I’ve seen no other vehicle on the road all day.

And a little nagging voice in my head keeps reminding me that Travis is heading to the same place I am. He might even take the same route.

Maybe he found a car.

Maybe he’ll stop and ask again if I want to join him.

I might give him a different answer this time.

I haven’t yet made up my mind when I see an old pickup approach, and I realize too late that it’s not Travis.

The vehicle is weaving strangely as it gets closer. There are four people inside, and they holler at me out the open windows as they pull to a stop beside me.

I’m only slightly relieved when I see one of the four is a woman.

That’s not a sign that these men are safe.

I’ve got my pistol leveled.

“Hey, li’l lady,” one of them slurs, leaning out the back window. “What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ out here by ’erself?”

The others laugh uproariously.

I stare at the broad, unshaven face and realize what’s going on here.

They’re drunk. All of them.

“Whoa!” the driver says, grinning at me out the window. “Put the gun down, honey. We’re all nice guys here. Found this truck. Keys and everything. Found a fridge full of beer and all kinds of food. Just taking a little joyride. You can come with us if you want.”

“No, thank you.” I’m pointing my gun at the driver now.

“Shouldn’t be out here on your own,” the first speaker says. “We got room for you in here.”

“No. Thank you.”

I’m breathing easier now. These aren’t the kind of nasty men I fear the most. They’re not the kind that join the droves and muscle their way through the world, raping and pillaging and killing at will. I can see it on their faces.

But they’re drunk. And drunk men, particularly in groups, will do things sober men wouldn’t.

I don’t lower my gun even though my arm is shaking with exhaustion.

I’m about to tell them to keep driving when I hear another car approaching. My heart sinks. I can’t control men in two cars the way I can one. I might be in trouble here.

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